Covet (19 page)

And there, under the Jolly Green Giant, was Ben’s head, looking like a fleshy pink-coloured shrink-wrapped bowling ball, and almost as heavy. If you didn’t know what you were looking at it might take some time to figure out the contours. Suzie pulled it out and Ed took it out of her hands without saying a word. He turned it this way and that and examined it through the layers of Glad Wrap. He started to unwrap it.

Please don’t let him be mad at me. Please.

It had been a messy job. Unpleasant to be sure. The bathtub had been a swamp of flesh and blood by the time she was done. But it was nothing that hours of scrubbing had not eventually fixed. In the end, she had managed to fit Ben inside the freezer in
only eight pieces—head, torso, upper legs, lower legs and arms.

Ed had unwrapped part of the head, leaving only a layer or two of Glad Wrap around it, making the features of the face—eyelashes, swollen lips and tongue—visible beneath the clear plastic. He was now inspecting the other seven parcels with interest.

To Suzie’s delight, he did not seem upset at all.

He understands.

He loves me.

I’m so lucky to have found him. He is my perfect lovebird.

‘I guess this is goodbye,’ Makedde said.

Andy nodded.

The porter had taken her bags, and now they stood ill-at-ease in the foyer of her hotel suite. Andy had his hands in his pockets.

Don’t go.

Mak was wearing a woolly pullover that fell off one smooth, tanned shoulder, and a pair of designer jeans with stylish but unnecessary pockets all over them. They fitted her beautifully, as everything seemed to. She had flat shoes on for once, so she didn’t seem as tall as she usually did. Her hands were in her pockets as well, and her head down. Her carry-on bag, an oversized black leather purse, was on the floor by her feet. The door was closed behind them and Andy was painfully aware that this might be their last moment of privacy, perhaps ever. Her flight was at 21.35, less than two and a half hours away. She had to go. If he was going to do something, he had to do it now.

‘It’s probably for the best,’ Mak went on. ‘And if it’s not for the best, well…’ She offered a close-lipped smile and a tiny, restrained laugh. ‘Well, then
we will probably end up running into each other again anyway.’

That had seemed the way for them so far, brought together and pulled apart like a couple of rubber bands. Only now he had no conferences to fly to Vancouver for, and she had no more trials in Australia. What possible excuse would he have to see her again?

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you to the airport?’ Andy asked. He wanted very much to be there to see her off. It only seemed right after all they’d been through.

‘No Andy, please,’ she said. Her voice cracked. ‘I think this is best. They’ve got it all sorted. Karen will be here to pick me up any minute.’

‘Mahoney. Okay. Okay, I’ll leave it at that.’ He didn’t push it. He could see she was on the edge as it was.

But I don’t want to leave it at that, Makedde. I really don’t.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

Stay with me.

‘Will you let me walk you down to the car?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’ With that, she lifted her bag to her shoulder and moved towards the door. The moment was lost. That was it. She was leaving. He had not kissed her and told her to stay. He had not said the words he had rehearsed in his head. He had done nothing at all.

‘Mak,’ he said, his voice tight.

‘Yes?’

She turned to face him. Her eyes were bright and glittery, on the verge of tears. This was hard for her too, he could see that. She was covering it as best she could but he knew her too well to miss the pain running strong beneath her brave smile.

‘Um, I’ll get the door for you,’ he said weakly, having lost his nerve.

He held the door open for her and she started down the hall.

The two plainclothes police were waiting in the hallway. They did not look at Andy or acknowledge him, but walked one ahead and one behind Mak, leaving him tagging somewhere behind. The procession moved towards the elevator. Mak smiled and nodded to the woman behind the desk in the lobby. ‘Thanks for everything,’ she said. ‘Have a good day.’

Someone pressed the button to call the lift.

Do something. Anything. Tell her the truth. Tell her you don’t want her to go. Tell her you don’t think Thursday night was a mistake.

The elevator arrived and the four stepped into it in silence. Any feeling of intimacy was well and truly gone now. Packed in like sardines, Andy felt like he could not breathe, let alone speak. Mak was leaving. This was it. Should he do something when they got downstairs? Pull her aside? Was there something he could say? But what? Andy knew there was probably nothing he could say to make her stay. Not now. Ed Brown’s escape had sealed the fate of their relationship even more effectively than their misunderstandings. Mak was so guarded now
that she wouldn’t consider giving it another try. As possible as it had seemed that night at Bondi Beach, he now knew that the chances of a happy reunion, with Ed convicted and safely behind bars and both of them able to free themselves from the saga that had come so near to ruining their lives, were all but gone. For those few hours it had seemed within his reach. An illusion.

The elevator stopped on the ground floor. The doors opened. They stepped out on clean white tile. Sliding glass doors opened to the outside world. Andy ran his eyes over the patrons of the Cosmopolitan Café next door, people walking across the dark street, faces inside passing cars. He noticed a man standing in the shadows across the street, leaning against a wall on his own. He seemed to be looking their way.

Ed.

Then a woman in a long coat approached the man, and he lifted her off the ground and embraced her. Holding hands affectionately, they set off up the street, passing under a lamppost. He saw the man’s face. It was not Ed Brown. But that did not mean that he wasn’t out there watching, somewhere. He was dangerously cunning, always finding ways to get what he wanted—information, access. Andy automatically did another scan of the street. It looked clear.

Mak and her entourage had reached the unmarked car. Senior Constable Mahoney was behind the wheel. She nodded when she saw him. ‘Hey, Andy.’ She stepped out and leaned against the
door. The porter had Mak’s bags ready and loaded them into the car. He opened the passenger-side door for her and waited for her to get in.

Mak stepped up to Andy. His heart flew into his throat.

‘Goodbye, Andy. Thanks for everything,’ she said. The statement could only be a courtesy, nothing more. What could she possibly have to thank him for? ‘I hope Jimmy will be okay.’ She squeezed his hands affectionately as they hung tensely at his sides.

‘Take care of yourself, alright?’ she said. ‘I’m really glad we had that time together.’

Mak moved forward and hugged him before he could react. His throat felt like it had closed up. Her arms were around him, squeezing him tight, and then she was gone. She slipped into the car and the porter closed the door. Andy backed away in a daze. He had not said anything. Why hadn’t he said anything? Karen Mahoney caught his eye. She brought her hand up to her face in the sign of a phone, and mouthed, ‘Call you later.’ He nodded.

The car pulled away.

Andy didn’t wave. He didn’t move.

He felt as empty as a drum.

Andy Flynn watched the car disappear down Knox Street, and when it was gone he went in search of some Jack Daniels. He had noticed a bottle shop on the adjoining road. It was still open. He had a long restless night ahead and he could use the company.

The Prison Lady’s hand was still touching his arm.

Ed Brown wished she would remove it. He
needed
her to remove it—immediately.

The Prison Lady was growing impatient, that was obvious. Now that there were no bars between them she clearly expected him to propose. She clearly expected affection.

‘But sweetheart,’ she cooed, ‘when do you think we should get married?’ She stroked his face, and let her fingers run down his chest.

Those fingers…
touching
him.

The Prison Lady wanted sex.

SEX.

She wanted to have sex with him. He knew it.

She’d said she was a virgin, but look at her. She was just like the others. All women wanted one thing. They wanted
sex.
Ed was utterly repulsed by the thought of having sex…real live messy sex with flowing body fluids and sweat and unclean smells and germs and—

The Prison Lady put her hand on his shoulder again and Ed pulled away violently, ending up with his back against the wall, panting with real fear.

No!

The Prison Lady looked stunned and hurt by his response. Her painted face was screwed up with disappointment, her horrible mouth hanging open limply. ‘Darling, don’t you want to marry me any more?’ she whined, on the verge of tears. ‘Did I do badly to get this house for us?’ Her eyes were wide, pleading. She was desperate for his reassurance. Ed did not know what to make of the body in the freezer. Had she done that herself? For him? Had she done it on her own?

Ed knew that he could not afford to offend her. He still had to use her to get some money, otherwise this day of waiting would have been for nothing. It was Sunday night and her bank would be open on Monday. If he played his cards right, in less than twelve hours he could have, say, $20 000 in cash. Maybe even more. So far she had followed his every instruction, so why wouldn’t she withdraw her savings if he asked? He had made it this far and he only needed to last until the next morning. Killing her now would be wasteful. Simply wasteful. Once he had enough money to live he could discard her and he could find Makedde, wherever she was. He could follow Makedde across the world, to Canada, to Europe, whatever it took. But without the Prison Lady’s money he would have to learn to steal, and that would put him at risk of being caught. Ed was not a common thief. He despised thieves.

‘Did I do the wrong thing…?’

‘No, honey. You did good,’ Ed managed to say. When it came right down to it, he couldn’t care
less about the stiff in the freezer or how it got there. All he cared about was getting out, and getting fast money to live on and to find Makedde. ‘Just…I want to wait for the perfect moment for us before I propose,’ he explained. ‘You’ll see.’

He only needed to hold her off for a while longer without losing her trust and adoration. That would be hard. He had no experience in these matters. And little patience. Each time she got too close his violent thoughts were deafening. It was difficult to think.

Think about the money.

‘Darling, I love you.’ The Prison Lady stepped close to him. She put her hand on his arm again. Her mouth came dangerously close to his, that greasy lipstick threatening to touch his lips. ‘I’ve been waiting for you for so long. Let’s not wait too much longer.’

Ed did not reply. He was occupied in a struggle to quiet his violent thoughts.

Just kill her now. Just slice her up and leave her here. Take the stereo and go.

‘Don’t you love me, darling?’

Kill her. Slice her throat.

‘Honey…?’

Think about the money.

‘Sweetheart, yes, of course I love you,’ he said, holding back with every ounce of strength he had. ‘You are a beautiful woman.’ He managed to smile at her, and touch her limp hair with his right hand, which he would need to wash very soon. He had complimented her so much in the prison. What
had he said? What were the right words? The words from the television show she liked so much?

The Prison Lady still did not look happy. She sat down on the edge of the bed and pouted with her thin bird-lips. Ed had to think of something. If she kept touching him he would have to kill her, and that would be wasteful.

‘You are the only woman for me,’ Ed said. ‘I want you to be my wife.’

‘Oh, Ed!’

‘I will propose to you properly when the time is right. Just be patient.’

They’d talked about it in Long Bay. There was a stack of wedding magazines in the living room, crowned with a heart-shaped candleholder. He couldn’t have missed them. He only needed to string her along a little bit longer.

‘Please be patient. I love you,’ he said. ‘You are the only one for me.’

The words were coming to him now. He realised that he had successfully averted a terrible problem. His reassurances would keep her off him until he had her money.

Then she could die.

Andy held the bottle in both hands. Tears streamed freely down his face. A drop landed on the back of one hand and he quickly wiped it away as if it were acid, then stared blankly at the place where the moisture had been. He was shocked by his crying, not quite able to come to terms with it. Andy was not a man who cried. That was one of his late wife’s many criticisms of him. Cassandra had more than once accused him of having no emotions.

And look at me now.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have emotions. It’s just that emotions didn’t help anything. Emotions had no value. How could emotions help when a child lay murdered on the road and there was a crime to solve? How did emotions help when a good detective was in hospital and a sadistic psychopath was walking free?

The sight of the Cassimatis family at the hospital that morning had brought Andy to breaking point. Angie and the kids had a look in their eyes that he had seen before—the lost look of those uncertain about the future, uncertain about their faith and their place in the world. The sight of Jimmy’s desk
further brought the reality home. All day it had been empty, his mess of papers right where he’d put them before he had left for Long Bay to get Ed Brown. It just seemed wrong.
Unnatural.
What if Jimmy was never coming back? In his own perverse way, Ed had got the better of Andy once more. He had targeted Cassandra Flynn and murdered her and now he had got to Jimmy, too, slowly pulling away the vital parts of Andy’s life until the profiler who had hunted him and brought him in was as alone and isolated as the killer himself.

And Ed had come so close to taking Makedde. As long as he was out, she was better off far from Australia. It was only Andy’s selfishness that made him wish she had stayed. He should have been able to accept Makedde’s departure, but it seemed to compound his loss. When for months he had known she was coming to Sydney for the trial, it had been bearable to wait, to ignore the rift between them. He had let it slide, thinking that there would still be time to make things right. But now she was gone and she had no reason to come back. His chances were spent.

The words he had wanted to say to her, but had not, scrolled through his mind over and over again.

I love you, Mak. Stay with me.

‘Goddamm it, you didn’t say anything!’ he cried to the unresponsive ceiling. ‘Fool…’

He had not even waved goodbye.

The truth was, Andy thought Mak would have said no. Why would she stay to be with him? He had nothing to offer her.

You weren’t there for Cassandra. You weren’t there for Jimmy. You are a failure, a drunk…

His destructive thoughts were deafening, and the apartment he sat in, the swish new bachelor pad bought with his dead wife’s earnings, felt more than ever like an empty box. The walls were closing in around him. Caught in the throes of a desperate loneliness and grief that he could not,
would not
, accept for what it was, Andy’s every habit made him reach for his phone to talk with his injured and speechless partner, his late wife, his lover,
someone
to take his mind off its destructive course.

There was no one to call. There was no relief.

The only relief he knew was at his fingertips, the bottle waiting quietly to bless him with its mellow numbness—although the comfort would not be without consequence.

You are being evaluated tomorrow, Andy. If you do this, it’s over
, he reminded himself.

He stared at the bottle in his hands. It was the poison and the cure in one. If he gave in, and lost control, his career could be jeopardised for good.

Perhaps one sip won’t hurt?