Authors: Vicki Tyley
Unplugging the vacuum cleaner, he continued mulling it over in his
head. The thought that Robert Lockwood, the man who’d bailed up Megan’s friend
and sexually assaulted her, could be the killer had crossed his mind a number
of times. But if that was the case, why had the sick bastard let Brenda walk
away? That didn’t follow the pattern, if you could call two a pattern.
With the vacuum cleaner stowed away in the hall cupboard, he started
closing windows and locking doors in preparation for his trip up-country to
visit his mother and meet up with the real estate agent.
He considered phoning Megan, but then thought better of it, deciding
he would call her when he returned home. On the day of the funeral, after
glimpsing her at the cemetery, he’d tried her mobile number, almost thankful
when the call diverted to her voicemail.
She’d called him back the next day and they’d spoken a couple of
times since. However, each time they talked the emotional quaver in Megan’s
voice threatened to undermine his composure. Grown men didn’t cry. Knowing from
experience the ordeal Megan was going through only made it more difficult. He couldn’t
afford to let his guard down. Too much rode on him staying in control.
He needed to stay strong for his mother. But more than that, he had
to remain focused and level-headed for Sam. He’d require all his wits if he
hoped to make any headway in tracking down his sister’s killer. The restraint
required to stoically sit back and let the police do their job just wasn’t in
him. After all, how many unsolved cases sat in the police archives?
He owed it to Sam. No matter how long it took.
“Quick, turn on
the news. They’ve found another body…”
The blood drained from Megan’s face. She snatched up the remote
control from the sofa arm and pressed the power button.
“…grisly discovery of skeletal remains in a shallow bush grave in
the Yarra Ranges National Park 90 kilometers east of Melbourne has sparked
fears of a serial killer. Police have confirmed that the unidentified remains
were found less than a kilometer from where murder victim Samantha Jenkins’
body was discovered three weeks ago.”
Sam’s vivacious smile, a now familiar image, filled the screen. The
newsreader continued, reiterating the gruesome circumstances surrounding Sam’s
murder. The news feature concluded as the grim-faced reporter, using the fading
light and the backdrop of dense forest to full effect, announced that police
were extending the search area. The implication was obvious; they expected to
find more bodies.
An immense weight pressed down on Megan’s chest. She couldn’t
breathe.
“Megan? Are you still there, Megan?”
“Brenda,” she croaked as air rushed back into her lungs. “It can’t
be.”
“It’s not.” Greg’s voice was low and calm.
“How do you know? How can you be so sure?” Megan said, her words coming
out as a squeal as she tried to rein in her hysteria.
“Just think about it for a minute. They found a skeleton, which
suggests the body has been there for a lot longer than Brenda has been
missing.”
Megan paused, considering Greg’s words. He was right, of course.
Brenda wasn’t some pile of bones left for wild animals to scavenge. Any time
now, she would appear at the door with a cheeky smile wondering what all the
fuss was about. Even though her head told her the likelihood of that happening
was infinitesimal, her heart refused to let go. “Yes, but—”
“There’s no but about it.”
“But…” Megan’s voice cracked. “But what if Brenda is out there
somewhere, too?” she managed, voicing her greatest fear.
Several long seconds passed before Greg answered. “I’m sorry, Megan.
I don’t know what to tell you. I wish I did.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but choked on the words. Unable to
talk, she hung up.
Leaving the television blaring sports results, she headed for the
study. She’d only caught the end of the news report. Hoping the Internet would
be able to fill in the gaps, she brought up News.com.au and clicked on the link
to “Breaking News.”
The skeleton’s discovery was the top story, but the brief article
added little to what she already knew from the television newsflash. The police
had been asked whether any clothing, personal items or identification had been
found in the area but had declined to comment. Crime scene police were working
into the night to complete their preliminary investigation. The cordoned-off scene
and surrounding areas were under heavy police guard. A full grid search was
scheduled for the next day.
Re-reading the news article, she wondered if somewhere out there a
family was finally going to have the answers to what had happened to a loved
one. But what if the person whose decomposing body had lain concealed under a
mound of decaying leaves and branches hadn’t been reported missing? What if
there was no one who cared enough to miss them? How would they identify the
bones that had once been a living human being? Was the body that of a male or
female? The news bulletins had been thin, raising more questions than answers.
The unearthing of the nameless skeleton in the Yarra Ranges National
Park so close to where Greg’s sister’s body had been found haunted Megan.
Restless, she spent the next couple of hours traipsing from the computer to the
television and back again. Each time she returned to the computer, she’d
refresh the web page, but it never changed. From there, she’d walk back to the
lounge and flick between the channels looking for news headlines.
Frustrated with the lack of information, she headed outside onto the
balcony. With her arms wrapped around her body, she stared out into the night
until the biting wind drove her back indoors.
The distinctive orchestral fanfare heralding the start of the late
news brought Megan running from the study into the lounge room. She grabbed the
remote control and standing less than a meter from the television turned the
volume up full throttle, as if loudness equated with comprehension. She didn’t
want to miss one detail.
Days and nights
melded into one, but Brenda was past caring.
Past feeling pain.
Past feeling cold.
Her father was calling…
Greg pored over
the morning newspapers spread across the desk in front of him. The pain at
seeing Sam’s photo on the front page almost daily had dulled to a deep ache. If
the photo triggered a potential witness’s memory of something seen or overheard
– no matter how small – that might lead to his sister’s killer, then he could
live with it.
The uncovering of a human skull on the edge of the search area the
day after the news first broke about the discovery of the largely intact
skeleton had prompted the police to expand their search area further. In the
two days that’d followed, searchers found more human bones scattered through
the bush and under logs, some with teeth marks. Forensics had been able to
determine that the skull and bones, like the skeleton found earlier, belonged
to a young Caucasian woman.
Cause of death hadn’t been ascertained, but somehow, news that a
plastic cable tie had been found circling the first skeleton’s neck bones was
leaked. The media immediately seized on this unsubstantiated snippet, linking
the two bodies with the murders of his sister and Linda Nichols and dubbing the
killings “The Cable Tie Murders.” Speculation was rife and the media in their
usual sensationalist fashion played on this. Their take had a psychopathic
strangler stalking the streets of Melbourne. Lock up your women.
Greg sighed and checked his watch.
Right on cue, Megan came barreling through the office door. Out of
breath, she spluttered, “I’ve just heard on the news that they’ve identified
the two women.” She dropped a bulging brown paper bag on top of the newspaper
alongside the two Styrofoam cups of coffee she’d brought with her and flopped
down on the chair opposite Greg.
He waited while she caught her breath. Megan’s sunken, dark-circled
eyes and sallow complexion painted a picture of sleepless nights and poor diet.
The brave front she faced the world with each day was crumbling. For a
split-second, he was grabbed by the urge to gather her up in his arms and hold
tight. However, self-preservation kicked in and he stayed seated. He craved the
reassurance of another human’s touch so much that he knew the slightest caress
would push him over the edge. He couldn’t allow himself that weakness. Not yet.
Her mouth pursed in concentration. “I didn’t catch their names, but
one was a TAFE student missing for over two years. The other girl was a
waitress who just didn’t turn up for work one day a couple of months before
that.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what this means? It means that bastard
has been out there biding his time for two years. Can you believe that?”
“That’s assuming it’s the same guy.”
Megan cocked an eyebrow. “It has to be. There are too many
coincidences: the location, the cable ties, all young white women.” She stared
at Greg for a moment. “Oh my God. What if they weren’t his first? What if there
are more bodies out there?”
She had a point, but the idea that someone had literally been
getting away with murder for years was almost unthinkable. If the bodies had
been discovered earlier, would his sister still be alive today? How many other
women’s lives could’ve been saved?
A police task force spent days scouring the bushland in the general
vicinity of where Sam and the other two women’s remains had been found.
Following the search, the police announced they’d essentially ruled out the
possibility of finding other bodies in the forest. The search was officially
closed.
But if that was the case, where was Brenda? Was it possible she was
still alive? Not wanting to torment Megan more than was necessary, he took care
never to bring Brenda’s name up in conversation. And like some unspoken treaty
Megan, too, shied away from talking about Sam. But they couldn’t stay on the
outside forever.
“If Brenda had been there, they would’ve found her. You have to take
hope from that,” he said, even though in his heart he knew the odds were
against Brenda turning up alive. He reached across the desk.
Megan dropped her chin to her chest, tucking her hands under her
breasts. Feeling self-conscious, he withdrew his hand and sat back in his
chair, waiting for her to speak or at least look up.
She lifted her head. “After all this time, you of all people don’t
seriously believe Brenda is still alive, do you?” Her eyes narrowed, holding
his gaze and daring him to repeat his false assurances.
He couldn’t look her straight in the eye.
She answered for him. “I didn’t think so. Contrary to popular
opinion, I’m not that naïve.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it.” She nodded towards the brown paper bag. “Thought we
could both do with some breakfast. If we’re going to do the right thing by
Sam…” She paused – she’d mentioned Sam and the sky hadn’t fallen in. “…and
Brenda we need all our wits about us. And for that we need to stay fit and
well.”
Greg almost smiled. It was the most sensible thing either of them
had said in days.
Feeling decidedly
uncomfortable, Megan checked over her shoulder again. She didn’t know whether
she was being paranoid or there really was someone following her. Her heart
rate rocketed when a jogger wearing a fluorescent Day-Glo vest overtook her,
passing so close she could smell the slight muskiness of his sweat.
She quickened her pace, her arms tightening around the stack of
newspapers clutched to her chest. It wasn’t until she had locked herself
securely inside her car that she breathed a sigh of relief.
For days now, she’d been unable to shake the feeling she was being
watched. She tried to rationalize it by telling herself that she, like
ninety-nine percent of the public, had succumbed to the media hype about “The
Cable Tie Strangler.” The thought that Joe might be stalking her had also
briefly crossed her mind. Although ignoring his messages seemed to have finally
worked. She hadn’t heard from him in over a week. One less thing for her to
worry about.
With the car’s indicator flashing, she checked the rear-view mirror
and squeezed out into the morning peak-hour traffic. Hampered by a sudden
downpour of rain, Megan spent the next ten minutes thinking of nothing else but
making it home in one piece.
Pulling into the driveway, she scanned her surroundings, gathered up
the newspapers from the passenger seat, and made a bolt for her front door.
Paranoia, she reminded herself once safely inside.
Halfway up the stairs, the doorbell rang. She started, missed her
footing and fell forward. Dropping the newspapers, she grabbed at the banister
with both hands. Before she had time to collect her thoughts, the doorbell rang
again, followed by a heavy knocking.
With a quick glance at the newspapers lying in an untidy heap at the
bottom of the stairs, she turned and limped upstairs to the apartment’s
security doorphone. It’d better be important.