The final stretch home was uphill. Good. Jill imagined the sweat cleaning out the germs in her system. When she reached Maroubra Junction, she decided to stop for the last few items on her shopping list. She bought a chicken from a butcher's shop on Maroubra Road, and a sourdough loaf from the bakery. Walking the rest of the way home, carrying her latest purchases, she thought about the chicken soup she'd decided to make for lunch. Her mum would be proud.
Back in her unit, Jill piled the food onto the benchtop and then went into her bedroom to put her new clothes away. Her brow creased while hanging up the filmy tops and the sundress she had purchased. They looked nothing like the rest of her outfits. She scowled at them, and shut the wardrobe door. Maybe she would be wearing Scotty's pretty pendant soon! She stripped off her running gear and took a quick shower. Her nose had cleared a little, but she still felt stuffy; the scented steaminess of the warm water helped a lot.
In a soft tee-shirt, boxer shorts, and squashy socks, Jill returned to her kitchen to cook. She diced carrots, onion and celery, and sweated them in a little olive oil and salt in her biggest stockpot. She added boiling water, a couple of bay leaves and the chicken, looking forward to having the soup with a squeeze of lemon juice in a couple of hours. In the meantime, she cut a hunk of the bread and toasted it, then slathered it with strawberry jam. She took the toast and a pot of green tea out to the balcony.
She stared out to sea, her body humming from the exercise, and zoned out. Within a few moments, however, the case again came to mind. Whatever method the gang had used to target their victims, she thought, it was almost certain that most of them had not seen things going the way they had. In the first robberies, the violence, although terrifying, had mostly been used as a threat to compel compliance. Robbery had clearly been the motive. The motive for the leader now, though, was the violence itself, and if Gabriel was right, cracks in the group would be starting to form. She wondered whether there might be any way they could turn the screws a little more. Maybe put the hovering media to good use, to heighten the fear and paranoia among the group members – get them to turn on themselves. She'd put it to the taskforce tomorrow.
Jill felt the Vitamin D doing her good. She leaned her face into the sunshine and closed her eyes.
29
CHLOE FELT SWEAT at her hairline, but her heartbeat was slowing. God, the guy had scared the shit out of her when she came back around to the front of the basement room. And she had nothing against tattoos, but he was kind of scary-looking.
She debated entering the room. Maybe she should suggest they go up to the house? But she hadn't even met the owner. Would it be rude to just go barging into someone else's house? She couldn't suggest another place to interview him. It's not like she could invite him home for a cup of tea at her house in Seven Hills. And no one back at the network would even dream of giving a cadet an office.
She made up her mind. What could happen, she thought. It's a sunny afternoon in the suburbs and Maryana and her mother are just up the stairs.
Chloe followed Cutter into his bedroom.
When he entered the room behind her, she began to feel even more awkward. Wanting him to feel comfortable enough to open up and speak to her, she was acutely aware in the small room that she stood a head taller than him. She looked for somewhere to sit – there was only the bed. She perched on the very edge and got her notebook out of her bag. The door shut, and her head whipped up. The thud had been a heavy metallic sound – like a vault. Her heartbeat gathered pace again.
'We don't want people listening to us,' he said.
Chloe's eyes darted around the room. A thick curtain covered a small window in the whitewashed wall. It smelled funny in here.
'I'm already disturbed that my name would be mentioned in a criminal investigation,' he continued. 'I don't want Mrs Miceh imagining that I'm an unsavoury tenant. Do you know, if it wasn't for my grandma, I don't think she would even have leased this room to me in the first place.'
Chloe relaxed a little. She pictured the bent old woman in the doorway in Cabramatta, smilingly pushing a piece of fruit and this address into her hand.
'She is a sweetie,' said Chloe. 'How long have you been living here?'
'Just a week or so,' said Henry. 'It's all I can afford at the moment. I have a new job in sales, in the Hills district, so this suits me fine.'
'So, nobody from the police department has contacted you regarding this investigation?' Chloe asked, eager to begin the interview.
'No. But I can't say I'm surprised that they're looking at me.'
She gave him a questioning look.
'I got into trouble as a kid,' he explained. 'Break and enters, stealing. A criminal record is the worst thing, Ms Farrell. The police are very lazy. Crimes happen in a certain area – they go through their database and suddenly there's a cop at your door. It's hard to convince people that you've changed.'
Chloe made a few notes.
'And the tattoos don't help matters,' he said.
No kidding, thought Chloe. Ugh.
'When I was young, I lost my father and my grandfather in a very short period of time,' he said. 'I was particularly close to my grandfather. I think that's why I rebelled.'
Chloe jotted his comments, but wished that he would sit down. He seemed to be standing over her.
'But I've grown up now. I don't do silly little things like that anymore,' he said.
'The police are watching your family home in Cabramatta,' she said. 'Now you know that, what do you think you will do about it?' She readied herself to scribble down his response. 'Will you go to them and ask why they're intruding into your life this way?'
He looked down at her and smiled. Chloe decided that when he'd answered this question, she would stand after all. This whole situation creeped her out.
'No, I don't think so,' he answered. 'You might have gathered that I don't like the police, Ms Farrell. And I don't think they're going to find me out here. My grandmother won't be giving this address to anyone else.'
Chloe rubbed at her left eye. The tic always started when she felt anxious. She moved to stand.
The explosion of movement stunned her more than the blow to her face. Her vision darkened for just a moment, and then returned, orange. Her face was pressed into his bedspread.
'Slut! Stupid slut!'
Chloe bucked with her legs to throw him off, trying to bawl out a scream, but her mouth pressed into the orange fabric, and the scream wouldn't form. All of his weight was on top of her, but Chloe was strong, and she felt his body shifting sideways, sliding off her. Then she felt cold steel pressed into the left side of her neck. She recoiled, jerking her head to the right, and the knife followed, this time biting, deep. She felt warm blood well. She was going to die here. Terror paralysed her.
'That's right, slut. Don't move around, and maybe I won't hurt you.'
He kept the knife to her neck and raised himself off her body. She tried to move a little and he pressed the knife deeper. She stopped moving.
'Stand up now, slut,' he said.
The pressure of the knife forcing her to comply, Chloe stood at the side of the bed, whimpering quietly. She knew that her only hope for seeing her parents again lay in keeping this blade from slicing her throat. She knew now with whom she shared this room. How could she have been so stupid? Details of the murder in Capitol Hill came to her, threatening to unhinge her completely. Stop it, she told herself. She needed to stay sane. Do what he told her. She wasn't ready to die yet.