The Mak Collection (77 page)

It had been far too long between sensual encounters for Mak. Now that she had thrown off her inhibitions, she could not pull back. She did not
want
to pull back. Her life had turned around—Ed was locked away, she was with Andy again, and it felt good, it felt so damned good to be
alive
again, not some ghost of a woman walking through her days merely
coping
under a shield of protection built by trauma and fear. She was open. Alive. She’d wanted Andy Flynn for so long, whether she had accepted the fact of her longing or not, and now here he was. Her body was greedy for more of him. Andy was the only man she had ever felt that certain incomparable chemistry with, the only man who reduced her to a bundle of wanting hormones. She was greedy for the satisfaction of
feeling him inside her, and she wasn’t going to wait one moment longer.

Makedde undid Andy’s belt and his pants slid to the tile floor, the buckle hitting the ground with a sharp twang. She turned the shower on with one hand, and the next thing she knew, her grateful body was pressed against his tall, muscular form under a stream of hot water. She held a bar of soap in her hand and let it glide luxuriously over the hair on his chest, over his arms, his stomach, between his legs. She savoured the feel of his strong, masculine build, already aroused with sexual readiness for her. Her breasts slid across his chest, gleaming with suds. Her hands squeezed and coaxed him. Andy stood for a time under the showerhead, eyes closed, accepting her attention and holding himself back. A faint moan. A sigh. It was apparent that his restraint could not last. Before long, he guided Mak’s legs up around his waist and she felt him press into her. He entered her in gentle thrusts as she clung to the bar of the shower curtain for balance.

‘Yes,’ she murmured, encouraging him. She wanted to feel him all the way inside, and in moments he was there, filling every last part of her. Everything else fell away, the purpose of their physical design overriding every other thought. Only they existed, one flesh moving together. With frenzied thrusts they joined, lost in kisses and murmurs of ‘more’. She gripped him harder with her thighs and felt herself fall as the shower bar gave way from the wall. A split second of panic sent her
heart into her throat, but he caught her safely in his arms and the damage was forgotten in building thrusts of passion. He uttered some wordless cry and shuddered as she squeezed him, satisfying herself.

Mak slept like a baby for almost an hour after Andy left. The physical, mental and emotional relief that she felt was unmeasured. In the past twenty-four hours every part of her life had come to feel renewed and optimistic. Her sleep was relaxed and content, a truly foreign experience after the events of the previous two years. She finally felt safe. There was light in her world again, and she was so very glad.

When Mak awoke, she rolled lazily over to the phone and called her father.

It was Ann who answered.

‘Hi Ann. It’s Mak. How are you?’

Ann was clearly taking a lot of time off from her psych practice in Vancouver to look after Les. That was a serious step, and one that gave Mak another reason to smile. Whilst deep down no daughter truly likes to see her mother’s role filled by another, even after death, neither can a daughter truly live with seeing her father struggle in loneliness. To Makedde it was a relief to gradually be able to put to bed the image of her father widowed and bereft.

‘Mak, it’s so lovely to hear from you,’ Ann said. ‘We got your message. That is great news about the confession.’

‘Yes, I think everyone is enormously relieved. All except Ed’s defence, I suppose.’

‘You must have popped a few champagnes last night.’

Makedde grinned. ‘Yes, actually, that’s exactly what we did.’

It is over. It is finally over.

‘Hang on, I’ll just get your father. I know he’s eager to speak to you—’

‘Mak.’ It was her father’s voice. He had probably picked it up in his office down the hall.

‘Hi Dad, how are you feeling?’

‘Fine, fine. How are things there?’

‘I’ll let you guys talk,’ Ann said, still on the phone. ‘It’s great to hear from you, Mak. We’ll see you soon, I hope. Travel safe.’

‘Thanks, Ann.’ The phone made the clicking sound of a hung-up receiver. ‘Things are good, Dad. Great actually. I can’t express how buoyant I feel with the weight of all of that off me. I think it played on my mind more than I let myself believe.’

‘What’s this about the possibility of Ed getting a reduced sentence? Have you heard anything about that?’ Les said, quite out of the blue.

‘What?’ Mak sat up.

‘There’s talk about the Crown doing a deal.’

‘Dad, what are you talking about?’ She immediately felt edgy. The simple suggestion of a problem with Ed being locked away was enough to throw her fragile happiness into turmoil again.

‘There’s talk that the Crown is negotiating to reduce Ed’s sentence in exchange for some bodies.’

She felt herself get angry with her father. How could he do this? How could he keep her from enjoying the positive turn of events?

‘That’s ridiculous, Dad. That is absolutely
ridiculous.
I don’t know who you’ve been talking to this time, but Ed Brown is guilty, convicted and incarcerated. We have had success.’

‘Has anyone mentioned it to you?’

‘No they haven’t because there is nothing to mention, Dad. Yesterday I watched Ed Brown confess his murders in court and I watched the judge pronounce him guilty. That’s it. That’s what’s happening over here. Honestly, sometimes I think you just make up excuses to worry.’

Les was always working his police connections, his contacts. The web stretched across the globe. He heard a lot of things, often accurate. But something had surely gone awry in this case. Or, just as likely, her father could not help but imagine worst-case scenarios and try to warn her of them. Either way, she did not appreciate the pessimism.

‘Mak, the result is wonderful news, I know, but I think we should be prepared for some pretty serious plea-bargaining,’ he said.

‘The judge pronounced him guilty of multiple murder, Dad. That’s practically a guaranteed life sentence. How can you find a negative in this? Why can’t you be happy with such a fortunate result?’

‘Makedde, I am only trying to warn you.’

‘Well thank you for the warning, based on absolutely nothing. Things are great here, okay? We did it. It’s over.’

The world was already weighing on her shoulders again; she was Makedde ‘Atlas’ Vanderwall once more. She had to control a flash of misdirected anger. Why would he say such a thing just when she was starting to feel happy again?

There was a tense pause.

‘Dad, how’s your health? How did the endoscopy go?’

‘Dr Olenski took a biopsy. We’re waiting on the result.’ He said the words begrudgingly, as if he hated to admit the possibility of physical frailty. He continued in a gentler tone. ‘When are you coming home, Mak?’

Mak had not given a lot of thought to that yet. Her whole world had changed in the past twenty-four hours. All of her plans had been turned happily upside down. If she and Andy started seeing each other again, seriously this time, they would have to address their geographical challenges. They would need some time to discover whether they could make it work or not.

‘I don’t know, Dad,’ she admitted. ‘This all happened much quicker than I thought. I might…stick around for a little while now.’

I don’t want to come home, not yet. Not until I know about Andy.

‘You’re spending time with Flynn again, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, Dad. I am.’

Nothing escaped him. How did he always know so much?

‘Be careful, Makedde. Just be careful,’ Les pleaded, a father frustrated by the enforced distance between himself and his eldest daughter, in whom he could see both his own stubbornness and the spirit of his late wife.

All of which worried him.

Here they come.

When they arrived to collect Ed Brown from his solitary cell at Long Bay, he was waiting on the edge of his bed, fully dressed, with his hands folded neatly in his lap. It was a quarter to twelve.

‘Alright, come on then. You know the drill,’ Suzie Harpin growled gruffly through the bars.

Ed was careful not to make eye contact with the Prison Lady. He stared at his feet and tried to appear as mild and obliging as possible, standing slowly as ordered and clasping his hands behind his back in the middle of his cell.

He waited, concentrating on his steady, rhythmic breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Calm.

Ed could not let anything betray the childlike excitement he felt in watching his carefully laid plans finally come into play. It was like Christmas morning and he, for once, would have the most toys.

The cell door clicked behind him, the bolt freed. He stood obediently and waited. Then came the heavy, rubber-soled footsteps of the Prison Lady and two other guards. They took his wrists and handcuffed him sharply in a way that hurt. No doubt this was done intentionally by the Prison Lady, whom he hoped was not overdoing her part. He noticed that today she had not worn her nauseating perfume, the one she had taken to using in recent weeks, apparently for his benefit. That was good. Ed didn’t want anyone to notice her attempts at femininity, even subconsciously. There was always a slim chance that someone might see some relevance later on.

They spun him around. The Prison Lady spoke again. ‘This is Senior Sergeant Lewis, Senior Constable Cassimatis and Constable Hoosier. They are with the New South Wales Homicide Division and they will be spending time with you today.’
No Andy Flynn
, Ed thought with a rush of relief.
Unless he’s joining us outside.

Brusquely, the Prison Lady turned to the tall, muscular police officer with the military-type haircut. ‘Senior Sergeant, he’s all yours.’

Ed hoped the Prison Lady wouldn’t watch him go. She had been pretty good about acting casual so far. Her shift would soon be over and then she would be gone. Neither of them could afford to slip, even once. There would be too many questions later.

Andrew Flynn’s absence pleased Ed no end. He was the police officer who could cause the most
trouble. It was much better if he wasn’t around, especially while the relationship between Ed and these other officers was so delicate, as it was bound to be today. They would be sizing him up, deciding how much he could be trusted, deciding how to play him. That was a laugh. Them playing
him
? The way each minute of this afternoon’s excursion unfolded would lay the groundwork for further cooperation. Ed had it carefully planned. He couldn’t have Flynn ruining that.

Ed was led out of the cell without further fanfare, shuffling down the institutional corridors with his shoulders hunched. He kept his eyes to the floor.

Calm. Obedient.

The Prison Lady’s feet were not much smaller than those of the male guards, he noticed. Those unattractive combat-style boots she always wore actually housed a woman’s feet. It was hard to imagine. He sometimes wondered what her feet looked like. Were her toes odd-shaped? Mannish? Square? Tapered? Were they smooth and manicured? He doubted that.

‘This way, Ed,’ the one introduced as Hoosier said, approaching a reception area. The police signed him out at the desk, like a stray dog or a piece of borrowed equipment. Ed tried not to smile though it amused him.

He knew these officers would do their best to make the morbid parade they were embarking on seem innocuous in public. After all, his was a headline case. He, Ed Brown, had captured the
public’s imagination. He was famous. He was feared. If anyone were tipped off, the news helicopters would be circling in minutes. The police would have chaos on their hands if Joe Public had any idea that the confessed and convicted Stiletto Serial Killer was out walking around, even with snipers and guards surrounding him.

The corners of Ed’s mouth turned up into the beginnings of a sly smile.

They
would
have snipers hidden in the bushes, wouldn’t they? How long would it take them to scramble into position once he gave his escort directions on where they were to go? It would be fun to watch it all unfold, he thought. It would be an education. Eighteen months was a long time to wait for a little action.

Now Ed was more than ready.

‘My place is just half a block that way,’ Senior Constable Karen Mahoney said.

She pointed out the window of her beat-up Datsun in the direction of a slightly decrepit-looking block of flats. Karen and Makedde had spent the past ten minutes speeding around the back roads of the infamous Kings Cross. Makedde, strapped into the passenger seat, white-knuckling on the fast corners, was convinced that they must surely be turning into the wrong side of the road at every intersection. Kings Cross, once renowned as the domain of red-light entrepreneurialism and questionable ‘massage parlours’, had over the years attracted a slew of trendy bars and restaurants, not to mention a lot of tourists. It was home turf for Karen, so it featured heavily in her Sydney refresher tour for Mak.

After her unexpectedly unsettling phone call to her father, Mak was happy to get out of the hotel room and blow off some steam. Karen was turning out to be excellent company, even if her driving made Mak’s teeth chatter.

‘Yesterday must have been a huge relief for you,’ the young flame-haired senior constable said, gazing intently at Mak as she spun the steering wheel deftly with one hand.

‘Yes…a relief.’

Since the conversation with her father, Mak’s mind had been ticking over furiously. She had not yet broached the subject with Karen. Nor had she spilled the beans on what had happened between her and Andy, though she figured that, like most women, Karen could probably tell. The effect of good, drought-breaking sex was as obvious as a new haircut.

‘I can’t believe that he confessed in court,’ Mahoney said. ‘It sure took me off guard.’