Felicity Young: An Easeful Death

The hammering on the door stopped.

Cramping pains shot up her neck as her body reacted to its twisted position. To unbolt and unlock the door she’d have to drop the gun and she doubted her reactions would be quick enough to coordinate both movements. Keeping the gun on Tye as best she could, she edged herself closer to the door.

‘I’m in here, Mont, but I can’t open the door!’

With a heavy thump and a curse the door bowed but the lock held.

Tye dived towards her, and in the same moment a hollow banging sound from the floor made the spotlight above her shudder, the door vibrate.

Stevie fired. The bullet cracked into the far wall and ricocheted around the room like a slammed squash ball. She closed her eyes, waiting to be hit by the bullet, the impact of Tye’s body or both.

But when she opened her eyes again, he was gone.

26

Many sociopaths will study psychology books and become skilful imitators. One example is Australia’s notorious multiple murderer, Tye Davis, the exclusive subject of this study.

De Vakey, To Catch a Killer

Monty cut through her bindings with the discarded scissors and passed a hand across her face as if needing reassurance she was still alive. Oblivious to the blood dripping from the back of her head he attempted to draw her to him.

She held him back with straightened arms; it was all she could think of to keep them both in the here and now.

He came to his senses and sprang to his feet. ‘Where the hell’s he gone?’

‘A trapdoor, here.’ Stevie pointed to the open wooden lid in the floor in front of them.

‘For Christ’s sake.’ He began to descend the rusty metal ladder, turning when she tried to follow to scowl at her, ‘You’re not coming. Go wait out the front for back-up. They’ll be here any minute.’

Stevie’s body contradicted her expression of stubborn defiance, forcing her to turn her back on him and heave again. It was like the opening of a floodgate she could no longer control. When it was over finished she whirled back to the open trapdoor in time to hear the fading ring of Monty’s footsteps on the metal rungs, a soft thump, then silence.

She sat on the edge of the hole for a moment, glancing around the ghastly room with her legs dangling. She found her eyes drawn to the misted silhouettes on the floor and a shiver rippled up her spine.

‘Bugger this for a joke,’ she said aloud. Feeling for the top rung with her foot, she eased her way into the hole.

The fishy odour that rose to meet her as she reached river level made her stomach lurch. Holding her nausea back by willpower alone, she stepped off the last rung and crawled through a short tunnel until she came to a wooden flap not much bigger than a doggie door. Once through this she found herself on a small sandy ledge about three metres above the sloshing river. The scrabble of frantic movements from the bank above made her look up into the wet night.

The rain that had started as a misty drizzle earlier in the evening had turned into a downpour. While the cold on her face served to drive away some of her drug-induced fuzziness, the rain made for poor visibility. She narrowed her eyes and tried to see through the wind and lashing rain, but all she could make out was the looming mass of the riverbank above her. With hands outstretched, she blindly groped against its muddy face for fistfuls of grass. The damp of the earth through the knees of her jeans and the sting of rain on her face caused a sudden wave of euphoria. A surge of heart-thumping adrenaline washed away more of the fuzziness in her head and the churning of her gut. She was alive. Unbelievably alive.

At the top of the bank she caught a glimpse of Tye running across the weedy plot between the riverbank and the power station. Dressed in his black wetsuit all she could make out was the pale backward and forward motion of his pumping hands and feet. The blurred outline following some distance behind had to be Monty.

All at once, several beams of light pricked the darkness. The sound of sliding tyres on mud broke through the noise of the rain and she saw Tye veer to the right almost into the path of a braking police car. A second sharp turn and he was face to face with another. Outflanked, there was only one way left for him to go and that was ahead.

Monty was closing the gap. She wanted to follow him, but staggered first to the uniformed officers scrambling from their cars.

‘Block the exits,’ she gasped. ‘You need to surround the perimeter. You can’t let him get out of here. Inspector McGuire’s in pursuit, I’m following...’

She attempted to rejoin the chase, but found herself held back by a pair of strong arms.

‘You’re in no fit state, Stevie. Stay with me.’ It was Wayne and he pulled her close. She felt the rain on her neck, heard distant voices and the crackle of car tyres as the uniforms dispersed. She didn’t have the strength to fight any more. As she buried her head in Wayne’s shoulder, she knew he was the only thing keeping her upright.

Tye’s only chance of escape was up, and by the time Stevie lifted her head he was already on the flat roof of the power station with Monty clambering up the maintenance ladder after him. One of the cops aimed a powerful spotlight and she held her breath as she saw Monty ease his way from the ladder onto the roof, his silhouette swaying in the wind. Soon he was pounding across the roof after Tye, who was heading towards a higher level of steeply pitched tin.

Tye sprang onto the other roof with ease and began to shuffle his way along it, one foot on either side of the pitch, negotiating himself around the mushrooming ventilation ducts as he came to them. Stevie guessed he was counting on there being another ladder on the end of this roof to take him back down. As there weren’t enough cops to surround the whole fence line, they might lose him yet.

She saw Monty hesitate as he climbed to the higher level. She could tell by the violent sway of his body that the wind up there was almost cyclonic. She stopped breathing, willing him to maintain his balance as he lurched from one upright vent to the next.

Waves of nausea and dizziness rippled through her body and once more she had to lean into Wayne. She heard him gasp, felt his body tense. She wanted to look but couldn’t lift her head. A shudder passed through him and into her.

But the shuddering wasn’t coming from either them, it was coming from the ground. It gathered momentum until the sound of tearing rafters and screaming metal fractured the air around. At that moment an invisible force seemed to suck the middle section of the roof down, taking both men with it.

‘Monty!’ Stevie’s cry was carried away by the shriek of the wind.

two weeks later

27

A clever sociopath is often smooth and charming and can give the impression of having a highly developed social conscience.

De Vakey, To Catch a Killer

Stevie stood among a small cluster of people in the lush memorial park, listening to the priest say his final words over the descending coffin. The sky was a sacrilegious blue, dotted with a few puffy clouds, the air clear as polished glass. A fresh breeze ruffled the service program in her hand.

Wayne, Angus and Barry stood together on the other side of the grave. One of De Vakey’s arms was draped over Justin’s shoulder, the other linked to a woman Stevie presumed to be his wife Vivienne, though really, it was anyone’s guess. Justin’s nurse friend stood on his other side and held his hand. A few nameless strangers, no doubt friends of Justin’s, stood behind, ready to offer the dead man’s son their support.