The Charlton Affair (24 page)

Moving absently from room to room, unable to remain still, she called Darren.

“Charlie, it’s 5 AM,” he complained groggily. Clearly she’d woken him.

“Sorry, Darren, can you call Middleton and find out if there’s any news?”

“Sure,” he grumbled, ending the call.

Ten minutes later he called her back.

“Nothing new at all. She said the Inspector has been at the station all night. They’re all conscious that time is ticking and they’re working as hard as they can.”

“Thanks Darren,” Charlie said dismally.

*****

Sally and Phillips sat in an unmarked car outside the gym in Bowen Hills all morning and into the afternoon. At 1 PM, Phillips got out of the car and walked to a cafe where he purchased food and coffee before heading back to the car.

They sat munching on toasted sandwiches, discussing the case.

“They need to look earlier than 0400 with the CCTV,” Phillips said around a mouthful of buttery, cheesy toasted bread.

“Yup,” Sally agreed, chewing her sandwich, “I told Cooper the same thing.”

“If they go back to 0200, it’d be better. He could’ve been sitting there waiting for hours before he got to the cameras for all we know.”

She nodded, swallowing.

“So far, they’ve just got trucks and a few vans,” he continued.

She nodded again, chewing. Eventually she said, “Maybe they should forget about the morning and just look for vehicles in the 1500 to 1600 time-slot. We know for sure that’s we he left the apartment block. So what if they get hundreds of vehicles, it’s the same amount of time they’re spending looking through the earlier shit.”

“Yeah,” Phillips replied. “I said that to Cooper.”

“Cooper is pretty bloody stressed,” Sally remarked.

“Yeah,” Phillips replied. “You want to see stressed, how’s Michael Rawlins?”

She agreed with him, adding, “I thought he was going to have a breakdown when we told him Phoebe was missing. There’s no way he’s guilty. Poor bastard. He was really upset about his family when I interviewed him yesterday. Darren Franks told me they got his psychiatrist to give him the news about his sister last week. Michael said he could remember how nasty his older brother was now. A real bully.”

“We should drop the charges,” Phillips mused.

“Yeah, I’ll speak to the Inspector about it,” Sally agreed.

“And how was the Inspector this morning?” Phillips said in a surprised tone.

“I was pretty amazed. Not such a hard-arse after all,” Sally said.

A car turned the corner heading down toward the gym. They watched it. It drove past and it wasn’t a Nissan.

Phillips turned to look at Sally and said, “Do you think it’s the older brother. After all these years?”

Sally thought about it for a moment before replying, “Anything is possible in this case. My gut tells me it’s him. There just isn’t anyone else with any sort of motive. I think he’s some sort of sociopath.”

Phillips pondered for a moment before saying, “Maybe the blood they found will come back with a DNA signature close to Michael’s? If it does, then we know you’re right.”

“It’ll take ages to get DNA analysis. You know how backed up scientific services are,” Sally commented.

They took turns to walk to the nearest pub to relieve themselves before settling back in to wait.

*****

Phoebe lay stiffly still on her bed. The terror came in waves. Sometimes she could keep it down and other times it was all she could do not to scream and beg for help.

She had managed to examine the room closely on one of the many occasions she was awake through the previous night. He had not commented on her activities. Presumably he was enjoying a night of sleep.

The room had no way to get out. The walls were brick and not plasterboard. The ceiling was made of sheeting but she couldn’t get up to reach it. The furniture was all steel frame and bolted to the concrete floor. The door hinges were not exposed on her side. Even if she had a tool to release them she couldn’t get to them. There was a sort of slot in the lower portion of the door with a metal plate over it. It was locked from the other side.

She remembered reading somewhere about the trauma response. She knew that humans did one of three things. They fought, flew or froze, unable to act. She felt as though she kept experiencing all three reactions. She was incredibly exhausted. She had been nodding off for short periods, only to wake again in sheer terror.

Suddenly she heard movement. Heavy footsteps were coming toward her. She cringed and shrank under her thin blanket. The solid hinge was lifted and the plate in her door lifted. A plastic pack was unceremoniously shoved through and the hinge was shut again.

A cheerful male voice sang out, “Enjoy your meal!”

Footsteps faded as he walked away. Again she heard the clang of a heavy door and then nothing.

Famished, she grabbed the sandwiches and ate them, leaving not a crumb behind.

As she sat on the edge of her cot she reflected on the voice. It was familiar to her, but she couldn’t place it. Sitting still in the silence, she waited for the lights to go off again. She suddenly heard the very faint sounds of a car starting up and driving away.
Maybe he’s going somewhere? After
lying back down on her cot, she was finally able to catch some fitful sleep.

Chapter Sixteen

Amanda had an extra monitor plugged into her computer at home, to give her dual screens. It was a dismal Sunday morning. Still in her pajamas and clutching her coffee, she displayed Mark’s Facebook page on one screen. She used the other screen for searches about things of interest on Mark’s page. Methodically, she went through his friends and the mountains of other information on his page.

She had already done the same for Phoebe with no interesting results. Mark was a lot more active on Facebook than Phoebe, so it was a much bigger task. Unlike Roman, most of his connections were business related.

Determined to find something she might have overlooked, she went over everything yet again. Eventually she gave up in sheer frustration. She couldn’t believe how awful it felt to know that Phoebe was missing and there was nothing she could do about it. Mark too, if he was innocent and she thought he most likely was. She was completely out of leads.

She had been previously grateful her husband was away fishing this weekend but she began to miss him now that she was at a dead end. After shutting down her computer, she had a shower and got dressed. She pottered around for a little while, watering the plants and unloading the dishwasher. Then, not really sure why she was doing it, she called Michael Rawlins.

“It’s Amanda Jessop.”

“How can I help you?” He replied, his voice sounded depressed.

“Can I come over and show you some photographs?”

“Sure,” he said.

“What time suits you?” Amanda asked him.

“Whenever you like,” he replied despondently, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thanks. I’ll be over in about half an hour,” she said, ending the call.

*****

Phillips’ head lolled to one side as he drifted off to sleep. Sally didn’t wake him. It was mind-numbingly boring doing surveillance and they were both exhausted before they’d even started. After nearly eight hours in the car they’d seen nothing. The only thing that happened was that Everett had arrived at the gym thirty minutes earlier. He hadn’t seen them sitting in the car across the street.

She sat there watching for another fifteen minutes while Phillips slipped deeper into slumber. She reconsidered waking him when he began to snore. She was just about to shake his shoulder when a green Nissan Maxima pulled up outside the gym. She froze, staying as still as she could, not wanting them to be noticed.

A large muscular man got out of the car, gym bag in hand, and went inside. She quickly woke Phillips. A few seconds later, Phillips’ phone rang.

“Phillips,” he answered it, sounding tired.

“It’s Tim Everett, Morrow is at the gym,” a voice whispered.

“OK. Text me if he looks like he going to leave,” Phillips replied and ended the call.

“That was Everett. He sounded like he was whispering in a toilet cube or something,” Phillips said.

Sally nodded, thinking furiously. She wanted to bring the man in, but she knew she didn’t have reasonable grounds. In fact she had no grounds. All she had was a gut feeling and the fact that he went to the same gym as the murdered woman’s brother. There was nothing at all to connect him to the disappearance of Phoebe Rawlins or Mark Mitchell or any of the other crimes.

No matter what the Inspector said, if she couldn’t come up with a legitimate reason to bring him in, they would be acting illegally if they arrested him. If he did turn out to be a suspect, an illegal arrest might ruin any investigation against him.

Facing Phillips, she said, “We know he’s using steroids, maybe we should search his locker?”

Phillips nodded, “It worked with Everett. We should definitely check out his car before we go in, too.”

Unable to think of anything else, Sally agreed and they got out of the car and went over to the Nissan. Walking around the car, she noticed there was a small crack in the windscreen. Phillips smiled and withdrew his service weapon. He smashed the butt against the crack. The crack was now much larger and spread half way across the windscreen.

Smiling at Phillips, she said, “This vehicle is defective.”

He smiled back.

Keen for action, he said, “It’s a start. We can at least speak to him about it. Who knows, maybe if we’re lucky he’ll punch me! Let’s go get him.”

Sally followed him inside. They walked past the unattended front counter, into the weights room. Morrow was using the leg press. Walking straight up to him, Phillips shoved his police identification in his face and said, “Is that your Nissan out the front?”

Surprised, Morrow frowned at Phillips and said, “What’s it got to do with you?”

He was not at all intimidated by Phillips. Sally stepped forward and said, “It’s a defective vehicle.”

Morrow shrugged, saying, “Go put a notice on it and leave me alone.”

He didn’t even bother to get off the machine. Ignoring Phillips, he lined up his next leg press.

She could see Phillips was getting angry. Before he could say anything, she said, “It’s not that simple. We need to see your license and your registration papers. Get off the machine and accompany us outside now please, sir.”

Sighing, Morrow complied. When he stood up she could see he was as tall as Philips but much heavier in size. With his barrel-like chest and huge arms, he certainly could be the man in the CCTV footage.

“I’ll just get my stuff,” he said, draping his towel around his neck and stomping off to the change room.

Phillips and Sally trailed after him. She waited outside the change room while Phillips followed him inside. After a moment, she stuck her head around the corner to see Morrow grabbing his wallet and keys from his locker. Closing his locker, he said to Phillips, “I’m going to use the head.”

Phillips waited while he entered a toilet cube and closed the door. Sally stepped into the locker room and stood beside Phillips.

Suddenly they heard the sound of glass breaking. Without hesitation, Phillips ran at the toilet door, throwing his weight against it. It took him one more attempt before the lock broke and the cube door swung open violently.

The window behind the toilet was smashed. Morrow’s legs and feet were disappearing as he slithered through the opening. Jumping onto the toilet seat, Sally made a dive for his feet but was too late. He crumpled to the ground outside below the window, got up and ran off. Launching herself through the opening, she got up and ran after him, closely followed by Phillips.

Morrow scaled the five-foot fence at the rear of the gym and ran into someone’s backyard. Sally fell behind as Phillips overtook her, leaping over the fence with ease. She could hear a dog barking somewhere in the distance. Knowing she would never keep up with the two men, she stopped and used her phone to call for some back-up patrol cars to search the area.

Heading back to the gym, she went out the front and got their car. Driving around to the next street, she saw Phillips running but she couldn’t see Morrow. She picked him up and they drove around the corner. Morrow was nowhere in sight. Cursing, they drove around the local streets, hoping to find him. Phillips liaised by radio with the uniformed patrol cars converging on the area, describing Morrow to them. No one saw him anywhere.

Suddenly she realized what must have happened. After slamming on the brakes, she swung the car around and drove full speed back to the gym. When they got there, Phillips bashed his fist against the dash. The Nissan Maxima was gone.

“Fuck!” he cursed loudly.

Sally grabbed the radio and called in the plate number, asking for an urgent be-on-the-lookout for the vehicle to be transmitted Brisbane-wide. The radio operator confirmed the BOLO and got back to Sally with the plate details and address. It was registered to a Mrs. Myrtle Stanforth, of Ashgrove.

Sally had a sinking feeling they’d completely lost him. He’d never come back to the gym now. The only way they’d find him was if a patrol car picked him up. Morrow struck her as being far too cool-headed to allow that to happen. They had totally underestimated him. The Inspector would give them hell for it, even though he had underestimated the situation too. There was nothing for it but to let him know.

Sally dialed Marsh and updated him. As expected, he cursed and carried on. She was waiting for him to tell her she was off the operation altogether, but he didn’t.

“Middleton, get over to Ashgrove and see if the owner of the vehicle sold it to our man or what,” Marsh ordered. He added, “I’ll get some uniforms to search his gym locker and look for any infringements listed against the vehicle. Report to me when you get back.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

*****

Amanda knocked on Michael’s door. He let her in and she followed him to his kitchen. Michael was clean-shaven, and well presented. His house was neat and tidy. It was the complete opposite of the previous occasion she had visited him there with Darren.

After making coffee for them both he led her out onto his deck. She sipped appreciatively, admiring the view of the broad expanse of the Brisbane River, flowing languidly.

“Phoebe used to love sitting out here,” Michael remarked.

“I can see why,” Amanda replied.

He said, “How can I help?”

She pulled her computer out of her shoulder bag and opened it to show him the images she had taken of Sanchez and his large companion outside the gym the day before.

“Do you know who they are?”

“That’s Marita’s little brother, Henri,” Michael replied. He added, “I don’t know the other man.”

“Oh well, it was worth a shot,” she said despondently.

“Sorry,” he replied, his voice matching her mood.

She asked him how he was going. He avoided the topic of Phoebe’s disappearance. She knew it was weighing heavily on him. His every movement and look betrayed the depth of his pain and frustration.

Instead, he described how he felt when his psychiatrist told him about his sister being sexually abused and how he could remember so much more now. None of it was very nice. His memories were painful for her to hear and clearly it hurt him to relate them. He was fragile and open but determined not to bury anything, determined not to keep secrets. She listened, utterly fascinated.

He detailed his progress with his psychiatrist and told her about his upcoming appointment for therapy. He explained that he was going to see Phoebe’s therapist, Doctor Briggs.

“I get it now,” he explained, “the less I push it down and away, the more I can remember.”

He’s really turned a corner
, she thought.
I hope he can find his way through this
, she thought, admiring his resolve.

*****

Phillips knocked on the door of a well-kept Queenslander home in Ashgrove. Sally was standing next to him, admiring the perfectly painted fretwork along the old verandah.

A middle-aged man answered the door. Phillips flashed his police identification and introduced them.

“I’m Brian Stanforth. How can I help you, detectives?”

“Actually we’re looking for Mrs. Myrtle Stanforth. Is she here?” Phillips said.

“My mother lives in a nursing home now. Iona Village at Kenmore,” replied Brian.

“Right,” said Phillips. “Actually, we’re here about her car. The green Nissan Maxima.”

“She sold that over six months ago,” Brian said, his expression puzzled.

“Can you tell us what you know about the sale?” Phillips asked.

“Come inside. The papers will be in here somewhere.”

They followed him into his study. He fished around inside several storage boxes until he came up with a small folder marked ‘Mum’s car’ and handed it to Phillips. Phillips leafed through it while Sally looked at Brian and asked him if this was his mother’s house.

“My wife and I have been living here for the last few years, looking after Mum. But she fell and broke her hip about nine months ago and spent ages in hospital. The rehab people came out and looked and said this place was no good for her. Too many stairs and places to trip. You know what these old Queenslanders are like. She misses the place but Iona is good for her.”

Sally nodded sympathetically.

“Why do you want to know about Mum’s old car?”

“It looks like it was never transferred out of your mother’s name by the purchaser. Has your mother received any fines or tickets in the mail since you sold it?” Sally asked.

“No. But if I remember correctly, the registration is due next month. That’ll come here if he never transferred it.”

“Did you sell it for her or did she deal with directly?”

“I sold it,” he replied.

“Do you remember the man you sold it to?”

“Certainly do. A large bloke. I remember thinking he must spend hours at the gym every day. Very fit looking for an older man.” Brian said.

“How old do you think he is?” Sally enquired.

“He has to be in his forties,” Brian replied.

Sally agreed with his assessment. Morrow looked about that age and there was no denying his level of fitness. He had run rings around the much younger Phillips.