The Mak Collection (19 page)

She went inside and flipped it open to her birthday. Skimming over assets like
charming
and
attractive
, a warning that she could be stubborn and the usual reference to her being born on Groucho Marx’s birthday, she came to a paragraph that disturbed her.
Those born on this day have a thing about violence
, it read.
Being disturbed by it, or tending to indulge in it. Violence is attracted to this person. They must learn to be less obsessed…

She slammed the book closed, making a loud noise that was rewarded by some strange looks from the other customers.
Violence? Attracted to me?
She slid the book back on the shelf, forcing the thought from her mind. She wandered back onto the street, into the crowd of surfers, hip locals and romantic couples.

As soon as Makedde entered the flat she grabbed the phone and dialled 013 for directory assistance, asking for “Terrigal Beach Resort”. Bingo.

Catherine was to meet the man she called JT at Terrigal Beach Resort. The only mystery was what sixteen and fourteen stood for. It wasn’t the tail end of the hotel’s phone number. Makedde took a guess and phoned the resort.

“Terrigal Beach Resort. How may I help you?” a woman asked in a perky voice.

“Could I have room sixteen-fourteen please?”

“I’ll just put you through.” The phone rang several times, then the woman came back on the line. “I’m sorry, you must be mistaken. Room sixteen-fourteen is unoccupied at the moment. Which guest were you trying to reach?”

“Um.”
What next?
“I have a message here to call my friend JT in room sixteen-fourteen. I’ve been
away though, so I’m not sure how old the message is. When was he staying there?”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t give out information about our guests,” the woman said firmly. “But if you’ll give me your name, I’ll check to see if there are any messages for you here. Otherwise you can give me the surname of the guest you are trying to reach and I’ll see if they are presently registered with us.”

Damn.

“That’s all right. I’ll call back later.”

Well, at least the mysterious scrawl was no longer so mysterious. Catherine had been planning a romantic weekend with her lover boy. But just who was he? Surely the police could access the hotel records and find out whose name the room had been reserved under.

Andy wasn’t due for a few hours, and Makedde couldn’t wait to tell him about her find. But first, she needed to indulge her curiosity. She tore the ad from the paper, and examined it again as she dialled the number. Her call was picked up after three rings.

“Hello, is this Rick?” she asked in her best breathless Marilyn.

“What’s your name, doll?”

“Debbie. I saw your ad.”

“You American?”

Sure, why not?
“Yes, I’m from L.A.”

“How old are you?” Rick’s voice had a nicotine growl. He sounded like he was at least forty.

“Uh, I’m twenty-three.”

“What’s your bust size, Debbie?”

“I’m a forty double D. Gosh, I hope I’m not too big.”

“No such thing, babe. And your waist size?”

“Well, that’s the funny thing, Rick. I only have a twenty-three-inch waist. I feel a bit self-conscious that I’m so top-heavy, but a photographer in L.A. wanted me to model some lingerie once, and he seemed really happy with the photos.”

“You a blonde?”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed.

“Natural?”

“Pardon?”

“A
real
blonde? All over?”

Yuck.
“Oh, yes. All over.”

They arranged a Wednesday night photo session and he gave her his studio address in Kings Cross. She giggled girlishly and asked if there was anything special she should bring.

“Stilettos. Knickers. I have some costumes here, too.”

I’ll bet you do.
“OK, see you then,” she said as seriously as she could manage.

She hung up and burst into hysterical laughter. Rick must be tickled pink to have a ditzy, top-heavy,
blonde Californian coming to his studio. He’ll sure be disappointed when he gets stood up. “A forty double D with a twenty-three-inch waist!” she screamed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

He had specifically asked her to wear stilettos, but then any glamour photographer probably would ask the same thing. She questioned whether a clever killer would be so direct. In Makedde’s experience, it was the ones who weren’t so obvious that were the real danger.

Detective Flynn stood at the front of the room, the anxious faces of his task force watching him intently, ready to take notes. He ached to get back to Makedde, and pictured her lying in bed, covers pulled back to reveal naked curves. He had managed to remove himself from the demands of the investigation for one enchanted evening, but he was back at the sharp end now, and he had a large team of men and women depending on his every word.

“First of all, I’d like to thank all of you for your dedication to this case, especially on a Sunday afternoon,” Andy began. “As you know, we have a fourth victim, actress Becky Ross. The autopsy just completed indicates that the time of her death was sometime late Thursday night or early Friday morning. Now, I will say it once more just to be sure that I’m making myself crystal clear. It is
vitally
important that we not allow any leaks about this case. If anything gets out, each of you will be in deep shit, got me? OK, enough of that.

“I’ve prepared a more in-depth profile of our
killer. There are copies for each of you.” He handed out the stapled photocopies and they passed them around. “Now remember, this is a general profile to be used as a tool in the investigation. Our killer is categorised as an ‘anger excitation offender’.” He looked up and caught the eye of some of his team. “That means he’s sadistic. He may not have started out showing such tendencies, but he’s certainly moving in that direction now—the latest murder confirms this. He is keeping his victims alive while he mutilates them.

“This type of offender will often use a con or a disarming line to lower the victim’s guard and gain confidence. During the attack he may say things like, ‘Call me Master’, or ‘Lord’ or something like that.”

Hunt barely managed to suppress a chuckle.

“Shut up and take notes, Hunt,” Andy snapped. “Or you’ll be the one assigned to check every sexual assault file for the past five years.”

Hunt shut up.

“He may ask his victim, ‘Does it hurt?’ He may ask her to beg and he may humiliate and call her names to satisfy his needs.” He watched Hunt’s face, daring him to comment. “He may take photographs or videotape during the attack. He may inflict wounds, as we have seen, to the parts of the body which have sexual significance to him; breasts, feet, vagina, anus, and so on. He has an obvious fetish for
feet and toes, and in this latest killing he removed the nipples of the victim. In an early stage of his deviancy he may have simply bitten or cut them in some way.

“Now, past sexual assault cases may give us more leads. Obviously, those in which the offender is currently serving time need not be included. This guy is very careful, but he may not have always been. He may have learnt some tips from other crims in prison or he may have his own little library on forensic procedure. The offender is likely to enjoy using sexual bondage apparatus and torture devices. He may keep trophies or a diary. He brings an assault kit with him containing weapons, sexual props and bindings. He may stalk his victims or plan the attacks in advance. Such attacks may last from four to as much as twenty-four hours before the victim’s death or release. Forensics agrees with this conclusion in the case of all four of our recovered victims.” “Psycho,” Jimmy muttered under his breath.

“I was just getting to that part. We are possibly dealing with a violent psychopath with a high IQ, which means he could be very charming and very convincing. All of his victims have been white and we believe he is also white. He is methodical and reasonably mature. I estimate he is in his mid-twenties to late thirties and lives in the Sydney area. He has a private place to commit these crimes and
hold his victims captive. This celebrity angle gives us a whole new perspective—he’s reading the papers, reading about himself, and he’s liking it. He reckons he’s famous now. It’s a fluke that the body wasn’t found earlier. He’s still not leaving them in hard to find places. He’s not that concerned about their discovery.

“OK, that’s it from me for now. Get to work on your assigned duties, and
communicate
. I want each of you to know what everyone else is up to at all times. For those of you working with Jimmy on this Rick Filles lead, he wants to say a few words.”

Jimmy stood up, grinning. “You’re a hard act to follow.” He moved to the front of the room, one thumb hooked in his belt loop under his spare tyre. “OK, Mahoney goes in at five o’clock. She’ll have the wire in her, uh…bra.”

Andy turned his back from his team and rolled his eyes. Jimmy had a way of sounding like he had no authority even when he was helping run a major investigation.

“Everything goes as we discussed,” Jimmy continued. “We’ll be in the van across the street. Mahoney’s hoping to find incriminating photos, weapons or bondage devices for forensics to test. If anything gets hairy, we haul her out of there pronto. Look you guys…and girls, we got a good lead here, so let’s nail him!”

Everyone cheered and rose from their seats.

“You have a way with words, Jimmy,” Andy remarked as they filed past him to leave.

It was late when Andy arrived at Makedde’s door, straight from work once again. He looked tired and stressed, but was happy to see her. Makedde had a lot she wanted to talk to him about, but she felt she needed to clarify a few things first.

“Andy—”

“Yes?” He leant over and kissed her unexpectedly. When they parted lips she felt a little light-headed.

“I think that last night—”

“Was wonderful,” he interjected.

“Well, yes,” she continued, “but I think things moved along a bit fast. I don’t normally—”

“Me neither.”

She looked up, sceptical. “Really?”

Andy stared straight into her eyes and said, “I don’t think either of us were expecting things to turn out this way. But I, for one, am glad that they have, regardless of the risks.”

Everything was too fast, too uncertain. Makedde didn’t know what to say. “Just realise that I don’t jump into things with both feet,”—
Yes, I do—
“and last night was different for me,” she blurted.

“Understood. Say no more.”

She smiled, relieved at having made herself clear.
Clear about what? Am I just trying to tell him I’m not that easy…usually?

Mak led him to the couch and they sat together. She wanted to change the subject. “OK. I’ve got something to share with you. You know the note that Catherine wrote, about JT and Terrigal and all that? Well, I figured out that she was going to meet her lover, who she calls JT, in room sixteen-fourteen at the Terrigal Beach Resort.”

Andy didn’t say a word.

“If you check the hotel records, you’ll probably find out who Catherine was having an affair with before she was murdered.” Makedde emphasised the word “murdered”, sensing that Andy was unimpressed with her information, again. “OK, what’s up?” she finally asked when he didn’t respond.

“Well…” Andy looked sheepish. “We know that a man was staying there, but he denies any relationship with Miss Gerber, and we’re inclined to believe him.”

Mak felt her face flush with anger.

“You needn’t have gone to all that trouble. Please let us handle the investigation.”

How could he have not told her? She took a deep breath. “This man, does he have a first name of JT?”

“No.”

“OK, does he have the initials of JT?”

“Yes, actually he does, but that’s all I can tell you,
OK? I shouldn’t be discussing this with you. Can we not talk about work, please?”

She shook her head, rage building. He wasn’t getting off that easy. “How long have you known about this guy?”

“Not long. Just calm down.”

“Calm down? Jesus! You think I’m obsessed with this affair she was having, don’t you?”

Andy put his hands on hers and she shook them off angrily. “I think you lack objectivity here,” he told her gently. “We don’t have any right to intrude on this man’s life just because a girl scrawled some note that
might
point to a room he was going to stay in.”

“Wait,” she said with sudden insight. “
Was
going to? He cancelled the reservation?”

Andy looked slightly puzzled.

“You do realise what that means, don’t you? Catherine was killed on a Wednesday and discovered on Friday. If the room booking was cancelled before my ID on Saturday morning, then whoever reserved the room must have already known that she was dead, and wouldn’t be showing up. That means they had something to do with her death.”

“Whoa! Slow down there Miss Marple.” He flashed her another one of those irritating looks of underestimation. “
If
this man cancelled his hotel reservation, it could be for any reason at all. And he
says he’s never even met Catherine Gerber. There’s nothing to tie her to him.”

“Yes there is.” Makedde proudly slipped the ring off her thumb. “Check the inscription.”

Andy took the thick diamond ring in his hand, frowning, and turned it over and read the inscription. His eyes widened. “Where did you get this?”

“It was in Catherine’s jewellery box. I found it when I packed up her stuff.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? This is evidence!”

“I didn’t tell you because you were being an arsehole. Sort of like you’re being now.”

Andy stood up from the couch. She could see him change when his temper rose. The sensitive man had vanished, and one big walking ego had taken his place. “I can’t tell you about the case. You know that. I’m not supposed to tell you anything, and I’m not even supposed to be here. So if you’re pissed off that I didn’t tell you about where the note led to, tough.”

Makedde crossed her arms and legs. Her muscles tensed. She watched him pace back and forth.