Felicity Young: An Easeful Death

‘Slow down, Dot. What’s the matter? Where’s Stevie?’

‘That’s the problem, I don’t know. I was asleep, she must have come home then gone out again, but she left her bag and phone behind. Her phone was switched off and the kitchen phone was off the hook. Tye came around earlier when she was out and said he’d return tomorrow. That’s all I remember. He’s trying to get custody of Izzy. Stevie didn’t want you to know. She didn’t want you to worry.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Monty’s hand flew to his forehead. ‘Listen Dot, everything’s going to be okay.’ He pressed the phone so tight to his ear it hurt. ‘You stay with Izzy. I’ll send an officer to keep you company. I think I know where Stevie is and I’ll bring her back home.’

‘You sound awfully worried, Monty. Are you sure everything’s all right?’

‘Of course it is, but look, I’ve got to go.’

He punched the off button and rang Wayne, explained the situation and requested a team be sent to Baggly’s and another to the power station.

After finishing with Wayne, he instructed De Vakey and Justin to stay in the house and wait for the police. The whisky bottle was empty and they’d started on the gin. De Vakey was lying sprawled across the sofa, in no better shape than Justin. Monty could only hope they’d both be coherent when the police arrived.

25

The word psychopath was once widely used, but these days sociopath is the preferred term. All serial killers are sociopaths, but not all sociopaths are serial killers or murderers. Their common ground is a complete lack of empathy for their victims. One needs only to look at some of the world’s top businessmen to see how this is true.

James L De Vakey, (PUV Press, Sydney, 2006). ‘One man’s best-selling account of the hunt for Australia’s most notorious multiple murderer.’

Stevie was staring at a map of the old British Empire, or so she thought as she willed her eyes to focus on the shapes in front of her. But when the fog of unconsciousness began to lift and the map of the world cleared, she found herself staring at a red brick and plaster wall, lying on her side on a concrete floor with her hands and feet bound with duct tape.

Oh God, let this be a nightmare. But nightmares took place in the dark and she was surrounded by light, light so bright it made the glare of the chipped plaster wall hurt her eyes. She became aware of loud male voices talking above the chesty vibrations of a generator, felt the bite of carbon fumes in her lungs. Rolling onto her other side to find the source, she found her view of the room partially blocked by a twisted hunk of metal. Through the gaps she could see the solid legs of a wooden table and three pairs of shuffling feet.

‘I can’t believe you got away with this, you’re a fucking genius!’ The voice was familiar and deep, one of the creeps who’d tossed Monty’s flat—the older one, Keyes was it?

‘Told you you could count on me, didn’t I?’

Her flesh crawled at the sound of the second man’s voice. Smooth and controlled to a casual listener, only she could tell by the slight inflection how close Tye was to snapping.

‘Beauty, let’s have a look.’ The third voice belonged to Thrummel, the younger partner. What the hell was going on? Some kind of racket, no doubt, but how she’d ended up stuck in the middle of it she had no idea. For a moment, curiosity overcame her fear. She managed to twist herself up into a sitting position so she could peer through a higher gap.

She watched, hardly daring to breathe, and saw Thrummel dig his hands into a plastic holdall on the table, and lift them, letting the contents fall through his fingers. The generator muted the clunking of the nuggets but the light spearing from the cascading gold was unmistakable and flashed rapaciously in the eyes of all three men.

‘I’ve never seen so much gold,’ Thrummel said in awe.

‘It’s yours. Keep your mouths shut and there’ll be more in another couple of months.’

‘But how—’ Thrummel began.

Keyes cut him off, ‘Shut it, Thrummel. We don’t want to know, okay?’ Then he turned to Tye. ‘No more killings, there’s been enough killings. I hope you’ve put that Hooper chick out of your mind now, you were pushing the envelope there.’

Stevie drew a silent breath. No, this couldn’t be. Tye wasn’t behind the killings, he had an alibi, she was hearing this wrong. Tye was a lot of things, gold thief, obviously, but not a murderer. She screwed up her eyes, attempting to block the thought: the father of my child is not a murderer.

Tye smiled. ‘Laid to rest, mate. Just a temporary moment of insanity.’

‘Yeah well, it’s too bad those others had to get knocked off before you came to your senses.’

‘The Birkby woman had to be silenced, you know that, she was about to pull the carpet right from under us,’ Tye said. ‘Hell, you bitched enough about the interrogation she put you through, the non stop hassling, the phone calls day and night.’

‘Yeah, but that other one, what was that about? She was just an innocent girl. I don’t mind doing your dirty work, that’s the deal, but I draw the line at unnecessary killing.’

‘Okay, mate, what’s done is done,’ Thrummel said. ‘Let’s just take the gold, see the fence and get what’s coming to us.’

The fearful realisation dawned on Stevie that they were leaving, that she would soon be alone with Tye. She heard the chalky sound of feet shuffling on a concrete floor as the men repacked the bag, a cough, the splat of a spit gob when they’d finished. She tried to cry out to them, but the generator swallowed the feeble sounds she managed to push through the duct tape. Please don’t go, please , she silently pleaded. With at least one unwilling participant in the room there was still a glimmer of hope she would hang onto her life. Through eyes stinging with tears she saw Tye lead the two men to the heavy wooden door and unlock it for them.

‘Oh, one more thing.’ Thrummel put his hand out to Tye. ‘You haven’t forgotten have you?’

‘The perks of the job? No worries, mate, of course not.’ Tye reached into his pocket and handed Thrummel a small silver packet.

‘Jesus Christ, Tye,’ Keyes complained. ‘He’s strung like piano wire as it is, he doesn’t need any more of the stuff.’

‘Just adds to the thrill factor, eh Thrummel?’ Tye nudged a grinning Thrummel in the ribs.

Keyes muttered something Stevie couldn’t hear. Tye called him an old woman and laughed.

He was laughing when he locked the door behind them, still laughing when he grabbed her by the ankles and slid her from behind the hunk of machinery. She closed her eyes and tried to will her breathing to calm down.

‘I know you’re awake, you’re shaking.’ He gave an amused snort. ‘You playing possum on me, Stevie?’

Rough hands flipped her onto her back and pulled her into a sitting position against the wall. The tape was ripped from her face with the sting of an exfoliation she didn’t need. He clasped her shoulders and peered intently into her face for a moment.

And then he began to hum.

That song again.

He was mad , she thought, he had to be: mad or frighteningly sane.

He paused. ‘Our song, remember? Who’d have believed that rough, tough, Stevie Hooper was such an incurable romantic?’ The hum turned into words. He placed his mouth to her ear. ‘ You must remember this ...’ The warmth of his breath on her skin had once caused tingles of desire. Now all she could feel was rippling shivers of fear. He pinched her earlobe between his teeth.

She gasped.

He pulled back to assess her reaction. Determined not to give him one, she tried to keep her face blank, though she couldn’t help the skittering of her eyes as she searched for a way of escape.