The Delta Chain (13 page)

‘A detective?” Markham guessed.

‘You got it.’

‘You’re kidding,’ said Adam.

‘Not at all. Anyway, I heard from around town
this didn’t exactly help that attitude thing.’

‘It must have been soon after, that he came
to Northern Rocks,’ Markham said.

‘He wanted to make a fresh start,’ said
O’Malley, ‘but I don’t expect he’ll start getting all buddy/buddy
with our detectives any time soon.’

‘He hasn’t,’ Adam confirmed.

‘Well, here’s hoping the sea air makes a
difference. Kirby can be difficult, but he’s a bloody good
operator.’ O’Malley changed the subject with an easy, natural shift
of internal gears. ‘I gather you two have brought yourselves up to
date with our mermaid.’

‘Yes. And we appreciate you making the time
to see us,’ Adam said.

O’Malley waved the comment aside. ‘No probs.
In fact, I’m glad you’re here.’ Adam and Markham had settled into
the guest chairs.

‘Let me bring you up to full speed,’ O’Malley
said. ‘It’s been four months since our Jane Doe was fished out of
the water in Morrissey. It’s as though she dropped right out of the
sky. It’s been known to happen with much older human remains but
it’s practically unheard of with a teen, or someone who’s been in
the water a short time. At that age, parents, teachers, boyfriends,
someone must know she’s missing. But apparently no one does.’

‘And the facial reconstruction?’ asked
Adam.

‘It’s expensive, difficult, time consuming
work. But with the amount of time that’s passed, no leads, and the
artist’s sketch failing to ignite any interest, it’s one of the few
avenues left. I know you wanted to visit the anatomist while you
were in town, which works in well as I’m due out there for an
update.’

On the way, O’Malley explained that the
reconstruction work took about a month. Their visit was timely as
this was the end of the fourth week. ‘As I said earlier I’m glad
you’re here,’ O’Malley repeated as he drove into the grounds of the
university. Leafy, landscaped recreational areas dotted the
compound of stately buildings, the architecture reflecting an
earlier age. ‘Your Northern Rocks mystery girl has come at a
critical time, so I’m glad your phone call brought it to my
attention. Otherwise, given that your case is only a few days old,
the similarities might not have been as obvious for a while
yet.’

‘You said a critical time?’ Markham’s
attention had been drawn away from the grounds outside the car
window.

‘Yes. I’ve just been looking into another
case, two months ago on the New South Wales mid-coast. Another
drowning victim, a young man of approximately nineteen – naked, no
ID, but initially thought to be an English backpacker out here on
vacation who’d been reported missing.’

‘But he wasn’t,’ Adam guessed.

‘No. Three weeks after the body was found,
the backpacker actually turned up. He’d been in W.A., didn’t bother
telling anyone he’d taken off on a four week stint as a jackeroo on
an isolated property. So our New South Wales John Doe was back to
square one, with no-one knowing who he was or where he’s from. I
wondered about the chance of a connection with the Morrissey
Mermaid case. I just got back yesterday from visiting the scene and
discussing it with the local detective down there. And then you
phoned up, Adam, with your Northern Rocks floater.’

‘Two might’ve been a coincidence,’ Markham
said, ‘but not three.’

‘You wouldn’t be in town if you thought even
two was coincidence,’ O’Malley said. ‘Me, I don’t believe in
coincidence, never have, not where unnecessary death and
unidentified bodies are concerned.’

‘What do the two State Coroners think?’ asked
Adam.

‘They haven’t got a damn clue.’

The receptionist for the Anatomy and
Histology department took Adam, Markham and O’Malley through a maze
of white walled corridors. They were led into the neatly arranged
laboratory of Dr. Mira Sukomoto. She was a petite woman, elfin
faced and dark haired. Her large, brown, expressive eyes
immediately struck Adam as the eyes of a soulful artist rather than
those of a clinical anatomist. Having received an advance call from
O’Malley, Mira was expecting them and they were led straight away
to the workbench. Here, the simulated reconstruction of the
Mermaid’s face, hair and skull sat like an eerie sculpture.

‘It must take enormous patience to recreate
someone’s appearance like this,’ Adam said.

Mira responded with an appreciative smile.
‘And then some. Especially when reconstructing a face from skeletal
remains. In a situation like this, I begin by duplicating the skull
in silicon so that it’s an almost exact replica, and I’m talking
about an accuracy rate that needs to be between 99 and 100 percent.
Once that’s achieved I begin placing simulations of all the facial
muscles onto the skull, along with glands, skin and hair. From
which I make a cast of epoxy resin.’

‘And we end up with a reasonable likeness
that someone may have a chance of recognising,’ O’Malley added.

Mira placed her hands on the facial cast. ‘A
subject like Angelina, with skull and many features damaged but
still intact, makes my task easier and the likeness much
closer.’

‘Angelina?’

Mira smiled at Adam. ‘I detest this term, the
Mermaid. This was once a living, breathing human being, a very
vibrant young woman. I call her Angelina, because it’s a beautiful,
feminine name, and because she had the gorgeous face of an angel,
don’t you think?’

The three men muttered their agreement.

Adam walked around the bench, examining the
cast from different angles. The detail in the sculpture was
extraordinary. Looking again at Mira’s eyes, Adam realised there
was as much artistry and sensitivity in her work as there was
science.

‘I was just taking photos of the cast. It
helps me put my work into a kind of visual perspective, before
making final adjustments. Perhaps a digital print would be of use
to the detective?’ Mira glanced at O’Malley for his approval.

‘That’s fine,’ he said.

‘So now there are others like this one?’ Mira
watched as Adam placed the print in his wallet.

‘It appears that way, Mira,’ said
O’Malley.

‘So sad,’ the anatomist’s voice was a
whisper, and Adam sensed this brilliant young woman had developed a
true empathy for the girl she’d named Angelina, ‘that no one seems
to have known or cared about one so beautiful.’

‘Someone knew her and cared for her,’
O’Malley said. ‘It isn’t possible to go through sixteen, seventeen
years, grow up, without anyone knowing you and missing you.’

O’Malley was right, of course, thought Adam.
But the simple fact was no one had come forward to identify or
report missing either Angelina or the other two, more recent cases.
Even if they’d been runaways then at some stage they would have
been reported missing.

Who were they?

On the way back, O’Malley stressed that he
wanted to keep in close contact with Adam and Markham. If, in
another week, the Northern Rocks girl hadn’t been identified
through Adam’s efforts, then O’Malley wanted to take the
investigation fully under his wing, along with “Angelina” and the
N.S.W. John Doe. ‘Once I’m certain there are enough probable links
between the three, I want to set up a task force,’ he
explained.

Such an investigation would be larger than
anything Adam had been involved in. ‘If the ID traces still fail to
turn anything up, then where else do we go with something like
this?’

‘There’s all kinds of intangibles we can
start tracking,’ O’Malley said. ‘Maybe these three knew each other,
went to school together. We can look for abandoned cars in each of
the areas they were found, and source the owners. We can show the
pictures of all three to motel/hotel workers in each of the three
areas.’ O’Malley’s passion for solving the mystery was evident.
‘The first initiative will be to consider lines of enquiry taken on
any similar cases.’

‘Could you explain that?’

‘We’ll speak to the Feds here and to
Interpol, ask about cases involving multiple John and Jane Does.
We’ll see what lines of enquiry the police took on those cases.
Hopefully, it will provide us with some tips. By the way, Bennett,
visiting Meteorology to pinpoint where the girl entered the water?
Good idea. You might just turn up something useful.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ The visit to Meteorology
was the main reason for Adam’s trip, but he was glad he’d arranged
to meet with O’Malley and Dr. Sukomoto. The trip had proved
educational. Now a link seemed certain given there was not one, not
two, but three of these unidentified drowning victims.

The Northern Rocks council building was in a
quiet, leafy street just behind the main town centre but the
offices inside were busy. Groups of people queued at various
counters.

For a small search fee a clerk, after a short
wait, provided a folder with the council approved Institute plans.
Kate sat on one of the public utility chairs and spread the plans
over her lap.

At first, nothing struck her as unusual. The
landscaped grounds, the parking station and the triple-level main
building were all as they should be. But then something began
niggling at her. Something – she wasn’t sure what – didn’t look
right.

What was it her subconscious mind thought it
was seeing –or not seeing?

Later, she spoke to Betty on her cell as she
drove back to the Institute. ‘I don’t know, Betty, maybe I’ve gone
off half assed about this whole damn thing. You were right about
not saying anything to James. Rhonda seemed the most obvious person
to plant that virus, but why would she? Absolutely no reason, and
there’s no mention of any such thing in her diary.’

‘Maybe,’ said Betty. ‘You’re sure singing a
different tune to the other day.’

‘Okay. So I’ve been running hot and cold
again this week.’

‘You tend to do that.’

‘You think I’m totally paranoid. Go on, say
it, you might as well.’

‘Actually, no. What you said made some sense.
And I’ve read through the diary. The Rhonda I knew was the kind of
person to wander through an organisation and pick up vibes that
weren’t evident to everyone else. Reading between the lines, she
reacted to something her subconscious picked up on. Something about
the activity that didn’t seem right.'

‘You’re starting to sound like me.’

‘Conspiracy theories are catching,’ Betty
joked.

‘I don’t have a conspiracy theory…’

‘No? You think Rhonda programmed this virus
to activate if she missed a few log-ins. Now you’re curious about
her road crash, and you’ve gone tearing off and obtained council
plans…?’

‘Okay, so I think something stinks in the
State of Denmark.’ It was the feisty, cheeky Kate again.

‘Do me a favour, Kate. Be careful whom you
speak to about this. And please keep those council plans to
yourself, okay? Apart from anything else, it’ll reflect badly on
A.B.C.S. if anyone finds out you’re snooping about, and James would
be furious.’

‘You sound worried.’

‘I am. Listen, Kate, Rhonda Lagan was a smart
woman but she was no troublemaker and no risk taker. If she smelled
a rat, I’m starting to think that means there most likely is
one.’

Kate said she understood. ‘One further
thing,’ Betty said. ‘You know that Westmeyer phoned James yesterday
afternoon?’

‘Yes, I was there when he placed the
call.’

‘Okay. James would’ve phoned you but he’s
been absolutely flat chat. He asked me to let you know the
conversation went OK. Basically, he reinforced what you’d already
told Westmeyer and placated him. As you know, James was planning
another trip up there anyway. Under the circumstances, he’s
rearranged his plans and he’s coming today.’

‘Okay.’

‘James will see Westmeyer as soon as he
arrives. He’ll call you after that and arrange to get
together.’

‘All good,’ Kate said, ending the call as she
drove into the Institute grounds. She left the building plans in
her glove compartment and locked the car. It was as she passed
through the front entrance, waving to one of Tony Collosimo’s
assistants, that she felt a jolt to her senses.

All of a sudden, crystal clear in her mind’s
eye, she could see what it was about the building that did not
mirror the design.

Rangers Ron Mahoney and Trish Watts started
out early, the Bell Ranger thundering across the deep blue of a
cloudless Northern Territory sky. Once again Trish scanned the
plains below, the gyroscope bringing into sharp focus the dense
vegetation of freshwater mangroves around the riverbank.

They passed the abandoned Range Rover. ‘We
should deviate from yesterday’s path.’ Mahoney shouted to be heard
over the chop of the blades.

‘Deviate where?’

‘How about the mud flats to the north?
There’s plenty of small tributaries and lagoons up there.’

‘You think the croc hunters went that way?
And that Greg and Walter followed?’

‘Who knows? We have to try something
different.’

‘Okay. After that, we can return via the
river.’

Both gasped as a large flock of black winged
stilts appeared suddenly in their path, flying dangerously close to
the chopper as if deliberately dicing with death. Mahoney jerked
the ‘copter sideways, an unnecessary reflex action as it turned
out. It sent a roaring rush of wind through the cabin.

Mahoney cursed. Then, righting the chopper,
he veered to the north of the river whilst maintaining an overall
directional path toward the gulf.

They hadn’t gone far when Trish’s binoculars
framed a lone figure walking as though in a trance across the
plains. ‘Someone’s down there!’