She thought about what she told most victims who were worried about offenders coming back to find them after they'd been robbed or attacked. The adrenalin rush the criminal experienced during the act of crime typically diminished their memory for incidental details of the crime scene. These incidental details included the features of their victims. She'd seen survivors sell their homes within weeks, quit their jobs, leave the state, even their families, afraid that the offenders would return and attack again, certain they were still on a hit list. When she spoke to the perps, however, Jill noticed that most of them wouldn't have a clue that their targets were still petrified that they'd be back. Most of the time, Jill's words didn't comfort the victims. Hell, her behaviour over the last twenty years indicated that she didn't believe them herself.
And the stakes were higher in this case. Cutter and his crew had committed murder. There were witnesses. If they believed that those witnesses could send them to gaol, they might try to return and take them out.
Heading downhill now, Jill ramped up the pace and felt her drug of choice – endorphins – kick in. She considered whether telling the couple about this risk might convince them to open up to her. She had no real evidence of a threat to their safety – in fact, she decided, the events so far would indicate otherwise. The offenders had done nothing to harm Joss at the time of the home invasion. Surely if he'd recognised Joss, Henry Nguyen would have taken him out that night? Jill knew that during robberies, mass murder would sometimes take place when the armed robber had gone too far and accidentally killed someone at the scene. Realising that the consequences of being caught were now far worse, sometimes the perps went postal and took out all of the witnesses.
After the five-kilometre run, she automatically took her pulse out the front of the sprawling Eastgardens shopping complex. A little higher than usual. She waited outside the huge glass doors for a moment, letting her heartbeat slow. She detested crowds, and she knew that she didn't need any extra stimulation when she entered the centre.
It seemed as though the spring weather had created a nesting frenzy. It looked like people had come from all over Sydney today to purchase their summer fashions, new cushions or a barbecue. She knew from her mother that around this time of year people started to think about a new lounge suite or plasma TV to impress their Christmas visitors. Hell, Jill thought, as she looked around her, some of these people would probably have their Christmas present lists on them. In October! Jill usually bought her presents on the twenty-third of December. She had promised herself she would use the internet to do her Christmas shopping this year, but she guessed she probably wouldn't get around to it.
Breathing normally again, she followed a twenty-something couple in through the doors. They held hands, but the woman was a step ahead of her man, her face shining, entering her Sunday house of worship.
Jill just needed some fresh vegies. She'd get fish, milk and coffee locally, but the vegetables were better in the larger centres. Music poured out of a huge boutique to her left and she paused. She really liked this song. The mannequins in the window angled bony hips and arrogant eyes down at her. Summer dresses. Full, floaty fabrics held onto bare shoulders by impossibly thin shoestring straps. Jill couldn't imagine herself wearing something that offered so little protection from the outside world. The jewelled colours conjured images of cocktails by the pool, tropical birds, sunsets and balmy evening Christmas parties. A world Jill wasn't part of. She knew there were others in the community also barred entry to this world, who malevolently resented its inhabitants. Isolated, violent males, who took this rejection personally, plotted revenge against girls who wore dresses like these. 'Paint it Black', the Rolling Stones song, came to her mind – for some people the bright summer clothes brought forward their darkest fantasies.
The opening notes of another track that Jill liked came from the boutique's sound system. She stepped inside and immediately regretted it. She usually purchased her clothing from Myer or David Jones a couple of times a year, shopping in the middle of the week to avoid the crowds. She felt safe in the spacious, quiet department stores. A salesgirl buzzed straight over to her, shining and glossy, almost fizzing with energy. Jill felt snotty and dull in comparison.
'Good morning! Are you having a good day so far?'
The girl was a riot of belts and bangles, piercings and hair fudge. She probably wouldn't sit her Higher School Certificate until next year or the year afterwards. Jill was awed by such confidence in someone so new.
Just looking, thanks, was her automatic response to salespeople, but for some reason she decided to try something on. Maybe it was the music. Or the braces on the girl's teeth, worn like jewellery. Jill admired her self-confidence. And maybe she needed some new clothes.
Forty minutes later, Jill finally made her way to the greengrocers.
She took a different route home, down Maroubra Road and past the police station. She wondered who was in there today and what she would have been working on over the past week had she stayed there. The thought made her think about the movie Sliding Doors. If she'd worked at Maroubra as usual over the past six days, she would never have met Gabriel. She had already learned so much from him, and the thought gratified her. Despite her discomfort around him – the ridiculous discomfort of being comfortable – she looked forward to working the rest of the case with him. She resolved again to ask him more about assignments he'd worked in the past and how he'd come to be seconded to the taskforce.
The case had become all about Cutter, she realised, as she ran downhill towards the sea. The brutality of the crimes had led them naturally to focus upon the one man depicted by all the witnesses as the gang leader and the most violent. Trying to find him was their main priority. She wondered whether that was limiting their scope. She knew that the detectives who'd worked the cases before the establishment of the taskforce had looked pretty hard at trying to identify other members of the crew. They had one other name at least, Mouse. In the interview with Joss and Isobel tomorrow, she would focus at least some questions on trying to learn more about these other people.
She rifled mentally through other cases, trying to glean something from them that could help with this one. In her experience, home invasions were usually one-off events committed by somebody who knew the occupants of the house and that something of value was kept at that residence. Sometimes, it was a member of the victim's community who'd learned that the homeowner had a safe in which they kept cash from their business, or jewellery they'd inherited. At other times, a punter who'd come good and shouted the wrong person at the local would find their winnings gone by daybreak, often while they slept the night off. And plenty of Harley-Davidson riders had woken to a gun to their head and a demand for their keys in the middle of the night. Jill remembered one incident where the owner had refused, and had been gutshot by a bikie in his living room in front of his wife and kids.
These robberies were different. They appeared to be organised along some other lines. The stolen items of value were typical of any burglary, but there didn't seem to be any other obvious link between the hits. She knew that the previous detectives had investigated any tradies that the victims might have had in common – a plumber or an electrician who might have visited all of the residences and used the chance to scope the house for security and valuables. They hadn't come up with a link. She wondered whether other professions had been considered – even an accountant, a kid's tutor or a gardener could have had a son or a boyfriend, a cousin or a brother who was a criminal and had used their connections to get to the next victim. She added another task to her list: ensuring that all service providers had been meticulously looked at for connections between the victims.