A Date To Die For Read online

  Mr Duncan nodded. ‘Anything,’ he sobbed. ‘Anything you have to do.’

  The bedroom looked more like it belonged to the adolescent Phoebe who had slept, played, and kept her precious possessions in the room, rather than the twenty-three-year-old Phoebe that now lay dead in the morgue. A rose-pink bedspread matched paler pink walls, and an ice blue bedframe complemented a navy-blue bookshelf that housed a young girl’s treasured classics such as Black Beauty and Heidi. There was even a copy of ’Twas the Night Before Christmas, that Joe remembered well from when he was a child. The only clues that a young adult woman had slept in this, what now felt like an abandoned room, was a black desk that held a laptop sitting on a stand, a large, curved monitor and a keyboard and mouse. A real estate agent’s course information booklet and application form sat next to Phoebe’s mouse pad. And a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, with a bookmark at the beginning of chapter ten, sat on her bedside table. It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird, Joe thought, … it’s a sin.

  Joe and Tessa opened and examined every drawer and door in Phoebe’s room. They found nothing that provided any clue about why anybody would want to murder her. They would talk to friends, work colleagues, and Sally, Phoebe’s sister, to delve more deeply into her life. But on the surface, everything indicated that Phoebe was a normal, intelligent young woman, very much loved by her family.

  When Joe and Tessa finished examining Phoebe’s room and ensuring the Duncans were being taken care of, they left with Phoebe’s laptop.

  ***

  Tessa and Joe didn’t talk initially as they drove back to the station. Joe knew each of them was dealing in their own way with the emotional burden of delivering news that caused so much grief for the Duncans. Shattering news that broke their hearts and would change their lives forever. The Duncans would move on sooner or later. But they would never fully heal.

  John Lennon’s Double Fantasy played in the background.

  Joe broke the silence after about fifteen minutes. ‘So, what’s wrong with your car?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s having a sleepover at the pub. My brother dropped me home last night.’

  ‘Not like you to be out on a Sunday night. Especially without Alex.’

  Joe caught just a few of Tessa’s words. His mind drifted to the past when John Lennon sang ‘…and your daddy’s here …’ But you’re not here, are you Dad? You’re not here to chase away my monsters.

  Distracted by his thoughts, Joe only caught snippets of Tessa’s chit-chat. ‘… article … band … planned a barbeque ... are you …?’

  ‘Sad really,’ Joe said. ‘He didn’t see Sean come of age.’ At least Dad saw me come of age. Just, he thought.

  ‘Who, what, what are you talking about?’

  ‘John and Sean Lennon. John died before Sean came of age. You know, the words to the song. Where John sings that he can hardly wait to see Sean come of age.’ Joe turned the blinker to signal left. ‘What were you saying before? Something about a barbeque?’

  Tessa took a packet of cigarettes and lighter out of her pocket.

  ‘Don’t even think about lighting that,’ Joe said.

  ‘Shit, sorry,’ Tessa said. ‘Flashbacks of being in the car with Damien. He smokes more than I used to.’

  Stopped at a set of traffic lights, Joe glanced at Tessa. ‘Used to? How can you say “used to” when you’re sitting there with a packet of cigarettes?’

  ‘Yes. Used to,’ Tessa said. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t noticed. I gave up when Damien and I split, and I started seeing Alex—not easy—but worth it. I keep a pack for emergencies.’

  Joe turned when the arrow changed to green. ‘Keeping a pack for emergencies isn’t giving up. You should …’

  ‘I don’t need how-to-quit lectures from you,’ Tessa said. ‘I’m doing fine. Anyway, as I was saying, Alex was writing a magazine article last night, you know—tight deadline, so I went to watch my brother’s band play at the pub. They’re talented, you’ve heard them play. It was a good night, late but good. Then I said, speaking of weekends, which we weren’t, it’s Papa’s birthday and we’re having a barbeque. I told you—weeks ago. Are you still free?’

  ‘Did you sing?’ Joe asked.

  ‘What? Jesus Joe,’ Tessa said through clenched teeth. ‘You’re so frustrating. You either don’t listen or you change the topic.’

  ‘Did you sing? Last night. With your brother.’

  Tessa sighed. ‘When have you known me to resist getting up on stage to belt out a tune? You should bring your guitar along one night. Anyway, are you free for Papa’s birthday bash?’

  ‘You guys would outplay me. I can’t remember the last time I picked up my guitar.’

  ‘It’s not a competition. It’s letting your hair down, chillaxing, getting away from the day-to-day shit. And don’t forget, I’ve heard you sing. You’re good. And from memory, you’ve even penned a few numbers. You should pick up your guitar more often. Anyway, are you coming to Papa’s birthday?’ Tessa asked again. ‘Or do you have to polish the Monaro? It must be two weeks since you’ve done it.’

  ‘I’m free—um … I think I’m free—I’ll check.’

  ‘Who are you trying to kid, genius? You don’t have to check. With your photographic memory, you could probably recite the time and place of all your appointments for the next six months. And probably for the last six months.’

  ‘No such thing as a photographic memory. Well, the jury is still out about it. So, who’s going to your Papa’s birthday? Jesus!’ Joe slammed on the brakes as a car changed lanes in front of him, little room to spare.

  Tessa laughed. ‘No, Jesus isn’t coming. Alex is coming, and Mamma, of course is making her famous Panzanella. And Papa will share his famous homemade wine. And his famous homemade salami, of course.’

  Joe wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Well, anyway, your Mum loves his salami. She said she’d come. And Nonna Bella and Nonna Bernadetta will be there.’ Tessa let out a long, heavy sigh. ‘And shit, double shit, quadruple shit even. I just remembered. Damien’s coming. He sent me a text to tell me he’ll be there. He gets on well with Mamma and Papa, and the nonnas adore him. Probably wants to show off his latest. I don’t know how he even found out about the barbeque.’

  Amused and a little envious of Tessa’s ability to carry on a conversation, Joe grinned as he slowed for another red light. She was always fun, never boring. And beautiful. With long thick brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and deep brown eyes, Tessa looked as Italian and stunning as a Ferrari—in stark contrast to her Aussie as an FJ Holden accent.

  ‘What are you grinning at?’ Tessa said.

  ‘Facebook.’

  ‘Facebook what?’

  ‘I bet that’s how Damien found out about the barbeque. I’m surprised you haven’t unfriended him. Anyway, it might be good to catch up with Damien. I haven’t seen him for months. Not since he took on the rape case.’

  ‘Bloody, filthy, scum of the earth cockroach.’

  ‘Damien?’

  ‘No, the scum he’s defending, Johnson.’ Tessa punched a clenched fist into her palm. ‘What I would do if I got hold of him.’

  ‘This will be interesting.’ The lights turned green. Joe grinned. ‘Entertain me. Tell me, what would you do if you got hold of Johnson?’

  Tessa made a twisting motion with her right hand. ‘I’d rip his cock off, put it in a blender and when the blood and flesh are thoroughly mashed, I’d spoon feed it to him.’

  Joe squirmed in his seat. ‘So Tess, how’s your anger management going?’

  ‘I’m not having anger management.’

  ‘If you don’t learn to keep you cool, you soon will be.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Iceman.’

  ‘I might appear cool, but you know me. I get sick to the stomach when I think about the rapes and the violence, and every other shitty th
ing we have to deal with. But losing control of your emotions doesn’t help catch the bad guys. It’s counterproductive. You know that.’ Joe paused, then added, ‘All we can do is keep control and follow the process.’

  Tessa pulled the passenger sun visa down. ‘Well, we caught this particular bad guy, Johnson, that is. I just hope the process puts him away. And, by the way, keeping your emotions to yourself isn’t good for you either.’

  ‘My emotions and I are fine.’ Joe thought about the way he handled the reporters this morning. He wondered if he could have handled Alex’s question better. Sometimes I don’t sleep at night. But it’s true, I don’t, he thought.

  Tessa looked at Joe. ‘It’s okay,’ she said softly. ‘It’s okay to show your emotions—when it’s just you and me. I understand you.’

  Joe took his left hand off the steering wheel, reached over, and squeezed Tessa’s. ‘I’m fine. Enough of me. How are things going with you and Alex?’

  ‘Early days, very early—we’re taking it slow. And ... well, um … do you remember that feeling you got in your tummy when you were a teenager? That tingling feeling, butterflies in your tummy feeling, but in a good way, not a bad way feeling ... I never thought I would ever have that feeling again.’ Tessa shrugged. ‘But there it is.’

  Joe checked the traffic in the rear vision mirror. He knew the feeling. Yeah, I remember that feeling … every time I look at Olivia. Then quickly dismissed the thought, as if afraid Tessa could read his mind. Joe had concealed his feelings for Olivia Chatfield, the police photographer, since he met her nine months ago when she was new to the station. His mind drifted again. He remembered the first day she arrived. Olivia had no nonsense shoulder-length, shiny brown hair and that smile, a wonderful smile that made her fringe-framed hazel eyes sparkle and her nose crinkle. Not short, not tall, Joe imagined her head resting on his shoulder as they embraced.

  Joe slowed for a pedestrian crossing and came back to the moment. ‘How do your parents feel about you and Alex … you know, being in a relationship?’

  ‘They don’t know.’

  ‘They don’t know?’ Joe took his eyes off the road for a split second to look at Tessa. ‘What do you mean, they don’t know? How long has it been? Six months? Or more?’

  ‘Well, they know Alex. They’ve met Alex, but they think we’re just friends. They thought Damien was perfect for me. Not Italian, but nice looking, successful, always charming. But I knew from the beginning he wasn’t right … not what I wanted. Well, that’s obvious now, isn’t it? So not what I wanted.’ Tessa emphasised ‘so.’ ‘I just didn’t have confidence in myself until Alex. No, not confidence. I guess I’ve denied myself all these years, haven’t been able to let go. You might get as lucky one day if …’

  ‘You’re not planning a blind date for me at the barbeque, are you?’ Joe interrupted. ‘The other night, when I had dinner with Paul and Trudi, Paul’s cousin was there. It was awkward. I spent the first ten minutes trying to remember her name and the last two hours trying to invent a reason to leave early.’

  ‘You had dinner with Paul? How’s he going? Was he drinking? I haven’t had a chance to catch up with him since he came back—well, not in any really meaningful way. I’ve seen him around, but I’ve been so focussed on finding this murdering arsehole psycho. How’s he handling being back on the job?’

  ‘Your interview technique with suspects and witnesses is way better than it is with me.’ Joe grinned. ‘So, Detective Mariani, in response to your interrogation, Paul had one glass of wine, no spirits. And how is he? He appears to be fine. I’m not sure he could have recovered without Trudi’s support. She’s been as good, if not better, for him than the psychologist. As far as back on the job is concerned—so far, so good. He’s working with the team on rape cases, including the Johnson case.’

  ‘You’re piggy in the middle.’ Tessa smirked. ‘You’ve got two friends pitting against each other. Damien trying to keep Johnson out of prison and Paul trying to put him away. I wonder who will come out on top with that one.’

  Joe shrugged. ‘Anyway, back to you and …’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Tessa interrupted. ‘You missed the turn off—again. Genius with no sense of direction. Sometimes I wonder how you find your way to work.’

  Joe laughed. ‘Sometimes it takes me two or three attempts. But it’s good thinking time. So, back to you and Alex. You have to tell your parents. Choices have consequences. Not telling them is a choice. Think of the consequences if you don’t tell them.’

  ‘Another bloody lecture. How to quit smoking, tell my parents about Alex, blah, blah, blah. Forget Alex. We were talking about Paul.’

  ‘And before that you were telling me about how you’re going to tell you parents about Alex.’

  ‘It’s beyond me why somebody hasn’t snatched you up by now.’

  ‘You’re changing the subject. Tell your parents,’ Joe said, emphasising each word. He repeated: ‘Tell your parents. And your brother. Keeping secrets from them isn’t fair. It will only hurt them if they find out from somebody other than you. Oh, what a tangled web we weave when we keep secrets.’ Joe smiled as he thought how his English teacher mother would squirm at his misquote of Sir Walter Scott.

  ‘No, I’m not changing the subject. Stop interrupting me. I’m saying nice stuff about you. As I was saying, I don’t know why you’re not attached by now. You’re the cliché of clichés of what women want. Tall, good-looking, great smile, hair that looks like Vidal Sassoon himself had fashioned it.’

  Joe slowed as he approached a roundabout. ‘Not Vidal. He’s dead.’

  Tessa ignored his interruption. ‘Even that scar adds to the appeal of your killer blue eyes. Not Ted Bundy killer blue eyes. More Mark Harmon, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, blue eyes.’

  Joe shook his head and grinned.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘You know Mark Harmon played Ted Bundy in a movie.’

  ‘That was Zac Efron.’

  ‘I’m talking about the nineteen-eighty something version.’

  ‘Okay, whatever, but anyway I’d go for you if I wasn’t ...’ Tessa’s mobile cut her off in mid-sentence.

  ‘Hi Olivia … yep, I’m with Joe. We’ll be at the station in about two minutes.’

  ‘Olivia?’ Joe hoped his face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘The crime scene photos are ready.’

  3

  Joe and Tessa arrived at the Southside police station a few minutes after one. The long rectangular building located five kilometres southwest of the beach, where the surfer and his dog found Phoebe’s body, stretched almost the full length of the block. Joe felt the familiar sense of belonging when he drove into the station’s car park. He spent most of his waking hours, working, collaborating, and socialising with his second family—in the nineteen-sixties’ two-story building in need of a face-lift. The builders had used recycled brown bricks from the original station built in the late nineteenth century to construct the first story of the twentieth century police station. Function and economics won the battle over aesthetics. So they used common red bricks to construct the second story. Six sandstone steps led to the double glass door entrance. The station was almost at capacity, accommodating over three-hundred employees. The building appeared tired on the outside; however, the station’s occupants gave life and energy to the inside. The officers, detectives, technicians, analysts, IT specialists and support staff, each had different roles and functions. But in the same way the organs, tissues and cells of a living body synchronise as one to maintain the body, the station’s occupants co-ordinated and worked together to achieve a common goal—catching the bad guy.

  ‘I’ll drop this off to Des,’ Tessa said as she took Phoebe’s laptop out of her backpack. ‘Hopefully, it won’t take him long to crack the password. Then I’ll grab a sandwich. Do you wan
t anything from the café?’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ Joe said. Then remembered he hadn’t eaten since the night before. ‘No wait, can you get me a curried egg sandwich? I’ll get a coffee from the kitchen. Thanks.’ He handed her twenty dollars. ‘My shout today.’

  ‘Do you want to come for a walk?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’ll go over our notes from this morning. And maybe check social media to see what I can learn about Phoebe before her sister, Sally McKay, comes in. See if I can find any connection between Phoebe and the first two victims.’

  Ten minutes later, when Joe returned from the kitchen, he straightened his mouse pad, which wasn’t crooked, and placed the coffee on his desk—the only desk in the squad room that had a coaster. He didn’t need to revisit the medical reports to recall the details of how the first two victims, Amber Thompson and Isabel Reinhard, had died. They were brutally bashed, strangled, and stabbed. Each had multiple stab wounds on their chests and abdomens. There was no evidence of rape, so the crimes didn’t appear to be sexually motivated. In fact, Isabel Reinhard was still a virgin. The toxicology report for both victims showed no evidence of drugs or alcohol.

  A thorough search of both crime scenes yielded nothing. Based on the wounds on both victims, the weapon appeared to be a ten-inch double-edged knife. The only physical evidence at the scenes was the rose and the note. Each victim had the same note pinned to her breast.

  Trust not too much to appearances. The beauty hides the thorns.

  Joe recalled the afternoon they arrived at the scene where the killer left Amber’s body, the first victim, partially hidden in the Royal National Park. Just metres from where the second victim, Isabel Reinhard, was found three months later. He remembered the scent of the Eucalyptus and the magpie songs in the distance. The black silhouette of trees in the setting sun signalled the end of a day of picnicking, swimming, and boating. A scene of peace and tranquillity, reminiscent of the serenity that morning at the beach where the surfer and his dog found Phoebe Duncan’s body. Scenes in stark contrast to the sadistic, brutal acts that resulted in the mutilated bodies of three young women.