47 – The other side

JACK AND CATHERINE STOOD at the water’s edge. Jack could see a police car parked at the top of a rise over the other side of the river. A pool of light from a helicopter flooded what looked like a small park. He could make out the form of a policeman near the riverbank. 

A police boat with large spotlights was also scanning the water edge.

“He’s over there somewhere, Cath.”

“Or is he?”

“Detective Sergeant Kinnaird?”

Jack turned to see a constable walking towards him.

“Yes?”

“I’m Constable Drew,” the officer said. “Just wanted to give you an update.”

“Go ahead, constable.”

“We believe he came in by a small row boat.” He looked down at his phone and referred to his notes. “He probably borrowed somebody’s boat, as we’ve found some rope attached to a tree near the water’s edge over near the park. The officer said it looked like it had been recently cut.”

“We haven’t been able to locate this craft. We’d have found it, as he wouldn’t have been able to get far rowing, so he’s either scuttled it or it sank itself.”

“That’s likely. I can’t imagine anyone leaving a quality craft here where anyone could take it. If they just tied it up, it suggests the owner wasn’t too concerned if someone stole their beloved craft.” Jack looked back across the river.

“We believed his escape route was via the river. The water police followed up on a boat that was seen on the water at the time of the incident. The owner didn’t see anything else in the water and confessed he may have been distracted by the light show going on around here.” The constable waved his hand in a sweeping motion back towards the house.

“That means his getaway was over there, unless he’s drowned,” Jack said, pointing towards the park.

“If he’s drowned, his body might float to the surface, if it doesn’t get eaten by sharks first. We’re calling in the police divers to see if they can find a body. The water police explored down the river in case he did drown but didn’t sink.”

They were all silent, their attention drawn to the whop-whop sound of the helicopter across the river. Its body silhouetted against the night sky with its powerful floodlights scanning the terrain and water below it.

Catherine’s voice broke their silence. “Jack, did you know everyone floats on the Dead Sea?”

“Dead . . . Sea?” Jack looked at Catherine. “There’s something strange about that name.” He appreciated her distractions at times like this.

“It’s the highly concentrated salt water. Makes the water denser than the body,” Constable Drew said. “Makes it easy to float. No fish. No frogs. Too salty for anything to live in, hence the Dead Sea.”

Jack looked at the constable and nodded. “I think I knew that, but maybe not.” He gave him a smile. “What about the girls?” Jack asked.

“Counsellors are with them now.”

They thanked the officer for his efficient reporting.

When Jack and Catherine arrived at the scene, both Ruby and Zoe had sprinted up to them, seeking comfort. Zoe wrapped her arms around Catherine and was sobbing, and Ruby wrapped hers around him, and she was sobbing as well. He hated this part of his job. He hated this screwed-up world.

“They were here to protect us and now they’re dead. I feel so bad,” Ruby said.

“T2 collapsed in the doorway and was still trying to reach for her weapon to protect us even when she was dying,” Zoe closed her eyes hard.

“And we were in that bunker. Being protected. It wasn’t fair. I felt so helpless.” Ruby said.

Jack understood them not asking about T1. He also understood about helplessness. He knew the routine of life would come back to Ruby and Zoe, but the healing process would take time. His job was to help the process by locating the murderer and getting him locked away for life.

Jack looked back over the river. Toby Watts was there, not far away. Jack knew it.

Toby Watts, you’ve killed two police officers. The wrath of the police force is coming at you.

Jack closed his eyes and thought of T1 and T2 and their loved ones. He also thought of Erica.

Toby Watts, you’re not getting away with this.

<°)))><

Toby Watts leaned against the closed door, puffing. The house was dark. His breathing was heavy as he waited for his heart to stop pounding. Once again the gods had looked after him and helped him make it to his shelter. He shivered. He needed to get out of these wet clothes.

Without warning, streams of light invaded the darkness, beaming in under and above the door. Toby turned and looked through the peephole. A spotlight flooded his driveway and then passed. The police. Darkness returned. He needed to move on before the foot patrols came, but that would have to wait till morning. Then he could blend in with the peak hour traffic as he made his getaway. Where to? He would sleep on that when the adrenalin rush stopped. He needed rest.

He crept through the darkness to his room, his hand moving across the wall, guiding. Doubt sneaked into his mind—they wouldn’t wake the neighbourhood with door knocking in the middle of the night, would they? Surely they’d wait till morning. Yes, but they’d still come early, before people left for work. He lay on his bed to re-think his strategy.

The knock on the door came at 3.00 a.m.

He sat up in bed and waited. They just wanted to know who lived in the house. But no one lived here. Not normally. He’d wait in complete silence and darkness until they went away. Because they would go away.

The knocking got louder. Toby reached down to the floor and found his rifle. He’d loaded ten rounds into the magazine, but a shootout wasn’t his preferred option.

He heard voices. They were around the side of the house, tapping on the windows. He picked up his rifle. He was not to make a single sound.

They knocked on the back door.

Footsteps. He hoped they were retreating. The neighbour’s dog barked. He hoped the police would shoot it.

A calmness came over him. He would wait a little longer and then make his way to his parent’s room. There was some paraphernalia he wanted from the war chest.

48 – Out with the old

AT 3.30 A.M., TOBY WATTS CRAWLED down the passageway, almost snake-like. He slid up the door and looked out his peekhole, peeking, on and off, for ten minutes. Nothing, not a single car or person or floodlight. No sound, silence. Maybe they shot the dog. 

He retreated into his parent’s room and retrieved a false beard, wig, large glasses, and some contact lenses from the war chest. He’d use the contact lenses to create a farsighted condition, then correct it with the eyeglasses. He used a tablet device as a mirror and smiled at the large goofy eyes that stared back at him—like looking through an empty bottle. The mirror made him think of his high priestess. He found a recent picture of her and enlarged it on the tablet device. He missed her and apologised for what he did. She would forgive him in the afterlife. Maybe not.

The wig altered his appearance significantly. It could be detected from close up, but he only needed it to get past any vehicle surveillance points. He didn’t have a driver’s license but the gods would protect him. He looked in the mirror again. Smiled. Who are you?

He loaded weaponry and a change of clothes into a black duffle bag.

He snuck out to the yard through the laundry room, and around to the garage. A black cat was there. He placed his bag on the ground and unzipped it. The crossbow would deal with the cat. The cat’s yellow eyes stared at him and tried hard to avoid the missile heading towards it. It was mildly successful as he only wounded it, but that would keep it out of his yard. He watched it slowly retreat with the occasional look back and hiss.

A newer Ford now lived in the garage. An insurance replacement for the other Ford—the one involved in the accident that killed his parents. He’d tried to get his dad to let go of the old Ford, but it was like pulling teeth. The new one hadn’t been driven much, but a friend had been turning the ignition on every now and again when he came to mow the lawn. He hoped he’d given it a start recently—the length of the grass worried him—because he was about to try and start the car.