Darkness Looking Back, The (20 page)

'JUST THERE TO do her a favour, were you? Like you did a favour to Belinda Jansen? And Michelle Crossan? Gagging for it, weren't they?'

'Oh, man, that Shelley . . . Fuck, she was a whore. She was screaming my name, man. I had to give it to her twice, just to shut her up. Get the file if you want the details. Something to get your nuts off on.' Huia looked past Gardner at Stirling, giving him a slow, satisfied smile over the table. 'You get off on it, eh? You're just jealous I get the girls and you don't.'

Stirling looked back at him from the corner, trying to be objective. The man was a turd in the gene pool, who bobbed up all too often. Had up for assault, both physical and sexual. Nine months for removing half the teeth in another man's mouth, acquitted on a technicality for rape, let off on diversion for his first foray into amateur porn eight years ago. Pervert. Basher. Psychopath. A narrow face with prominent cheekbones, greasy hair and a leer that was never long absent. And a psychic had dobbed him in days ago . . .

Gardner had, with unprecedented generosity, let Stirling in to watch the face-off. Stirling's explanation was that he wanted to learn interrogation from a master. Gardner probably wouldn't have been fooled, except for his relief at having escaped the café. If he could prove this was their man, he'd never have to play the lunchtime lover again. If he failed, he was facing another two weeks of it. Huia wasn't going to find this easy. However, they'd been sitting here for the past two hours, and Huia hadn't given a millimetre. Gardner's canines were beginning to show. He leaned forward, sneering.

'They like it so much you have to kill them now? "I'm so happy being dicked by a sad ugly Maori bastard I could just die?" '

Huia didn't bat an eyelid. 'You're a racist, bro. I should report you to the Police Conduct Authority. That lady officer who brought me in, she wouldn't mind a bit of Maori in her, I tell you that.' He giggled. 'Asked me for my phone number and my address. Nice tits. I might go round sometime. Give her a turn in the handcuffs.' He giggled again. The sound of it grated on Stirling's nerves.

Gardner smiled nastily. 'I know your mother fucked around, George. She's the biggest slut there is.'

Huia leaned back lazily. 'Not arguing there, bro.'

'Is that why you killed those women? Eh? What kind of guys did she bring home for you to play with? Bet they were fun, eh, George?'

'Did you like the doughnuts, bro?'

The skin tightened over Gardner's cheeks. 'You think that was fucking funny? We got your DNA on those doughnuts, boy. We can get you for that.'

Huia wiped his nose on his arm and smiled. He'd know that if they had his DNA, they'd have pulled him in long before now, seeing as he was on file. He stared dreamily at the watermark near Stirling's head while Gardner kept at him, looking like it was a day at the movies. He'd walk away from this too, and he knew it. As the sergeant's voice rose, Stirling stood. Both men ignored him as he left.

Kirkpatrick was outside the door, looking anxious. He kept his voice low, just in case a sound got back to Huia. 'I've been watching from the other end. We don't have enough to keep him yet. Not for murder, anyway. And his parole's already expired so we can't even hold him on that.'

'He's not stupid, sir. He's all "man" and "bro", but that's just front.'

Kirkpatrick jammed his hands in his pockets to keep them still. 'We can get him on trespass, at least. Having that psychic woman get so close, it's got my attention.'

Stirling nodded, saying nothing, and turned to go. Kirkpatrick stopped him after two steps. 'Oh, by the way. How's your friend? Mr Paxton?'

Stirling turned back, uncomfortable. After a moment he realised he was an exact mirror of the senior, with his hands in his pockets. 'I had to let him know. In case the media got on to it somehow. He was a bit embarrassed. This has really shown him up, hasn't it?'

'Show me one of us who's a hundred per cent accurate. There'd be a lot more people alive today if that happened. Tell him not to feel bad.'

Stirling thanked him, but oddly, he felt worse.

PAXTON SAT WITH his head bent and eyes closed, as if that would somehow bring him closer to Shannon Lawrence. He had his hands pressed to the dead girl's face, willing her to respond. It was a grainy photo, cut out of the newspaper, but it would prove if he was good enough. He'd half expected the phones to ring as the media got news of the arrest, but all was silent. They had nothing more to say to him. It was Cristiana they'd be calling now. He shut his eyes more tightly, trying to focus, and at the same time let himself go.

'You don't have to do this, James. You've got nothing to prove.'

Paxton opened his eyes and looked at Lena, who was standing in the doorway to the lounge.

'That paperweight was your dad's. I felt it. I felt his last moments, for God's sake, I felt him hit me on the head. I felt him die! I should be able to do
something
.' He looked down at the paper girl, breathing through his nose.

Lena looked shaken, but said nothing.

'How come that
bitch
was able to predict this and I wasn't? How come I'm so fucking useless?'

'Hey, you're not useless,' Lena said firmly. 'And you know it.' She came to sit beside him on the sofa, laying her head on his shoulder.

Paxton closed his eyes again. 'When I try to ask Shannon what happened, all I get is a crushing headache. No proof George did it, no proof it wasn't him either. All I have is this horrible feeling that everything's wrong.'

There was a knock at the door, then Paxton heard Stirling's familiar tones. Seconds later he was in the lounge, carrying a black briefcase.

'I need your help,' he said, without any preamble.

'Captain Helpful, that's me,' said Paxton sourly.

Stirling didn't answer. Instead he sat on the chair opposite, putting his briefcase on the coffee table and flicking the clasps open. From it he pulled a photo and a sheet of paper, and placed them in front of Paxton. The photo was a black-and-white of a man with a narrow, expressionless face and dark complexion. The other was a list. Looking at it, Paxton saw it was a menu. More precisely, the menu from the café all the dead women had been to. Stirling was watching him.

'You think this guy might be him?' He looked at the man in the picture, who could only be Cristiana's killer. George Gordon Huia. It might have been a passport photo, but it was undoubtedly a mug shot. He had a stubbly excuse for a moustache and eyes like holes in the paper. There was so little to read in his face that he looked capable of anything.

'He might well be.'

Paxton looked again at the face, with its fat, dark eyes. 'All right. Let's give it a go.'

He picked up the photo, feeling ridiculous with Stirling watching. He tried to clear his mind, and, to his surprise, an impression came to him almost at once. He wanted to let go of the paper, which felt like it was soiling his fingers.

'Shit, this guy is twisted. I feel really dirty. Scared. He wants me to be scared; he likes it.'

Stirling listened patiently, and Lena was so still she might not have been breathing.

'Are you getting the murders?'

Paxton waited, so long it seemed like he'd fallen asleep. 'No,' he said at last, disappointed and frustrated. He dropped the photo back on the table. 'Only that this guy is not what you'd call normal. There's violence in his whole being — past, present and future. It's warped him. He hates women too. I feel that. If he's never raped or killed something before, I'd be very surprised. He's definitely capable.'

Paxton could see Stirling trying hard not to question him further. 'All right. What about the menu?'

Paxton sighed, frowning dubiously at it. 'I don't know. I mean, this doesn't have a special connection to anybody. I might as well try analysing a train timetable.'

'This isn't just any menu. Take a closer look.'

Paxton peered at it, wondering what Stirling was getting at. Then he saw it: POLICEMAN'S SPECIAL.

His head shot up. Beside him, he saw Lena's do the same thing. 'The
killer
did this?' she said.

'Holds us in great esteem, doesn't he?'

'You've got to admire a man who thinks killing people is normal, and the height of comic genius is a pizza with a funny name.' Paxton shook his head. 'I thought
I
was fucked up.'

'This guy makes Ray Gardner look like Eddie Murphy.'

Paxton looked at the typed message again and picked it up. He almost let go. The warnings came as soon as his fingers touched the paper, battering his brain and howling in his ears, voices jangling and overlapping as they tried to be heard. He blinked, trying to block off his mind. The pain in his head was so intense he almost blacked out. After two seconds he couldn't hold it any longer. He dropped the paper back on the table, unconsciously wiping his fingers on his trousers. He felt beads of sweat standing on his lip.

'Are you all right, James?' Lena looked pale, rubbing his shoulder.

'This is your killer, all right.' Paxton exhaled, giving his head a small shake. 'That wasn't pleasant. I heard them. All the women's voices. I felt him too. The guy's so far gone he doesn't realise he's evil. He doesn't see anything wrong with what he's doing. He's like a Masked Avenger type — somewhere, somehow, a woman did him wrong, and now women like her are evil. He's
angry
.'

'Anything specific? His car?'

'Nothing like that. I don't get pictures, remember.'

'What about his name?'

Paxton looked up at him. 'You're positive Cristiana's right about this, aren't you?'

'Two days ago — no. But now . . .'

'You don't think she could be wrong?'

'Where are you getting this information from, James?' Stirling's frustration had finally come to the surface.

'It's just —
there
. I just know.'

'Just like you
knew
that bloke you beat up was a killer last time?'

'Hey,
I
did that, not James. And that prick deserved it.' Lena had her arms folded, glaring at Stirling. 'I thought you were grateful! You wouldn't have found the killer if it wasn't for James.' She raised her eyebrows coldly. 'And I'd be dead.'

Stirling winced. Still he ploughed on. 'But it shows he's not always right, doesn't it? I know I'm not. I've been really impressed with some of the stuff you've told me, James. But can you tell me you're
one hundred per cent
certain that your own feelings aren't prejudicing you on this?'

'Well, no, you can never be one hundred per cent of anything.'

'And I was right about
you
. Despite Ray Gardner.'

Paxton smiled. 'Yeees.'

'In fact, I'm willing to bet I'm right this time. Fifty bucks, James. This guy's our killer.'

Paxton raised his eyebrows. 'You take it personally, don't you?'

'Everyone takes it personally. Anyone who says the latest dead body's just another file has got to be joking. Even Ray takes it personally. If he can't solve a case it's like . . . Well, you know what he's like.'

Paxton looked out the window.

'So what about Arthur? I thought you were after him.'

'I was.' Stirling's temporary buoyancy faded. 'But he's not a serial rapist.'

'You sure?'

Stirling looked at him, startled.

With perfect timing, the phone rang. Paxton groaned with frustration.

'I'm going to pull that damn thing out of the wall and smash it to death with a hammer . . .'

'Is that you, Brent? Sure, just a moment.'

Lena held it out to him. Paxton took it, immediately regretting his departure without a proper goodbye. He'd been meaning to call tonight.

'Hi, Brent.'

'Hi, James. How are you, all right?' Brent sounded cagey about something.

'I'm okay. Thanks. Sorry to walk out on you like that last night. It's not your fault, it's Tanya.'

'About that . . . I've been to Regan, and he's decided to swap restaurants. From next week he'll come over to Anubis, and Tanya'll handle The Chandlery. He said you're welcome back anytime — of all people, he knows she can be tough to deal with. And he'll handle all the unwanted visitors, he said.'

Paxton was struck dumb with surprise. 'Thanks. I thought you'd be glad to get rid of me after all that.'

'Nah. You're a good guy. We protect our own . . .' Brent cleared his throat. He seemed to be psyching himself up for something. 'Speaking of which. Don't suppose you're still friendly with the police?'

Paxton's eyes jumped to Stirling. 'Why? Has stuff been going missing?'

'No, no, nothing like that. But if you could bring one down here with you, I think it'd be a good idea. They might want to take a look at it.'

'Look at what? Are you at work already?'

'They called me in. Mel couldn't help taking a quick look.'

Paxton could feel his heart beating. 'What is it?'

'I think you'd better see for yourself.'

BRENT LOOKED STRANGE wearing colours. Paxton was used to seeing him in his uniform black. Today he wore a red polo shirt and faded blue shorts. Even stranger was the tight look to his features. If it wasn't on a sportsfield or in a bottle, Brent Palmer didn't give a damn. That wasn't true today.

'Brent, what's with all this secrecy? Just tell me what it is.'

'Come out the back.'

He was already leading the way without waiting for a response.

'Hey, this is my friend Andy Stirling,' said Paxton as they went. 'He's a detective. He was there when you rang, luckily.'

Brent turned to look at Stirling, and paused long enough to shake his hand. 'Hi. I've already touched it, sorry. Just as long as you don't think it was me who sent it.'

At the word '
sent
', Paxton saw Stirling's brow crease. Now, as well as alert, he looked positively grim. 'None of the staff have disappeared, have they?' he asked quickly.

'No, thank God.'

But Paxton saw Brent send him a doubtful look. They reached the office door, and came across Mel standing guard, with her arms folded. Her hair had changed since Paxton last saw her, just two days before. It was now dark brown layered with crimson; the colours changed as often as Adam's girlfriends. Paxton expected her to let loose with a food of description, but at one glance from Brent she said nothing, merely stepped aside to let them through, with a worried look at Paxton.

Then the door opened. All Paxton saw on the desk was a piece of paper, trying to fold itself back up. It looked like a letter.

'Is this it?'

'Yep,' said Brent.

Paxton realised he'd been holding his breath, and let it out. The dull cream of the office walls was almost shocking to the eye, his mind having prepared him for an overload of red. He went to take the letter, but Stirling held out an arm to prevent him.

'Uh, better not contaminate it any more. Just in case there's prints.' He took a pair of gloves out of a small kit he'd brought with him and put them on. Very, very gently he pressed the edges of the letter fat on the desk. Paxton read it over his shoulder.

It was laser-printed neatly on a sheet of plain white paper, in large bold letters that looked very familiar.

DEAR MR PAXTON,

HOW MUCH DO YOU REALLY LOVE YOUR GIRLFRIEND? TO DEATH? BECAUSE HERE'S MY PREDICTION: IF YOU DON'T STOP LOOKING FOR ME, LENA BRADLEY WILL BE THE NEXT TO DIE.

BACK OFF, FREAK. I KNOW WHERE YOU WORK, I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE, AND I WILL GET HER IF YOU DON'T STOP NOW.

I WILL DO WHAT I KNOW IS RIGHT — NOW YOU DO WHAT YOU KNOW IS RIGHT.

???

P.S. HI, DETECTIVE STIRLING.

'I'll get him. I will so
get him
.' Shaking with anger, Paxton snatched the letter from Stirling's resisting hand.

'Careful, that's evidence!'

'The — ' Paxton couldn't speak, crushing the letter where his hand held it, pacing back and forth.

'We will get him, James. I promise you, we're close! But we're not going to convict if we don't have evidence. Give me the letter.' Stirling held out his hand. There was almost no colour in his cheeks. 'It probably doesn't have any prints on it, but we need to check.'

'What's going on? What's
he
doing back already? He's not due till next week.' Tanya was in the doorway of the office, giving Paxton a dirty look.

Paxton rounded on her with a speed that made her take a step back.

'Do you see?' He waved the letter in her startled face. 'Now the killer knows about me, and he's after Lena, all because of this fucking publicity! Do you see why I just wanted to be
left alone
?'

Brent broke the long silence, putting a hand on Paxton's shoulder. 'You don't know this is the killer, mate. This is probably some freak of nature who thinks he's funny. I'm sure it happens a lot, eh, um . . . ?' He looked at Stirling for back-up.

Stirling slowly shook his head, scowling. 'It might happen sometimes, but this is him. How else could he have known to put my name at the bottom? The DI's the one who's been on TV. And he's sent me these little notes before.' He looked at Paxton. 'Don't worry. Just sit tight. We'll catch him. All you need to do is keep yourself and Lena out of harm's way. All right?'

Paxton was quiet for a second. 'No.
I'm
gonna find this bastard.' He gave a small smile. 'What kind of dickhead killer sends something personal to a psychic? I can feel the desperation through the paper.' He tossed it back on the desk. 'He's pissing himself — and he should be.'

To himself, however, Paxton admitted the truth. He was even more terrified. It made it worse when Stirling got on the phone to CIB.

'Our killer posted a letter last night,' he said to whoever picked up. 'I want a warrant on Huia's house. If we can find the printer that did it . . .
What
? How?' He listened in appalled silence for a few moments, then shook his head angrily. 'Bloody bleeding-heart judges. Why do we even bother to do this job, Senior?'

He pressed the hang-up button with more force than was necessary. When he looked at Paxton, his mouth was a thin line. 'They let Huia go on bail. He managed to get a hot-shot lawyer who pointed out he's committed no crime but
trespass
.' He spat the word.

'So both men you think could be the murderer are roaming free.' Paxton said it as a statement. His skin felt cold.

'Don't worry, James. We'll get him.' Stirling sounded as if
he was convincing himself.

PAXTON SAT LENA down and told her about the letter, which Stirling had carted off for testing.

She went very still, and her eyes looked large in her face. 'Do you believe him?'

Paxton knew she was remembering several horrible minutes alone with a serial killer, hearing him tell her all the things he was about to do to her as she sat there, helpless, and all the things he would do to her boyfriend — if her boyfriend ever came.

He held her face between his hands, trapping her eyes on his. 'I want you to go and stay with someone. Just to be safe. Who's got a spare room?'

She hesitated a split second. 'Mandy does.'

'Then ring her. Ask her. I'll stay here in case he comes.'

Lena took a long breath to compose herself before Mandy answered the phone. The conversation was brief and emotional, and full of apologies. Mandy promised to come round straight away.

Lena came to wrap her arms round Paxton's neck, and kissed him long and hard. 'I'm going to miss you.'

Paxton smelled the apple shampoo in her hair, and finally let her go. 'You'd better go and pack.'

When Mandy arrived, she didn't say a word. Paxton walked past her to her car with Lena's suitcase, taking a good look round at the street, peering into every property his eye could reach. He couldn't see anyone, but there was still that crawling feeling of being watched. Something was close. He could feel it.

'I'll see you soon. As soon as we catch him.' He gave Lena a parting kiss. 'Take care, all right?'

She squeezed his hand, looking scared. 'It's you he's got a grudge against. Be
careful
, won't you?'

'If he comes here, I'm calling the police.'

With a glance over her shoulder, Lena got into the passenger's seat.

'Thanks for taking her, Mandy. I appreciate it,' said Paxton seriously.

'Why don't you show your appreciation by pissing off back where you came from?' she said softly. She lowered her voice even further so Lena couldn't hear her. 'Why is she in danger, James?' Her tone was pure malice. 'If she gets killed, it's your fault.'

Paxton blinked, then leaned in closer, making eye contact. '
Go. Fuck. Yourself
.' He turned back to the house. 'No one else will.'

Lena was looking between them, wary and anxious. Mandy shot
Paxton a look of hate and slammed her door. Paxton watched Lena's face in
the window until it disappeared into the distance, then walked inside, feeling
childish and angry. He went straight to the table, where the picture of Shannon
Lawrence stared up at him. He took it to the sofa and sat, shutting his eyes
tight.

THE FEELING OF being one step behind the tiger haunted Stirling as he drove to Parsifale. He was on its tail, but it could turn at any time, without warning. And a word from the staff could send them back to square one quicker than another dead body. Huia's name was too big a coincidence to pass up — even Paxton acknowledged that. But Paxton was right. He couldn't forget Arthur Wong just yet.

The Malaysian was nowhere to be seen — probably out the back, baking. Stirling felt a huge sense of relief. The freckled girl, Morgan, was helping today. She reached him first, her face solemn.

'Hello. Have you got any leads?'

'Maybe. Are you able to take a look at these pictures? Tell me if any of them comes into the shop?'

He spread out eight photos on an empty table, moving the sugar out of the way. He tried hard not to look too intense, so as not to scare her. Morgan frowned down at them, her face a picture of concentration. 'They all look so alike.'

'I know. We want to be absolutely sure we get the right person.'

She looked up at that, her eyes widening. 'You've got someone?'

Stirling held up a hand. 'Metaphorically speaking.'

She bent her head again, studying the faces even more closely, her nose almost touching the photos. At last she gave a rueful twist of her mouth. 'I'm really sorry, I don't recognise any of these people. But I only work Tuesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. I'm a student. You'd have to ask the others.'

Not letting his frustration show, Stirling glanced over at Nathan, who was making coffees. 'Are you able to swap with Nathan for a moment?'

Morgan looked relieved. 'Sure.'

The young man was just as eager to please. 'You must be getting close if you're showing us these. Good job. I'm just real pleased you don't think it was Arthur any more — honestly, if you really knew him, you'd know it couldn't have been him.'

'The question is, was it any of
these
men?'

Nathan looked down at them. He took a long time over it, silently comparing the differences between each one. Finally he straightened. 'I've definitely seen
one
of these guys in here a bit,' he said.

Stirling couldn't help his eyebrow twitching.

Nathan returned his gaze to the photos, frowning. 'I've been trying to work out which one. It could just be he hasn't shaved or something . . .' He pointed his finger at one of the eight. 'But I'd swear it was either this guy . . .' He looked up at Stirling again, nodding thoughtfully, then pointed to another. 'Either him or that one. It's a close call, but I've definitely seen him or someone very like him before, and recently too.'

'Thanks, Nathan. You've been a huge help.'

'Was I right? Is one of them the guy you're looking at?' Nathan's face was hopeful under its emo haircut.

'Can't tell you that, I'm afraid.' But Stirling couldn't help smiling at him. 'Arthur in?'

Nathan followed his glance to the back of the store. 'Sorry, he's out for a few minutes. I could get him to call you?'

'That's all right. Thanks again.'

Stirling gathered the photos into a neat pile and walked back towards his car, his heart sinking. The first photo could have been Huia's brother. The second was Huia himself. And everyone knew that rape was petty murder — they were both about power, both about something other than simple bloodlust. The knives stabbed through the women's hearts . . . any fifty-dollar shrink would draw parallels with the act of rape. And everyone knew rapists often graduated to the next level. Could he have been so wrong about the clues that screamed it was Arthur? Deep in thought, Stirling almost crashed into a couple on their way into the café. He apologised automatically, before he realised that it was Nielsen and Gardner, back for another cosy lunch. For someone supposed to be enjoying a bit on the side, Gardner didn't look happy. Stirling didn't let the recognition show, but as he passed them he felt something else drop in his stomach. Sheer hard determination. Whoever the killer was, he'd find out. Even if he had to call up the dead to do it.