Night Realm (23 page)

“That’s what I do,” he said and wiped his face clean. “I generally leave the carcasses behind for other animals to feed on.
”

Arm in arm they walked back to the car. Travis drove her home then, leaving with the promise of seeing her again tomorrow night. All night long Chelsea’s sleep was disturbed by weird dreams, some
quite pleasant and some nothing short of terrifying.

Ryan awoke early the next morning. The money was in his account so he booked a midday flight to Melbourne. He also arranged an overnight stay in an inner-city hotel, with the option of an extension if he required one.

He had breakfast of sausages and eggs and even made some for his sister, just in case. After packing a small suitcase, Ryan woke Chelsea up and told her he was going away for a day or two. She was in a strange sort of a mood and he struggled to figure it out. In the end he gave up trying and went downstairs to wait for the taxi.

The taxi was late, but he’d allowed plenty of time to get to the airport before the flight. Congestion was high heading south on the M1 due to constant road upgrades. The construction had been going on for years. Surely one day it would be finished.

The plane was on time and roughly two and half hours later he was landing at Tullamarine Airport in Melbourne.
Once he had his suitcase, he located a taxi outside the terminal building and gave the Indian driver the address of his hotel in the city. It took a while to get there as traffic was heavy and the airport was located a fair distance away from the heart of the city. The taxi double parked outside the
Concord Hotel
in Lonsdale Street and Ryan quickly paid the driver and got out.

The sky was overcast and threatened drizzle. It had been some years since he was in Victoria’s capital and he couldn’t say he was glad to be back. Melbourne wasn’t really his kind of place. Great for boutique shopping, cultural events and dining out, but just the shades of grey that made up the city depressed him. Everyone looked like they were in a mad hurry to get somewhere. There was stress on the faces of people who passed him in the street and it just had a vibe that he didn’t like. He much preferred the relaxed atmosphere and sunshine of the Gold Coast. It was more him.

Each to their own, he thought and entered the hotel lobby.

Once he’d checked in a porter took his bag from him and showed him to his room. The elevator stopped on the fourth floor and his room ended up being located down the far end of a hallway carpeted in plush red pile.
The door was opened via a plastic access card. Ryan’s bag was placed inside, he was handed the card, then the porter left him to it.

More red carpet of a slightly different design covered the floor of his small, but comfortable room. There was a double bed decked out in red and white
with black trim, a desk with internet access and phone, two bedside tables with touch lamps, and a tiny bathroom with mini spa bath, shower cubicle and mandatory toilet. The view out the window overlooked the building next door, which pretty much blocked the view of everything else bar the grey sky. There was air conditioning and heating, as well as a fan and television. Tourist paraphernalia was neatly spread out in a fan pattern on the desk, beside which were some telephone books. Next to that was a kettle, mugs and a basket of coffee, tea and sugar. The small bar fridge under one end of the desk held some little containers of long-life milk and a few local beers and designer water.

Ryan made himself a coffee
, then sat down at the desk and took out his pages of information that he had on Dr Becker. He skimmed through them, picked up the phone and dialed the Research Institute’s main phone number. He decided to just try the direct approach first.

When the phone was answered by
Reception, he said, “Hello. I’d like to make an appointment to see Doctor Marlon Becker, please.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor Becker doesn’t take appointments,” came the curt reply from a woman who sounded like she was in her fifties.

“But he is working there at the moment?” Ryan probed.

“Yes, he is. He’s here doing research. But he’s not a physician, you know. He doesn’t see patients.”

“I’m not a patient. I’m a med student interested in learning more about his work.” Ryan was just winging it at the moment. “I’m a huge fan of his.”

“Well, in that case you would need to send him an email, at which time he will get back to you of his own accord. But I warn you, he’s extremely busy and rarely gives anyone a
n audience.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Ryan hung up.

Well, that was useless, he thought. An email. Hmm. How long would he have to wait for a reply on that? Not an option.

Maybe he didn’t need to meet face to face with Becker anyway? Maybe all he needed to do was get inside his office for a looksee?

But how?

He didn’t imagine he could just wander freely about the Institute. And even if he got in
side, would Becker’s office be accessible?

Ryan had a few ideas formulating in his mind, but what he really needed to do was team up with a useful frien
d he had down here in Melbourne, someone who was adept at gaining access to restricted areas. He made a call and arranged a meeting at Southgate for six o’clock.

*  *  *

Marks never went home last night. Just something about hanging out in an empty house didn’t appeal to him right now, so he’d stayed at his office overnight and got a few hours sleep on a small couch he had tucked away in a corner.

He’d awoken early and spent a few hours listening to the various interviews and conversations he had stored on his voice recorder. He also went over all the paperwork and details pertaining to the two murder cases.

At least it all took his mind off Linda and his seemingly-failed marriage.

He had a coffee in front of him and he took a sip.
Having finished with his perusal of all the case materials, his mind
was
now lingering on his wife. He knew, deep down, that it was over between them. Really it had been for some time. Neither of them had wanted to admit it and do something about it, though. Until now.

How come it was almost
invariably the woman that made the first move towards a break up? he wondered. The detective in him didn’t have the answer to that question. Matters of the heart weren’t his forte. When it came to figuring out how relationships worked and how to be a good husband, he felt he was all at sea, drifting about like a rudderless ship.

Marks slowly shook his head, then ran a hand over the smooth skin of his bald scalp.
As per habit he toyed with his goatee as he rued the fact that his eight year marriage was washed up. He absently sipped some coffee and let his tired mind wander wherever it wanted to go.

The phone rang and snapped him out of it.

“Hello? Detective Marks.”

It was Scott Richards from CSU. “All test results on Toby Matthews were normal,” he reported. “Sorry I don’t have anything more useful for you, David.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for the update, Scott.”

No sooner had Marks hung up the phone and a fax came through from QHSS. It was the results of evidence gathered by the SOCOs at the Toby Matthews crime scene. Marks wasn’t expecting much, given the fact that the rain had washed any superficial evidence away. As he read the document his presumptions proved correct.

Damn!” he spat and tossed the fax onto the floor.

He was getting frustrated. These cases and his personal life were both going nowhere at the same time. Things sucked right now and he needed to get out and clear his head.

Marks left his office and decided to go for a long drive. He didn’t care where he went. Anywhere would do.

*  *  *

It was just starting to rain lightly as Ryan left the hotel and walked south through the streets of Melbourne’s CBD. Southgate wasn’t far, only about three city blocks and then a crossover of the Yarra River via a pedestrian bridge. Although the scene was gloomy, it would still be daylight for about another hour.

Southgate was a complex of shops, restaurants, cafes and bars that overlooked the river. Being a Tuesday evening the place wasn’t particularly busy. Thankfully the rain had remained very light and Ryan was only a little damp by the time he arrived. He found his friend waiting for him at a downstairs bar. He was seated
at a long bench, on a stool in the corner. In front of him were two bourbons, one of which was awaiting Ryan’s arrival.

Jack Jones was often the subject of good-natured ridicule because of the commonness of his name. He always took it in his stride, as he did with most things. Ryan knew him from the Gold Coast, where Jack
had lived until recently. He was somewhere around thirty with dark brown hair that always looked a little unkempt; especially around the ears and the fringe. Jack was fairly short and Ryan towered over him by at least six inches. What he lacked in height he made up for in muscle, though. He was built like a Pit Bull, with barely an ounce of fat on his body. However, it wasn’t his brawn that Ryan required, it was his brain and expertise. While not a criminal in the strict sense of the word, Jack had an uncanny ability to be able to break into things and gain access to places people were not supposed to be able to gain access to.

The pair shook hands just as the drizzle turned into a torrential downpour. There was an overhang above them and a neatly-trimmed hedge divi
ding the bar from the footpath. For the most part, just so long as the wind didn’t change direction, they were out of the rain. There was the odd bit of overspray that came in, but nothing to be concerned about.

“Long time no see,” Ryan said as he took a seat. Jack slid the bourbon in front of him and Ryan immediately took a long sip. It was ice cold and the perfect balance of bourbon and Coke.

“So, what brings you to Melbourne?” Jack asked. He glanced out at the rain. “The weather?”

“Hardly.”

Ryan filled him in, giving him only the bare essentials in details. No reason for Jack to know more than he had to. Not that Ryan knew that much about it himself.

When Ryan was finished, Jack lit a cigarette and offered him one. Ryan hesitated a moment. He hadn’t smoked a cigarette for about five days now and was doing well. However, there was always something to be said for sharing a vice with a colleague. Somehow it helped maintain trust and a rapport, so he accepted. Jack lit it for him and Ryan just let it smolder between his fingers for the time being.

“So,” Jack said. He inhaled on his cigarette and blew smoke out into the rain. “You don’t even really know what you’re looking for exactly.”

“No,” Ryan admitted and finally took a drag on his smoke. It tasted like charcoal in his mouth, but he still enjoyed it.

“Even if we manage to get you inside, how do you know you’ve found what you’re supposed to find?” Jack wanted to know. He took a sip of his drink and eyed Ryan expectantly.

Ryan shrugged. “I don’t think my client even knows exactly what she wants me to find. For some reason she’s very interested in this scientist’s latest research on blood disorders. Or recent research. I guess I just collect what I can and hope it’s enough.” He drew on the cigarette again and started to get head spins. “I’m just winging it on this one. If what I get is not enough, then I guess I’ll be coming back for more.”

“I can get you access,” Jack assured him. “But you know I don’t come cheap.”

Ryan nodded. “I have money. My client is making sure I can cover whatever expenses are necessary to get the job done.”

Jack frowned. “I wonder why your client could possibly want to gather research on blood disorders? Seems like a weird topic of interest. Unless she has a disease, or knows someone who has a disease, that she hopes to cure. Sounds like she can afford it, going by you.” He stabbed out his cigarette in an ashtray and immediately lit another. He nodded at the pack. “Help yourself whenever you want.”

More bourbons were ordered and
Ryan smoked a second cigarette. The rain continued to hammer down on the pavement outside the bar. The inclement weather rendered the cityscape solid grey, the monotony broken only by the yellowish, murky glow of lights that now burned in the buildings as night fell. They ordered some bar snacks, Ryan desperately needing something in his stomach as he was starting to feel seedy from drinking and smoking with no food.

“I’ll work this all out tonight,” Jack said and stuffed a potato wedge smothered in sour cream into his mouth. He chewed away happily and washed it down with more bourbon. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning sometime and we’ll meet up and go over the plan.”

“Sounds good,” Ryan said with a nod and lit his third smoke.

“But I’ll need my fee transferred into this account tonight.” Jack scribbled his
bank details on the back of a coaster and handed it to Ryan. “And tomorrow we’ll get your client what she wants.”

Selena Thorne paced the floor of the living room. Michael sat in a chair, watching his older sister with interest. The specially-fitted blinds that kept out the daylight had been raised now that night had fallen over their Guanaba home.