The Mak Collection (99 page)

‘She was in the process of divorcing him.’ Andy knew exactly what that was like. ‘She claims not to know anything. It’s possible that she is telling the truth about that,’ he added thoughtfully. She
had
seemed genuinely distressed.

‘And what do we think the arm was doing in the kitchen?’ Karen asked.

‘It was the left arm.’

She clued in immediately. ‘Ah, a wedding ring.’

‘Precisely. Lisa claims that her husband still wore his gold wedding ring, even though she’d left him. It hasn’t been found yet.’

‘Ed hawked it for cash?’

‘Perhaps. We’re checking for credit card transactions, paper trails, anything that can tell us what led up to Ben’s last moments. Hopefully his killer will slip up and use his card somewhere. We haven’t found his wallet.’

Andy was not convinced that Ed was the killer. Would he really have poisoned a man with Spanish fly and put him in the freezer, gladwrapped? That didn’t fit with his usual MO. It didn’t make sense. Because of the freezing of the body, forensics were having more difficulty than usual in pinpointing the time of death, but it was possible that Harpin had died before Ed even escaped. Yet Ed was definitely there at some point. He had spent significant time in Ben Harpin’s home. The puzzle pieces of this murder had not yet come together.

‘Nothing on the sister since the bank withdrawal?’

‘Something will turn up soon.’

Andy strongly suspected her involvement, voluntary or not. She was quite possibly a hostage. He’d seen the surveillance tapes from the convenience store next to Suzie’s bank, when she made her withdrawal. There was a figure in the passenger seat of her car. They couldn’t make out the person’s face as they had a baseball cap pulled low over their eyes.

They watched as whoever it was pulled a cloth from a box, which they identified as Clean Wipes disinfectant, and rubbed their face vigorously. Andy was sure it was Ed. Was he armed?

Karen looked to her hands and back up at Andy again. ‘Andy, do you think Detective Cassimatis will be okay?’ she asked.

Back in the bed, Jimmy held up his clipboard. It said, ‘I can hear you.’

‘Yeah,’ Andy said. ‘I think he’ll be fine.’

‘Mak?’

Jen was looking at her, head cocked to one side. She sat across from Mak in a tiny Mongkok noodle bar, her slim white fingers wrapped around a warm cup of Chinese tea. She appeared to be worried, as she had that morning when she’d found Mak being sick.

‘Sorry Jen, I must’ve zoned out there for a second,’ Mak said. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

She saw the food coming, a welcome distraction. ‘Ahhh, right on time…’

A slight Chinese woman arrived with their dishes, two steaming bowls of noodle soup crowned with pork balls, a popular local specialty. There was a small bowl of some type of hot sauce on the table, and Jen piled a spoonful on the top of her soup. Mak followed her lead. She took a ladle-sized spoonful up to her mouth and savoured the broth.

‘Ohhh, hot!’

Thankfully, Makedde’s stomach had settled. It felt nice to eat something that didn’t feel like it would immediately be purged. She realised that
between being sick and being upset, she hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day. Mak and Jen had chosen this small noodle bar near the Ladies Markets for dinner so that they could go shopping afterwards. Through the steamed-up windows, Mak could see the market stalls extending for blocks in all directions, and though it was already dark, it didn’t look anywhere near closing, or even slowing down. Mak couldn’t wait to get into it. Thousands of people swarmed the streets in all directions, buying and selling trinkets, toys, clothes, fake watches and copies of designer handbags. It looked like it would be a real adventure.

Meanwhile, the constant traffic of people outside the noodle bar was compelling too. There were funky girls with spiky hair and platform boots. Ancient-looking gentlemen, hunched over with their shopping. Kids on shoulders. Young couples holding hands. Jen and Mak, tall female foreigners, were two amongst thousands. The odd signs for sporting brands like adidas and Nike, crowded amongst Chinese symbols, were the only real hint of Americanisation. The sights and smells were so different from what Mak had seen in her many travels across North America and Europe. She marvelled at the exotic atmosphere, wondering why she had never ventured further east than Istanbul before. Look at all she’d been missing!

Mak felt Jen’s eyes on her.

‘Mak?’

‘Yup?’ she said between mouthfuls.

‘Last night I heard Shawn ask about that trial. That was you, wasn’t it?’

Mak’s stomach froze up.

‘Um, yeah. It was. How do you like your soup?’ she asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

‘It’s good.’ Jen looked away. ‘That must’ve been really scary,’ she continued, eyes downcast.

‘Yeah. It wasn’t much fun. The less I think about it now, the better. Truthfully, I’ve had a crap couple of years and I’m ready for some good luck now, I think.’

‘You seem so positive and smiling all the time. You’d never know.’

Not all scars are visible
, Mak wanted to say, but thought better of it. She was no victim. She was lucky. She wished they could get off the subject.

‘What will you do?’ Jen asked.

‘What will I do about what?’

‘Isn’t there a guy in Australia? Mak, are you okay?’

‘Yes. Sorry.’ She swallowed back a sour lump in her throat, and took a long, slow breath. Her noodles no longer seemed so appealing. Her appetite had almost completely vanished. ‘The um…the guy I was seeing is an Australian detective who I kind of went out with for a while, but we’re not seeing each other any more.’

She felt a rush of sadness. There was a bond there, as frustrating and inconvenient as it was. Mak could not deny that she’d been drawn to Andy from the start, and apparently she still couldn’t
quite keep herself from thinking of him. At the hotel in Double Bay, she had worried for hours knowing she would have to face him, and say a final goodbye. What did that mean? How could he still have such an effect on her?

I see you.

Was Makedde looking at him? Was she waiting for him to come in and get her?

I see you, Makedde.

Can you feel me?

Ed Brown watched Makedde from across the street. She was eating in a small noodle bar near the night markets. He’d watched her on the crowded subway train and followed her through Mongkok station. With her mane of blonde hair, Makedde stood out like a beacon amongst the Hong Kong locals. In the restaurant she was in clear view, like a window display just for him. She was his.

You are mine. Can you feel it? You are mine.

Makedde was eating with a girl Ed had not seen before, a young girl with a ponytail. He wondered how they knew each other. Another model? A friend from back home? Ed had followed Makedde from her model agency all the way here, where she had met with this girl. That was okay. The other girl was easily discarded. The sun was down now and everything was perfect. He had her. His patience had paid off, as he’d
known it would. He should never have panicked about not finding her. Of course he found her. It was only a matter of time. Ed knew she would have to come to the agency eventually. He knew that would be the key. No matter where she went he would find her, because that was her destiny. She belonged to him.

The streets were still busy, even though night had fallen. But no matter how many people brushed by him or walked around him, not one person paid Ed Brown any attention. He was ‘Mr Cellophane’, his unremarkable appearance like a cloak of invisibility that he’d learned to use to his advantage. He could melt into any crowd.

Makedde, you know you are mine.

Was she waiting for him? Should he walk straight in and take her?

‘Ed, darling.’

Ed turned, startled.

It was the Prison Lady.

No!

‘I can’t believe I found you, sweetheart. How wonderful!’ she cooed. She was dressed in runners, jeans and a T-shirt and carried a backpack. She held a plastic bag and a bottle of Evian water. Her upper lip was beading with sweat.

‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.

She will ruin everything!

‘I was just shopping. Here, I bought some of these fabulous custard egg tarts. Daan tarts, I think they call them. They are soooo good.’ She took one
out of the plastic bag and handed it to him. He held it in his hand, shocked.

How could she be there now, when his prize was right across the street? How!

‘So what have you been up to, honey? Sightseeing?’ She looked down at his hands, puzzled. ‘Darling, why are you wearing gloves?’

Ed looked down too. It was odd to wear leather gloves in humid Hong Kong, but he needed them for his task. He had no explanation to offer.

‘Oh, I’ve just been, yeah, sightseeing,’ he said awkwardly.

Get rid of her. Get rid of her now.

‘Mmm, there’s lots of great shopping here,’ the Prison Lady went on, mumbling through a mouthful of tart. ‘Oh, would you like some water?’ She held up the bottle.

‘No thanks.’

She took a swig of water herself through those awful thin, mean lips and put the bottle into one of the zippered pockets of her backpack. ‘I find it so humid here! It’s like I’m sweating all day.’

Do something. Get rid of her fast.

Ed made a plan. He put the small tart in his mouth in one bite. He grabbed the Prison Lady by the wrist with one gloved hand. ‘Honey, I want to show you something,’ he said. He pulled her with him. ‘I was going to save it for later. But this is the perfect time.’

‘Really?’ she said, and smiled with crumbs all over her disgusting little bird-mouth.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was going to be a surprise, but darling I just can’t wait any longer.’

Ed led her through the crowd, glancing behind him a couple of times to check his orientation, and make sure that Makedde hadn’t left the noodle bar. He didn’t see her on the street. She’ll probably be there for a while longer, he thought. She’s barely eaten any food.

Just get rid of the Prison Lady, get rid of her get rid of her get rid of her…

He headed towards a restaurant only half a block away, its windows displaying racks of barbecued ducks hanging by their feet, eyeballs gone. The restaurant was teeming with people, but when he’d walked past earlier he’d noticed a back alleyway they used for their garbage. It was probably as close to privacy as they needed. They moved into the alleyway, she with that putrid smile still glued on her face, and when they reached a gloomy corner, he stopped her.

‘Okay, now this is a surprise,’ he said.

She was positively glowing with excitement. She would do anything for him. Anything at all, he thought.

I want you to die now. That’s what I want you to do for me.

‘Close your eyes and hold out your hands.’

She did as he said.

He stole a quick glance left and right. There was activity everywhere, neon signs flashing in the darkness, music, people walking this way and that, but no one was watching. And no one else was in the back alley. The back door to the restaurant was closed.

‘Keep them shut…’ he teased.

‘Oh sweetheart—’

He took the rag from his pocket, along with the phial of liquid that had been reserved for his prize. He soaked the rag in one quick action. There was no time to waste.

With force, Ed wrapped one arm around the back of the Prison Lady’s head in a lock and held the pungent rag firmly over her gasping mouth—that awful, lipless bird-mouth. She flinched and struggled, spluttering and coughing. He pulled her backwards, leaning in close so anyone watching might think they were lovers enjoying a passionate embrace. She continued to struggle against him, her arms wanting to lash out, but he held them fast, hugging her in a vice-like grip with his strong upper body. She tried to speak, tried to protest, but her incoherent words were mumbled senselessly against the damp rag, shocked eyes open and staring at him. A whimper, a small kick, and then, limp, she fell back into his arms.

The rag was soaked with chloroform. She was unconscious.

He lifted her and walked further into the alley, her feet dragging across the concrete. From a distance they could have been a couple dancing. He pocketed the rag and fished in his pocket for the knife. Still holding her, he rammed the six-inch blade through her T-shirt into her stomach. Her skin gave easily to the sharp steel tip. She twitched. With effort, he dragged it up through her torso, hitting the sternum at the top. His
adrenaline soared. Ed had not thought he would enjoy killing her—she was so dull and sexless to him. But ridding himself of her was so very satisfying, and the metallic smell of spilled blood never failed to excite him. He felt alive. He felt like a god.

Ed pushed the Prison Lady away and she fell on top of the swelling plastic bags of rotten garbage, her head hitting the brick wall behind.

She looked almost lovely there. Like a rag doll. He’d never thought of her as lovely before.

Ed leaned over her, barely registering the repulsive reek of the garbage she lay in. He sliced her throat from ear to ear. She bled profusely, her life spilling out from every gaping wound. It gave him a sweet tingle up his spine. It was finally done. The Prison Lady was dead.

Ed paused for a brief moment to admire his handiwork, then quickly covered her in garbage bags, one on top of the other. There was nothing left to see. She was gone.

The job complete, the reality of the alley hit Ed with full strength.

Without looking back, he strode briskly out into the street and around the corner. He took a Clean Wipe from his pocket and cleaned his face. Once. Twice. He wiped the fingertips of his gloves. His jacket had blood on it. He would have to turn it inside out.

He had to wash.

Crazy with adrenaline and the compulsion to cleanse the germs away, Ed rushed through the
front door of the restaurant and made a beeline for the toilets at the back. A waiter addressed him but he did not respond. He needed to clean it all off. The germs. There were so many in that alley. He had to get them away…