The Profiler (37 page)

The clock on the dashboard told her it was just after six. With her cell phone on hands-free, she dialed Clayton’s number. Excitement coursed through her when he picked up.

“Hey, there gorgeous,” he exclaimed. “I was just thinking about you. My plane just landed. It’s good to be back up here and into some warmer weather.”

Ellie grinned, glancing across at the heater she’d turned up full blast.

“So, how’d you go with your door-knocking? Any luck?” he asked.

“Well, I’m not sure. Seven out of the eight on my list were non-contenders, but the last one was interesting.”

“How so?”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s anything, really. Just a bit of a hunch. Lex Wilson is a wood carver. He’s got a shed out the back of his house where he makes wooden dolls.”

Clayton’s tone sharpened. “Dolls?”

“Yes, and the other thing that’s interesting is that he does the late shift on Tues—”

“Dolls. Fuck, it’s him. The taxi driver from the airport. Lex Wilson.
Fuck
. Did you speak to him?”

Ellie frowned at the urgency in Clayton’s voice. “What do you mean, the airport?”

“Ellie, did you speak to him?” His voice was tighter.

“No, he was at work. I just told you he works the late shift—”

“On Tuesdays,” he finished. “It fits. It all fits. It’s him. I can’t believe it. It’s him. The fucking taxi driver.”

Ellie’s heart faltered. “How can you be so sure? Just because he’s a wood worker, doesn’t mean—”

His breath came harsher through the phone. “I caught his cab the first night I arrived. I remember the name. He told me about the dolls. It’s him, Ellie. I’m sure of it. Please, trust me on this. Where are you now? I hope you’re still not at his house.”

“No, I’m heading back to the station. I was going to review the files on the missing freezers. You wouldn’t believe it; I finally remembered why the name Wilson seemed familiar. It’s the name of the owner of the van seen by Ronald Carter. Michelle Wilson. I received the results from the Roads and Maritime Services a few days ago.

“That’s it. Ellie, that’s it. The freezers. He’s using them to store the bodies. The parts he’s saving. They’re in the fucking freezers.”

Cold fear prickled her scalp. Her breathing laboured. Clayton was right. It did fit.

“Get yourself back to the station,” Clayton ordered. “The traffic’s banking up over here, but I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

Ellie shivered at the urgency in his voice. “Okay. I’m on my way.”

She ended the call and returned her attention to the road. A fat drop of rain splattered against her windscreen and she frowned. She hadn’t even noticed the gathering clouds. Night had settled in, along with the storm.

The first drop was followed quickly by another and another. She flicked her wipers on and soon had to turn them up high when the rain hit with a vengeance.

Early evening traffic was still heavy as people rushed home from work, eager to get inside out of the storm. Her thoughts were a jumble of fear and excitement. They had him. They
had
him!

She had to call Ben. They needed to put together an arrest team. Wilson was at work until late. It would be safer to arrest him at his home. She prayed he wasn’t out there now trolling for another target.

A jagged arc of lightning lit up the sky in front of her and she jumped. The sound of the thunder that followed it a few moments later reverberated through the car. Ordinarily, she loved to watch the power and fury of a storm—when she was safely inside four solid walls.

It was a different matter experiencing one from inside what felt like the insignificant nothingness of the squad car.

Accelerating as much as she dared through the blinding rain, she made her way along the four-lane highway toward the heart of Penrith, and refuge.

A loud clunking sound came to her over the noise of the storm. The steering wheel tightened in her hands and the vehicle pulled to the right.

With an effort, she corrected her direction and centered the car in the lane. Again, it pulled to the right. The noise got louder and suddenly, she realized what it was.

A flat tire
.
Just
what I need.

With a glance in her rear-view mirror, she lifted her foot off the accelerator. The car limped to the side of the road. Switching off the ignition, she turned on the hazard lights and punched the station’s number into her phone. There was no way she was going to climb out into what had become a deluge to change it.

The call finally connected and she explained her predicament to the switchboard operator.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” the woman said, “but the truck’s already out on a call. I’m sorry, but you’re the second officer to call in a flat tire in the last ten minutes. They’ve only just left for a job over at Glenbrook. It’s difficult to say, but they could be gone awhile—at least an hour or so.”

Her shoulders slumped on a loud groan. “An hour?”

“Or so. Could be less; you never know your luck.”

“Yeah, the way mine’s been going, I’ll be lucky to see them before midnight.”

The operator chuckled. “Well, they’re not exactly known for their punctuality and in this weather, who knows?”

“Gee, thanks for your support and understanding.”

“Hey, I’m not the one stuck on the side of the highway.”

She ended the call on another heavy sigh and peered in the rear-view mirror at the bank of car lights behind her. She could probably catch a taxi. That would be quicker than waiting for the tow truck.

A shiver of unease trickled down her spine. Lex Wilson was somewhere out there. Right now. In his taxi.

She shook her head. She was being silly. What were the chances of coming across him? There were hundreds of cabs on duty right now. It was peak hour. She’d hail a cab and get back to the station. It would probably take her ten minutes, fifteen, max. And then she’d see Clayton again and together they’d work out how they could put Wilson away forever.

With newfound courage and resolve, she dialed the station and left details of her change of plan with the switchboard operator. The rain had eased slightly, but was still coming down. Taking another look out the back window, her heart leaped in gratitude when she spied what she was looking for.

The cab was still a fair way back, but headed in her direction. She leaned across and picked up her handbag from where it sat on the passenger seat and pulled her phone out of the car kit. Tugging the keys out of the ignition, she pushed them under the floor mat.

Glancing again through the rear-view mirror, she judged the distance about right to give the driver enough time to see her and pull over. Bracing herself against the rain, she opened the door and climbed out, dragging her handbag with her. Hailing the cab with an outstretched arm, she sighed in relief as an indicator came on and the taxi moved across the lanes of traffic toward her.

It came to a stop behind her vehicle. She hurriedly covered the short distance and went to open the rear passenger side door. It was locked.

Damn!

She tapped on the window, hoping the driver would notice. He didn’t respond and she surmised he couldn’t hear her over the storm. She tried the front passenger seat and the door cracked open. She thought briefly of Clayton and their conversation about riding in the front, but the rain was soaking through her clothing and the odds of stumbling into the killer’s taxi were next to slim. With a sigh, she opened the door wider and collapsed onto the seat.

“Oh, thank God you came along,” she breathed. “You’ve made my day. I thought I’d be sitting out here half the night.”

The driver smiled, showing perfect, even teeth, starkly white against his dark, scruffy beard. “No problem, I’m happy to be of service. Where can I take you?”

Ellie returned his smile gratefully. “You wouldn’t believe it, my car’s got a flat tire. Of all the days to get a flat, I have to pick the wettest evening we’ve had for over a month. Is that bad luck, or what?” She relaxed against the seat, brushing at the errant raindrops that clung to her skirt and jacket.

The driver’s smile was slow and thoughtful. “I think we make our own luck, good, bad or indifferent.”

“I guess that’s one way to look at it.” She pushed her handbag onto the floor near her feet, only realizing afterward she still held her phone in her hand.

“So, where are you going?”

“Penrith Police Station. I’m on my way back to work.”

The man nodded. “Of course, you’re a police officer.” He turned away and manoeuvred the cab into the traffic.

Ellie glanced at the clock on the dashboard and dialed Clayton’s number. He answered on the second ring.

“Hi. I’m sorry, Ellie. I’ve been caught in traffic. The rain’s a bitch. I’m probably still about fifteen minutes away.”

She smiled into the phone. “Don’t worry, so am I.”

“Really?” His voice held a touch of concern. “You should have been there ages ago.”

“Well, that was the plan, but I got a flat tire. It’s pelting down out here and the tow-truck’s at least an hour away.” She glanced at the driver who was pretending not to listen. “But it’s all right. I caught a cab a few minutes ago. I’ll probably arrive about the same time you do.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you soon.”

“Looking forward to it.” She ended the call and kept hold of the phone. She couldn’t be bothered hunting around in the dimness of the car for her bag. With a sigh of anticipation, she settled back against the seat.

* * *

Lex Wilson couldn’t believe it. The girl from the newspaper clipping was in his cab. She looked a little older and her hair was shorter, but he was sure it was her.

Excitement curled in his gut. She looked more like Snow White than Rapunzel, but if he took her, he could finish his creation tonight. He could barely sit still at the thought. It was perfect.
She
was perfect.

She’d even been okay to sit in the front seat. He wasn’t a religious man, but even he could tell it was a sign. This was meant to be.

Too bad she was a police officer. He’d known that, of course. The newspapers had been full of it. The irony of the policewoman attending the scene of the accident, only to discover her son was the victim. The pleasure of it had been excruciating. Almost as excruciating as watching the horror on his mother’s face when he’d switched on her hairdryer and had tossed it into the bath with her. She’d died with her face frozen in terror. He chuckled at the memory.

But something told him to proceed with caution. Killing police officers was not something he’d do lightly. He’d never once even considered tracking her down to add to his collection. But she’d found
him
. It was karma. It was fate. It was meant to be.

His wife, Michelle, knew about his mother, of course. It was the reason he’d ended up in the orphanage. He’d never known his father and after his mother’s untimely accident, the poor little boy who’d discovered her dead in the bath, had been placed in temporary foster care.

His mother’s family, the few who had turned up for the funeral, had patted his head and expressed their sympathy, but that was where their charity had ended. There were numerous excuses as to why none of them could possibly take the young boy in. Two weeks after he’d buried his mother, he’d arrived at the Wallsend Home for Orphans.

If he’d thought his life would improve with the death of his mother, he’d thought wrong. He was bullied and teased by the staff and other children, alike. Nothing he did earned praise. He was continuously punished for the slightest indiscretions. To his horror and shame, a few weeks after his arrival at the orphanage, he started wetting the bed again.

Life descended into hell. For six long years, he suffered in silence, vowing one day to get even. The only bright spot in the entire sorry saga was his wife, Michelle.

Right from the start, she’d been his champion. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her support, but not a night went by that he wasn’t grateful for it. If it hadn’t been for Michelle, he was certain he would have died, along with the nameless others that were buried in the back garden of the orphanage.

As soon as they were able, they left the place behind them and struck out on their own. At sixteen, life on the streets was hard, but they had each other, and that’s all that mattered.

It was his idea to return and end the life of Richard Weston. The dorm master had made it his mission to single Lex out for punishment as often as he could get away with it. The memory of scrubbing filthy urinals with his toothbrush whilst Weston pissed on his head would stay with him forever.

The man deserved to die and Lex had vowed he’d make it happen.

In the end, Weston had died with hardly a whimper. Procuring a handgun from a friend off the street, Lex and Michelle had snuck into the dorm master’s suite in the dead of night. Weston had woken with the pistol jammed against his temple. Within seconds, it was done. They’d left as quickly and as silently as they’d come and had never returned.

They’d never spoken of it again, but Lex had never forgotten the indescribable euphoria the moment Weston’s heart stopped beating. It had reminded him of his mother’s death. It reminded him how much he hated people in authority and how he would never be under the control of anyone again.