Yes.
Yes.
Yes!
He reached the surface and struggled through the half-blocked exit overlooking the raging ocean. In that moment, the wind in his hair was the most exhilarating sensation he had ever experienced. More exhilarating even than his first kill, which surprised him. More exhilarating than all his planning. The wind was fresh and real and it meant that he had won. After eighteen months he had won. It was not the stale, regurgitated air of his cell, but
real
air and real wide-open space. He could not be contained. He could not be beaten. This was proof.
But Ed had no time to dwell on his euphoria. Almost as soon as he reached the surface he scrambled down the cliff, across the rocks and sand at the water’s edge, and ran due east along the shoreline in the direction opposite to the remaining police officers who might by now have sensed that something was wrong, or may even have heard the blast at their posts near the bunker entrance. Ed peeled off his clothes as he went, noticing a spray of blood across the fabric. Not his blood, he smirked. He stripped down to boxer shorts and undershirt, and carelessly tossed the rest in a heap behind some boulders, to be discovered by the police or some unsuspecting tourists in the hours or days to come. Before long Ed had reached the rocky point, his skin flecked with dirt and sweat, and not even slowing to catch his breath he rummaged through thick, prickly bushes that scraped his bare flesh, searching eagerly for the
next important item the Prison Lady had left for him.
There it is!
The backpack was waiting for him, just as planned, hidden amongst dense shrubbery.
He looked around cautiously, staying low to the ground. He half expected to see police officers running along the sand waving guns, helicopters flying overhead, search boats gathering just offshore. He half expected to hear his name on a megaphone: ‘Ed Brown, stop where you are and put your hands in the air!’ But he was alone. No other human being was in sight.
Ed opened the bag, unable to contain a broad smile, and pulled on the plaid pants and the white polo top he found inside. He patted his ginger hair down and fitted a cap onto his head. He pocketed the car keys and the note with the street address. He was set.
There was just one last detail to attend to before he could be on his way. He found the golf clubs lying hidden in another flattened section of thick shrubs only a few metres away. He hauled them upright, dusted them off and looked himself over. Everything was in place. He had not forgotten a thing.
Ed started towards the golf course.
His gait was casual, the corners of his mouth turned up in a nonchalant smile. He was still sweating, but no one would notice. He could slow down now. There was no longer any need to rush. In fact, rushing now would draw attention to himself. No, he was just another golfer enjoying a
scenic walk, just another golfer taking his time and enjoying a beautiful day by the water. Ed rounded the corner of the point and stepped onto the edge of the golf course. Slowly, he began to saunter towards the parking lot on the other side of the hill. It was at least a five-minute walk across the open fairway and he would take his time. He blended in so beautifully with the handful of golfers already on the greens that no one even looked up. No one seemed to notice that he had appeared out of thin air at the edge of the cliffs. He was back to being the invisible, unremarkable Ed Brown. He was back to living under the radar and making his own rules. He was free. He had won.
Ed did not look back in the direction of the entrance to the tunnel until he was safely on the crest of the hill close to the clubhouse. When he finally turned, he was so far away that the mouth of the entrance, with its iron gate, was a mere speck on the horizon, the figures huddled around it as small and insignificant as ants. It was hard to discern what was going on from such a distance, but it hardly mattered now. They would not think to check the golfers. Not at this point. They would be scanning the tunnels, checking the shoreline for an escape boat. They would be tending to the injured. They would still be panicking, if they even
knew
enough to panic yet. Had the men on the surface even heard the blast? Perhaps they had not. And what kind of carnage had he left behind? It would take some time for them to sort through the mess, and by then he would be miles away.
Less than ten minutes later, as he was driving down Anzac Parade in the Prison Lady’s beat-up Volkswagen, Ed heard the sirens. He calmly pulled over and let the speeding ambulance pass. And a few minutes after that, two blue and white police cars zipped by as well, all on the way to Botany Bay National Park.
Ed watched them disappear in the rear-view mirror.
He smiled.
Andy sped toward the Prince of Wales Hospital, still barely able to register the news. He felt numb, like a distant observer separated from his own body. With a tense grip he drove his car on automatic pilot, fighting to block out the emotion and fear, and the dark conclusions running through his mind.
Ed Brown is out. Jimmy is injured.
The news was inconceivable, the consequences grave. One of Australia’s most notorious serial killers was at large, having escaped directly from the custody of the New South Wales police—out of their very own hands, a damning reality. The escape would trigger a public outcry, and quite possibly another Royal Commission. Someone would have to pay, and if they did not act fast to bring him in, more lives would be at risk, Makedde’s in particular.
Lewis had better have some answers
, he thought.
Some bloody good answers.
The traffic was against him. He was only halfway to the hospital and already he found himself at a standstill. This was not the time for Andy to exercise patience. If Jimmy, his partner and loyal friend of many years, was badly hurt and fucking
died on the surgeon’s table while Andy was sitting in some mindless traffic jam, that would be the end of it. Andy would never be able to forgive himself.
He flicked on his siren with a loud
whoop.
A man in the car next to him jumped in his seat, startled by the noise. Drivers and passengers gawked, and yet the traffic did not move. He leaned out the window and yelled at the car ahead of him. ‘Come on, let’s move!’ Andy laid in on his horn with all his might, as if that would somehow encourage the cars to move more effectively. It did not work.
Warm tears welled in his eyes, and now they began to spill over. Andy did not acknowledge them, did not wipe them away. He simply rolled down the window of his car and yelled, ‘MOVE IT!’
The siren continued to flash and holler. A space opened up on the opposite side of the road and Andy wasted no time in driving straight over the divider into the oncoming lane, scraping his muffler across the top of the concrete. Cars came to a screeching halt. Mouths gaped. He sped through, his heart heavy like a block of ice in his chest. He had to get there fast. He had to know what had happened. He had to know where things stood. He had to see Jimmy.
‘Are you immediate family?’ the nurse asked.
Andy was slick with sweat. He had been stopped just beyond the main reception area of the hospital.
His heart pounded in his chest. It was hard to think.
‘Excuse me, sir, are you immediate family?’ the nurse asked again when he failed to respond.
Speechless with grief and anger, Andy flashed his badge and tried to shove past. She put up a hand to hold him back.
‘I am Detective Senior Sergeant Andrew Flynn,’ he explained. ‘My colleagues are in here. My partner, Jimmy Cassimatis, is here. I need to see him now,’ he demanded, somehow managing composed speech.
She pursed her lips. ‘Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to take a seat.’
What?
Andy shook his head, and ignoring her instruction tried to walk past her again. She put a hand against his shoulder. He wanted to break it off. A young nurse. Bloody hell. What was she doing?
‘I’m sorry, sir, I’m going to have to insist you take a seat in the reception area.’
‘I’m not taking a damn seat.’ In the midst of his anger a moment of inspiration. Carol. ‘Is Carol Richardson here?’
‘Why, yes she is.’ Recognition flashed across the nurse’s features. ‘Wait here.’
‘I need to see Carol Richardson immediately. I’ll be the one searching the damn halls.’ The inexperienced nurse looked gobsmacked as he pushed past her and strode down the corridor towards the elevator. Where would they be?
Emergency? Which direction was it again? He should know. He’d been there so many times. His wits had left him. He was panicking.
Carol was quick to find him. He spotted her jogging down the hall towards him in her whites, her pretty blonde hair pulled into a bun.
‘Andy! They told me you were here. It’s terrible what’s happened. I’m so sorry.’
She ran up to him and hugged him briefly. He was as rigid as a plank. She pulled away.
‘Where’s Jimmy?’ he said bluntly.
Carol took him by the hand and led him around a corner and down a different corridor away from the reception area. ‘Andy, I know you must be upset, but I think you should try to calm down.’
‘Carol,’ he said and stopped in the hall, ‘just tell me where the fuck Jimmy is and get the fuck out of the way.’
His words gave her pause. Her eyes widened, the mascara-coated lashes batting once, twice. She was clearly shocked by his manner. Truthfully, he was too.
Andy realised he was being rude and unreasonable, but he was unable to apologise. He needed to find Lewis, or someone who could tell him what had happened. He needed to get the lowdown on Jimmy and on Ed Brown.
‘Where’s Senior Sergeant Lewis?’ he demanded.
‘Room 311,’ she said softly and pointed towards the elevators.
No sooner had the words left her lips than Andy was jogging down the hallway away from her. Carol
let him go, helplessly. She knew him well enough to know she should not get in his way when he was like this.
Room 311. He stopped at the door. There were four beds in the ward. Inspector Kelley was already there. He looked pale. He noticed Andy at the doorway and they exchanged glances. There was a hard look in Kelley’s eyes, a battle-weary expression Andy had only seen a handful of times.
‘Officers down…We have officers down.’
Kelley gave a nod and rose from his seat beside the bed of one of the men. Andy couldn’t identify the patient because his head was so heavily bandaged.
Is that Jimmy?
‘Flynn,’ Kelley acknowledged him gravely, joining him in the hallway.
‘Holy fucking Mother of God,’ Andy said softly under his breath. ‘Who is that?’
‘Symond. Half his face is gone.’
‘What happened?’
‘Ed had the place booby-trapped, it looks like. Some kind of explosive.’ He cast his eyes over the men in the room, and back to Andy. ‘There was no body. It was a trick.’
My God
, Andy thought.
‘A booby trap? How?’
‘We don’t know yet. We’re getting statements from the guys who can speak. They were in some kind of underground tunnel system in Cape Banks when it happened. A couple of constables were on the surface and didn’t get hit. They say they heard something, but couldn’t be sure what it was. One of them went down and saw that it was a mess. And
no sign of our prisoner. They quickly raised the alarm.’
Where would Ed get explosives? How?
‘Lewis is fine, apart from some shock and temporary hearing loss. He was furthest from the blast, they think. He was across the room with Ed.’
Andy frowned.
And the men under his command are dying…
‘Hoosier might be blinded. The doctors say it’s fifty–fifty he gets his sight back. The crime-scene guys didn’t fare so well. Neither did audiovisual. They were right up close to the explosion. Parker lost fingers. Flemming lost an arm. Then there was shrapnel ripping through everything. The doctors think they will recover their hearing. We don’t know what kind of explosive it was but we’re hoping like hell that Ed was injured by the blast too. That would be the surest bet to catch the bastard. We’ve got eyes at the hospitals, medical centres, veterinary clinics, anywhere he might go to get fixed up. We don’t know how he slipped from Lewis’s grip.’
Andy drank up the information, but Kelley had left out one big piece of it.
‘How about Jimmy?’
‘It’s not good, Andy,’ Kelley said. Andy waited, but that was it.
‘Was he right in the blast? Was it shrapnel?’
‘No.’
Clearly Kelley didn’t want to say anything more. That was a very bad sign.
‘You don’t think he’s going to make it,’ Andy said flatly.
Kelley looked him in the eye, silent. There was a controlled rage in there, and emotion too. Kelley’s men had been seriously hurt. In some ways they were like children to him. He would want someone to pay.
‘Jimmy is in bad shape. Apparently he was unconscious at the scene. The doctors can’t say if or how he will pull through, something to do with his heart,’ Kelley said.
Andy stared wide-eyed, disbelieving.
‘Let’s sit down, Andy.’
‘No,’ he said. He didn’t want to sit. He didn’t want to relax. He didn’t want to calm down. ‘No, no…’
‘Andy…’
Andy noticed Carol behind him. He turned and she took him into the hall while Kelley returned to his men.
‘It’s terrible. I’m so sorry,’ she said, her eyes large with sympathy.
‘Tell me. Tell me the truth. What’s happened to Jimmy? What are his chances?’
‘They don’t know, Andy,’ she admitted. ‘I wish I could give you an answer but I can’t. He has AF. He’s been on Warfarin.’
‘What?’
‘AF, atrial fibrillation. The atria in his heart don’t pump the blood effectively. Your partner has been a stroke waiting to happen, Andy. He’s been on blood-thinning medication to avoid blood clots. Unfortunately, that means his internal bleeding was excessive…’
‘What happened to him?’
‘He was struck on the head with a shovel, probably in some kind of struggle.’