men are doing.'
'What are they doing?'
'Why, they fuck children, Jill. But you already know that, don't you?'
The voice sounded like the person was speaking through cloth.
Jill got up and walked with the phone now, pacing through her living room.
'Jill, they have a child there tonight.' Jill gripped the phone in her hand. 'I think it's a boy called Jerome Sanders; he was snatched last week. There's a party going on right now. Some Japanese high rollers have come here to celebrate, and Jerome is the party favour.'
Jill stood very still. 'How do you know all this?' she asked.
'I've been watching. I know you got my photo.'
'What is that address again?' Jill scribbled it down on a notepad in the kitchen; she tasted acid at the back of her throat. 'I'll be there within half an hour. Whoever you are, do not enter that house. If there is a child in there you cannot risk him being hurt.'
'Jill, there is a child in there. I told you. And it's probably a little too late to hope that there's just a risk of him being hurt. You know what kind of men these are.'
Jill unlocked her door; a jacket over her tracksuit would have to do. She slipped her firearm into the pocket of her windcheater. She'd telephone Scotty from her mobile, in transit.
Scotty confirmed what she already knew. The kidnapping of Jerome Sanders had been in the news and on their bulletin boards for a week. Scotty promised he'd meet her at Hunters Hill within half an hour.
'Jill, you don't know what this is. Do not get out of the car until I get there. Are we clear?'
'Yep. Just get there fast, and bring the cavalry.'
She knew neither of them could get there in less than forty minutes, and because Scotty would need to find Andreessen and arrange for back-up, he'd probably be considerably longer.
Jill stayed not more than twenty over the speed limit, overriding the instincts that were urging her to floor it. Jerome Sanders was with them right now. She blinked her eyes rapidly to stop images forming of what could be happening to him, what had happened to her.
She did not have to look to know that the girl with the white eyes sat in the passenger seat next to her, staring fixedly ahead, on her way to help Jerome. Somewhere Jill was faintly disturbed that this girl from the basement, who since then had lived only in her nightmares, was taking this ride with her.
She tried to ignore the girl's burning presence as she drove into the night. Jill had rarely used the portable navigation system her father had bought her for Christmas a few years ago. Being told where to go by the British nanny voice irritated her. Tonight, however, she obeyed the voice, and at 12.50 a.m. she pulled into the sleeping wealth of Kensington Drive, Hunters Hill. Crawling forward with her headlights off, she saw Mercy Merris's red Mercedes parked with a group of its newer, more expensive cousins. She felt no surprise. She rolled past the car, lights still off, and glanced inside. Empty.
She drove to the next street and turned left, parked a few houses down. Hands in her pockets, one cradling her gun, Jill jogged back towards the Mercedes, sticking to pools of darkness. She could see no-one. The homes in this street were set well back from the road. The night was still, the air cool on her face.
She reached Mercy's car, parked close to the house with the street number she'd been given. She assumed the caller had been Mercy. So Mercy had sent the photo. What was she doing?
Next to the Mercedes, a long sandstone wall protected a high, perfectly maintained hedge; the hedge protected a million-dollar view from those too poor to see it from their own homes. There was still no movement on the street.
Jill felt the girl with the white eyes jump over the wall before her. Shit. She waited a beat and followed her over, then she pushed her way through the hedge, the fragrant twigs pulling at her hair, clawing her clothing, trying to trap her within. When she finally broke through, the white-eyed girl was running down a hill towards the house. 'Wait for Scotty,' she wanted to yell after herself. Instead, she moved cautiously down velvety lawns towards the dark house.
She was halfway to the back of the huge home when the floodlights flared, turning night to day. Jill threw herself into a bush at the side of the gravel drive and lay there, her heart in her mouth, watching. The girl with the white eyes lay next to her, breathing evenly, waiting for Jill to get up and do something.
I should wait for Scotty, she told herself, even as she moved from her stomach to a crouch, readying to move. The lights had not brought anybody to the yard, and there was no noticeable movement in the house. Jill could see all of the grounds now, a wave of dark green flowing down to the inky harbour fifty metres away. The owners were perhaps used to large water birds triggering the sensor lights. In any event, they had not bothered to come and check why they'd been activated.
Jill made her way along the edge of the driveway, creeping through the shrubbery to avoid the crunch of the gravel on one side and the well-lit lawn on the other. When she drew parallel with the back of the house, she saw huge windows filled with light, and movement inside. She froze again. Should she try to get closer to the house? Scotty would be on the way, but she knew it would have taken him some time to wake the inspector, explain the situation and coordinate a plan of approach. The boss would probably want a search warrant before anyone came near the place. He'd have started out, but she knew he'd be a while yet.
Swaying slightly on her feet from the mental tug-of-war, Jill suddenly swore under her breath. The white- eyed girl was running down the lawn towards the ocean. Jill noticed a boatshed at the bottom of the grounds. It was a better place to wait than here, exposed. She followed her down to the water's edge. It wasn't until Mr Sebastian told Jerome that he wouldn't be able to stop Jamaal from hurting him that Jerome managed to stop himself crying.
'He doesn't have a lot of patience, I'm afraid, Jerome,' said the big man, smiling down at him kindly. 'He particularly dislikes crying, you see. He once told me that his father would punish him when he used to cry, and now it seems that the sound of it triggers something quite ferocious in him.'
Jerome swallowed hard. Jamaal was looking at him as though he were food.
Jerome thought it was maybe an hour since the big man, Tadpole and Jamaal had entered through a heavy door into the garage. The big man had spoken first.
'Jerome, I realised only this afternoon that I have not properly introduced myself to you. My name is Mr Sebastian, and I hope that we can be firm friends.' His eyes crinkled in a friendly fashion. 'I know you've met Tadpole here' – Tadpole positively beamed – 'and this is Jamaal, who brought you to us, of course.'
Although he was ashamed of it, Jerome could not stop some hot tears falling.
'I-I want to go home.'
'Of course you do, but not before the party, young man!' Mr Sebastian continued. 'Jamaal has some clothes for you to wear, and I'm afraid you'll have to have a shower now.' He leaned forward and stage-whispered conspiratorially, 'You're starting to smell!'
Tadpole giggled.
'I… d-don't want to go to a party,' Jerome cried in earnest now. He felt like someone had punched him in the throat.
'Oh, but of course you do. There will be balloons and cake, lollies and chips, and you're the guest of honour, young man. Some very important men have come here to meet you. We've told them all about you. You wouldn't want them to be sad, would you?'
'N-no.'
'Of course not.'
'And then can I go home?'
'Well, that will be then, and this is now, is it not? And you've a shower to take, and a party to attend.'
It was around then that Mr Sebastian had told Jerome about Jamaal's aversion to crying. The floodlights didn't reach the water's edge, and Jill approached the boatshed by padding quietly across the thick lawn. Boats clanked gently, rocking in the calm water where the property ended. The harbour smelt like life and death.
The white-eyed girl stood on her toes at the boatshed, peering into a rind of light around a window. Jill crept up to join her, the grass giving way to sand beneath her sneakers. The boatshed sat at the very edge of the water, a single-room wooden structure that could have been sold for twice what Jill's flat was worth. Silent, she stepped up on a rock upon which the shed was built, and peered in through a crack in some sort of window covering.
