Re-Runners First Life: A Time Travel Suspense Series (7 page)

1992

Ritz Carlton Hotel

Circular Quay

Sydney

The old heritage listed hotel was luxury personified and Dylan mingled as he knew he was expected to do. He didn’t particularly enjoy it, but Phillipa had begged him to attend the celebration of Baker Townsend’s acquisition of a stock broking group of companies from New Zealand. It was a big deal for her father’s company; their first foray into international waters. Hong Kong was next on their radar. Dylan knew she desperately wanted him to join her father at the firm, but he continued to resist despite his wife making his home life a misery.

He was thirty, but he felt much older. He had watched his younger brother marry the love of his life and have three beautiful girls before the age of twenty-eight; and still love his work as a pediatrician.
He’s got it all
, thought Dylan with envy.

He and Phillipa hadn’t slept together for over twelve months and he’d recently resorted to paying for a beautiful and expensive escort to ease that area of his life. But he wanted a family and while he continued to resist the lure of a highly lucrative position with Baker Townsend he also continued to lose the chance of that dream with Phillipa. But he was beginning to think,
Is Phillipa the kind of mother I want for my children?

A heavy hand slapped Dylan on the shoulder. It was his father-in-law John Townsend. ‘Well, what do you think Dylan? Quite a turn out, wouldn’t you say?’

Dylan sighed internally and turned to agree with Phillipa’s father, ‘Yes John, quite an impressive affair.’

‘I know Phillipa has been pressuring you to join us, but I’d like to say that from a purely professional point of view, we would welcome you. I’ve watched your business grow and I’m impressed with what you’ve achieved.’ For a moment Dylan was stunned at the compliment, until John continued, ‘It’s nothing in comparison to Baker Townsend and never will be, but it shows you have the credentials and the drive. You would do well with us. Think about it.’ Townsend slapped Dylan on the shoulder again before moving off to talk to someone more worthy of his time.

Dylan recognized yet another play by Phillipa via her father. John was right about one thing. He did have the credentials and the drive and he knew he could and would build a business to rival Baker Townsend one day.
If they’d all just leave me alone to get on with it.

Chapter 14

1992

Rome, Italy

Christian leaned on the sill of the window overlooking the narrow laneway. It was 10pm at night and the lights of a small and noisy
trattoria
spilled out over the cobbled street. Below, two men stood at the edge of the shadow cast by the lights, their heads together in an earnest transaction. A small packet and money were exchanged and they quickly parted ways.

Christian loved the sights and sounds of Italy. Watching the departing men, he thought it was a shame that some felt the need to anesthetize themselves to the beauty around them. But there were all types of addicts. He accepted his addiction to killing, but had no desire to deny himself the gratification it brought him.

He had tasted that pleasure eight times since arriving in Italy. He had arranged his last two Lovelies in their bedrooms in a small farmhouse on the outskirts of Rome. The women were a little older than his usual fare. Both artists in their thirties, they were enjoying a six month hiatus from the cold and damp of their native Scotland. The women were from the same village and had met in art class. One, a quiet and serious single and the other a recently divorced extrovert; they had formed an unlikely friendship and planned their Italian holiday of a lifetime together for more than a year.

All this Christian knew because of the acquaintance he had carefully formed with them when he rented the neighboring cottage. As always Christian’s planning was slow and methodical. The quiet countryside was the perfect place to build on a friendship he didn’t want strangers noticing.

He left for the city soon after the killings and rented an apartment in the Old Town. It was over a week before the bodies were discovered and the details splashed over the front page of
Il Messagero,
Rome’s popular newspaper.

Christian expected by now the local authorities would have recognized the similarities between the US murders of
le Segador
and those of his eight kills since arriving in Rome in 1987; but perhaps not. The fumbling of those in authority continued to astonish him and the obvious lack of collaboration between countries was a flaw he used to his advantage.

My time here is almost done
, he thought.
Although some time spent travelling and studying before I return to the good ‘ol US of A would be enjoyable ... and perhaps a meeting with Sally in Paris or Bordeaux.

Chapter 14

1994

Return from Italy

The first thing Christian did when he returned to the US was to visit his cabin near Sullivan Canyon Park.

His parents had loved the simple rustic cabin, hidden by dense bush land at the end of a single lane road. One of several horse trails in the area ran along the rear boundary, but they were never bothered by any would-be adventurers. It was isolated, quiet and it had felt like a million miles away from their comfortable home in Brentwood. In reality, only a twenty minute drive.

He’d arranged to have the cabin cleaned before his arrival. It would be spotless for him to enjoy when he wanted a change of scene from the noise of downtown LA and the apartment he had leased there.

Of course, the professional cleaners would never see the inside of the small shed hidden in the corner of the acreage. This was his special place, built by his adoptive father, but re-created by Christian.

As Christian pushed his way through the overgrown pathway he felt the anticipation rise in his chest. He had been away for so long. Eight years in Europe had gone surprisingly quickly and had added to his growth both in confidence and certainty that he was living the life he was destined for. How many people could say they loved, truly loved what they do? Christian could and now that he was home, he would add to his collection.

The shed’s exterior matched the wooden plank logs of the cabin, but on the inside it now looked like a sterile hospital room. The walls were lined with white painted plasterboard, the ceiling featured bright florescent lights and a solid door with two deadbolts. A large laminated desk with several drawers fitted snugly against the wall at one end of the room, its surface covered with trays and photographic equipment. The accompanying chair was the only other piece of furniture in the room.

But that is where the sterile nature of the space ended. Starting from the left; neat, precise and marked chronologically in year date order, were dozens of pictures of his victims. Most were taken during his preparation period. Outside their homes, their work places, with their friends. However, it was always the last photograph of their final rest and Christian’s creative handiwork which brought him a quick rush of elation.
It’s good to be home
, he breathed as he reacquainted himself with his Lovelies.

Pushing aside the photo developing trays, he placed a black case on the desk and worked the combination locks until they clicked open. He sliced the lining with a pen knife and pulled out the hidden folder containing dozens of photographs of young women. Some were of the dark haired and sensual locals of Rome; while others were of the many tourists he befriended during his stay. Christian was always happy to help out with translating, which often led to a coffee and so on and so on. There were never any sexual advances from Christian, much to the frustration of some of his ladies. He courted them and then he killed them. Simple. He had no desire to bed them.

As he added the photographs of his kills in Italy to the wall; in specific order and with his usual care, his thoughts moved to his next lady. He hadn’t chosen her yet, but he looked forward to adding to his wall with great anticipation.

The world of technology was moving fast and Christian prided himself on keeping pace. He had attended the Tokyo MacWorld Expo the previous February and was now in possession of one of the first digital cameras to be released to the public. He gently removed his new Apple Quick Take 100 from its solid case and admired it. Now he could do away with the mess of developing his own photographs. He didn’t need high quality pictures, he just needed convenience.

As Christian stepped back to admire his wall, his Pleasure Palace of Lovelies, he thought briefly about Detective Pat Brodie. He was well aware of the career paths taken by his ex-hunters. Rogers had gone the way of administration and been promoted to Captain, while Brodie had taken a young detective under his wing a couple of years ago and the two of them continued to pursue leads in the
le Segador
murders. Christian respected Brodie for his brilliance and his persistence. If they hadn’t been on opposite sides of the fence, he would have enjoyed conversing with him over an excellent bottle of Italian wine. He’d been disappointed to hear of Brodie’s illness. A great nemesis soon to be lost. It took a bit of joy out of his homecoming ... but only a bit.

Chapter 15

1994

‘Bloody Hell,’ Kate heard Eric yell from the living room where he was watching TV and drinking his way through a six-pack of beer.

She dropped the clothes she was folding and ran to him, ‘What’s wrong? Are you OK?’

Eric pointed to the TV screen and laughed, ‘He’s back.’

Kate frowned in confusion but turned her attention to the news broadcast that had interrupted Eric’s football game. Usually he would be furious, but he was nodding and smiling at the story on the screen.

‘
Has
le Segador
Returned?
’ was the backdrop to the newscaster’s story. The telecast ended and Eric aimed the control at the TV to mute the sound of the football, before looking at Kate.

‘
Le Segador
,’ he repeated with a look of admiration on his face.

‘Yes,’ answered Kate, ‘I remember him. He was a serial killer in the US. They caught him years ago.’

Eric frowned at her, ‘Jeezers, you can be dumb sometimes Kate. They never caught him. He just disappeared. The cops never came close to catching him. He was too smart for ‘em.’ He sat back in the recliner and took another swig of beer.

‘It’s his MO,’ he went on to explain with respect in his voice. ‘Cops said it was a copy cat, but some reporter leaked a piece of information the police had kept quiet. It’s him all right. Damn! It’s him.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Kate’s hand flew to her mouth.

Eric threw her a scornful look, ‘The man’s a genius.’

‘He’s a murderer,’ Kate cried.

Eric stood and raised his arm as he towered over her before letting out a sigh and falling back into the chair. ‘I couldn’t be bothered. Get out of my face, Kate. Sometimes your stupidity makes me sick.’

Kate’s eyes misted over. It was becoming a daily thing. She just didn’t know how to please him anymore. Before they were married he was so loving and attentive, but now everything she did irritated him.

Kate paused in the doorway and asked softly, ‘Are you hungry? Would you like me to make you something to eat?’

‘Yea, I am. But don’t dish up that muck you threw together last night. A man needs meat, Kate. Can’t you get that through your thick skull?’

Kate fought back her tears and went to the kitchen. She missed her sister and her parents, but Eric made it hard for her to see them. He drove her to work and picked her up in her little Honda. He said he needed her car to look for work during the day, but it had been over eight months since he’d found a steady job. She had no idea how their finances were going, but it must be OK because Eric had bought a large screen TV last week.

He’s just feeling down about not finding a job,
she thought to herself as she made him a bacon burger for lunch.
I’ll have to try harder to make him feel good about himself.