Finally, the meeting was drawing to a close. Isobel forced herself to remain seated until the first of the group left the boardroom before joining the others making their way through the doors. She swallowed her impatience as the two men ahead of her stalled in the doorway to make a final inane joke, the more junior of the two throwing his head back and braying falsely. She'd almost reached the end of the corridor when she felt a hand touch the small of her back.
'You seem a little distracted today, Isobel,' Bob Shields said, close to her ear. 'I'm not giving you too much work to do, am I?'
Isobel kept walking, aiming for the bright hallway flanked by offices outside the boardroom. She worked hard to keep plenty of people around when she talked to her boss.
'Well, yes, as a matter of fact,' she smiled, facing him, her back to the wall. 'I think I'll go to lunch.' It was 10.30 a.m. She strode purposefully in the direction of her office.
Shields's loud laughter followed her. 'I expect the Donatio report on my desk this afternoon,' he called to her back.
She waved her arm in reply. She wasn't sure how much longer she could bear working for that sleaze. She'd known about Shields's reputation for wandering hands before she started working for him – everyone knew – but that didn't make it any easier dealing with the man. She knew she could take it to antidiscrimination, but she wasn't ready to give up working in the legal industry just yet. Though he wasn't her direct line manager, Andy Wu looked out for her, and would assign her duties that kept her away from Shields whenever he could. She shuddered, remembering the last time she'd seen Andy, and wondered how the hell Lucy was bearing up. She and Joss should go out to visit her soon, she thought guiltily, but they had to get on top of this new threat first.
At last she reached her office, shut the door, and began the searches that made her services so highly prized round here. It wasn't the Donatio file she was working on, though. The name she typed into her search engines was Nguyen.
As always, she started wide and worked her way inwards. The Vietnamese name was one of the most common, and the programs hauled in thousands of hits. She narrowed the fields continually, honing in on his approximate age, geographic location, the nickname 'Cutter', and other small details she'd gathered from Joss. She roughly sifted court reports, quickly discarding mismatches and corralling possibilities to explore more carefully later. She downloaded Freedom of Information applications for credit reports, lease agreements, criminal record history, insurance claims, motor registrations, phone contracts, Medicare and Centrelink records. For the average person, these applications could take months to process, but there were back-entrances for certain groups: finance and insurance institutions, various welfare departments, lawyers acting on behalf of their clients. For her job, Isobel had carefully cultivated contacts with some of the most powerful people in the country – the clerks who held the records to personal information.
She started to dial.
13
JILL FELT LOST in the sterile corridors of the Liverpool police complex. Constructed perhaps twenty years ago, it sat next to the busy courthouse and the mostly deserted public library. An attempt had been made at a contemporary construction, but the bright modern art, glass and stainless steel were at once too slick for the Liverpool streets and too tacky for good taste. A twenty-year coating of grime didn't help. Her boots squeaked over shiny floors as she made her way to the foyer, where she'd agreed to meet her new partner.
Gabriel leaned on the customer service counter. His face appeared serious, but the dark-haired girl behind the barrier inclined towards him, laughing, her fingers twisting a lock of her glossy hair. The girl turned a flushed face and narrowed eyes towards Jill as she approached. Jill felt those eyes on her until they left the building.
A small crowd waited for their turn in front of the court building to their left. Cigarette smoke hung in a pall above them. A couple of ill-looking trees, hopelessly under-equipped to transform the toxins back into oxygen, drooped over the footpath. Two or three man-boys pulled irritably at bright-coloured ties, standing next to resigned parents. Several men in cheap, shiny suits bared tennis socks and skinny ankles. Some of them clustered together, comparing gaol cred, making deals. Others stood too close to their woman, who would today reverse the Apprehended Violence Order protecting her from him; would insist that she would not press charges over the assault that had left her hospitalised and her kids in the care of the state.
Jill and Gabriel passed the courthouse, closely observed by most of those waiting outside, studiously ignoring the news crew on the footpath opposite. She imagined they would do anything to be able to sit in while she and Gabriel interviewed the daughter of the man murdered yesterday. Jill took a deep breath when a breeze momentarily freshened the air. The sun was out on their side of the street; it was another hot day.
Gabriel half-turned to her. 'So, nice place out here,' he said.
She smiled wryly.
'I don't think we'll have much luck with Donna Moser today,' he said next. 'It sounds like the hospital kept her sedated all day yesterday.'
'Worth a shot,' said Jill.
They walked in silence for a while, nearing the sprawling Westfield shopping centre, which had recently undergone major renovations. Its shiny commercial happiness contrasted with the customers and staff who waited at the lights to enter it.
Jill's thoughts turned back to the interview yesterday with Justine Rice. 'I wonder whether Donna was sexually assaulted as well. She's not a great deal older than Justine.'
'It's possible,' Gabriel said. 'But I doubt it. The scenarios are too different. At the Moser house the perp got all his sexual gratification from the torture and the kill.'
'Freak,' she said. They turned off the main street and the huge hospital complex came into sight. 'The violence has escalated so dramatically. It's a wonder we haven't come across this guy before. It's possible he's done a lot of time inside. We should probably look into violent sexual assaults in prison.'
'Good idea. There is some kind of sexual sadism going on, even if we've only seen it expressed in an overt sexual act with the Rice girl.' He stood aside to let a woman with a stroller pass them on the narrow footpath.
When he caught up, he continued.
'Traditional sexual assault doesn't have to take place for these people to get off. Think about it. In a sick way, stabbing flesh simulates the sex act.'
'Yeah, I've heard of that. What do they call it?' Jill felt sweat at her hairline.
'Piquerism. It's a paraphilia common to sexual sadists. Jack the Ripper was a piquerist. And you know what's typical with these guys?' He didn't wait for an answer. 'They also often stab themselves in some way. When they caught the serial killer Albert Fish, an X-ray showed he had more than two dozen needles inserted into his groin. They're sick mothers, I tell you. When I was training, I got called to transport a stiff from this small hospital in the sticks. Bloke had been brought in about ten times previously with self-inflicted stab wounds to the stomach. Would never tell the surgeons what he did it for. When he realised he wasn't going to make it this last time, he told them why he did it.'
Jill looked up at him as she walked.
'He told them,' he continued, 'that he believed he had vaginal tissue in his stomach. When he whacked off, he'd stab his gut to reach the tissue, effectively fucking himself.'
Oh, for God's sake. Jill stared into the gutter, waiting to cross at the lights. Of course she knew they were dealing with a monster in this case, but it was hard to fathom the depravity of a human who could not only deliberately inflict pain upon himself and another, but also become sexually aroused by the suffering. Inevitably, with such thoughts, her own traumatic memories shuddered into view, haltingly illuminated, as though by a fluorescent light stuttering to life. Screaming in the basement for the sexual pleasure of two men. Why did any aberrance surprise her?
Jill lifted her eyes from the ground. Gabriel stood slightly ahead of her. Unshaven again, with his hands in the pockets of his dark cargos, today he wore a light blue tee-shirt. The trucker cap sat low on his forehead. A marked police car passed them, and Gabriel lifted his chin towards the driver in acknowledgement. She saw the gesture returned.
