The Profiler (7 page)

“Snowball! Scram!” Whitton shooed away the cat that was very reluctant to move. He pushed at it with his hand. “Let these officers sit down.”

“We’re fine,” Ellie said hurriedly. “We won’t take up too much of your time. We’re just here to ask you a few questions about the chest freezer you reported stolen.”

“Me freezer, yeah. It was right over there. Right near me couch. You can still see where it used to sit.”

Her gaze followed in the direction of his grubby finger. She noticed a large, vacant space further along the wall. Dust gathered thickly around it, leaving it conspicuously empty amongst the junk. A rusted upright fridge stood beside it.

She looked around the porch. It was obvious he lived out here. The junk in Jim Whitton’s house had forced him outside. All that was missing was a bed. But maybe that’s what the couch was for…

Ellie suppressed a shudder as Clayton picked his way through the scattering of debris for a closer look. He gamely squatted near the vacant square. “When did you notice it gone?”

The man scratched a dirty fingernail across his unshaven chin before answering. “Nearly three weeks ago. I’d not long been home from a day at the tip and I came out here for a coldie. Couldn’t believe me eyes when I realized it was missin’. I called the local coppers and they told me they’d send someone around, but it’s been three weeks and nothin’. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of ’em. That’s why I kept ringin’ the Superintendent. I figured if anyone could get some action happenin’ it would be the boss.”

Ellie stepped a little closer, mindful of the stench emanating from him. “You work at the garbage depot. Is that what you mean when you say the tip?”

Jim chuckled. “Work? Yeah, I guess you could call it that. I’m a scab, darlin’. I scab from the tip. Where do you think I got all me stuff from? All me little treasures?” His arms spread wide, indicating the house full of junk. “It brings me in a pretty penny from the recyclin’ plant.”

Clayton coughed loudly behind her. Ellie suppressed a grin. Jim’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “You’re not gonna turn me in to Centrelink, are you?”

Ellie shook her head. “We’re not here for that, but if you’re earning additional unclaimed income, perhaps you’d better go and talk to them yourself.” Another whiff of the man’s odor reached her. Risking a tiny breath of air, she took out her notebook and pen and cleared her throat, suddenly anxious to get this over with.

“Anyway, talking about the freezer. It was a chest freezer, is that right?”

“Yeah, darlin’. Just a plain old Westinghouse. Had it for years. Weren’t worth nothin’. But I still want it back. Got nowhere to store me meat or me frozen vegies.”

Ellie was surprised he even knew what vegetables were, but remained silent. Clayton picked his way back to them.

“How do you think they got in?” he asked.

Jim’s brow creased in confusion. He stared back at Clayton. “Got in? Whatcha mean, got in?”

“I mean, how do you think they broke into your house? Were there any windows broken or a door smashed?”

Jim threw back his head and laughed. “Nah, mate, they didn’t break in. They didn’t have to. I don’t lock nothin’ around here. All they had to do was back a pick-up into me driveway and lift it straight off me porch. Me own fuckin’ porch. Can you believe it?”

Clayton’s jaw tensed and impatience flashed in his eyes. Ellie knew exactly how he felt. They were wasting time. They should have been over at Evelyn Ward’s or Robyn Batten’s—asking questions of the people who really did have something to worry about.

She stepped in. “All right, Mr Whitton, we’ll see what we can do. It was only meat and frozen vegetables in the freezer, is that right?”

“Yeah, darlin’. That’s all I keep in there. And the occasional loaf of bread and a tub or two of marge. But I had at least a month’s worth of groceries in there. That’s a lot of meat to walk off your porch. I’m on the pension, you know. I really wanna get it back.”

“Of course, Mr Whitton. We’ll be doing all that we can to find it.” Ellie pulled a card out of her wallet and handed it to him. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

“I surely will, darlin’. I surely will.”

Clayton picked his way over to the screen door which led to the back steps. Ellie followed behind him and breathed a sigh of relief that she’d avoided another trip through the house.

She made her way over the grassed area Mr Whitton was sure had provided access for the thieves. The heels of her boots sank into the damp ground. Lifting up the legs of her suit pants, she picked her way carefully through the mud.

Several sets of tire tracks marked the soft dirt. It was obvious he used the driveway, too. After three weeks of use, it was impossible to determine a single set of tire marks among the melee of tracks she saw.

With a sigh of resignation, she headed to the squad car where Clayton waited. When he slid into the passenger seat, she half smiled at him, her guard momentarily lowered. “What the hell did we do to deserve that? He’s an absolute loony.”

He grinned back at her. “Yeah, but it does look like something’s missing. I mean, the only clear space in that entire house is where he says there was a chest freezer.” He cocked his head at her. “I’m inclined to believe him.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t believe him,” she protested. “In fact, his story’s very similar to a couple of other cases I’ve been working on. In both of those, the freezers were reported missing from the back porch. Both of them are within a few miles of this place.” A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Someone’s obviously got a thing for chest freezers.”

“Let’s hope we don’t find one of our girls in them.”

Ellie gave him a disparaging look. “Sounds a bit Hollywood, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know what to think. But at this stage, nothing can be discounted. Hopefully Josie and Sally will turn up fine and all will be well.”

His face looked anything but hopeful. Coldness seeped into her veins. Despite her flippancy, the picture had shifted. The scenery now looked a whole lot more sinister.

The phone in her pocket vibrated against her leg and she pushed the thought aside. Tugging it out, she glanced down and recognized the number.

“It’s the boss.” She answered the call. “Hey, Ben. What’s happening?”

“Ellie, I need you and Clayton to make another house call.”

“Sir, we’ve only just finished with Jim Whitton. We haven’t even made it to the Wards’ place yet and then we’re off to the Battens’. If you can just give us another hour or two—”

“We’ve had a hit on the head shot. Someone phoned it in about ten minutes ago. Apparently recognized it in the afternoon edition of the paper. I think the close-up of the jewelry did it.”

Her heart picked up its pace. “Wow, that’s great. Do we have a name?”

“Yeah, the caller says the girl’s Angelina Caruso. She’s from Mt Druitt. Been missing for just over six weeks.”

“Who called it in?”

His voice turned grim. “Her mother.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Shit, shit, shit.” Ellie thumped her fist on the steering wheel and shook her head in frustration. With Evelyn Ward’s pain still fresh in her mind, the last place she wanted to be was waiting outside yet another house to confirm the news no parent ever wanted to hear.

Clayton remained silent. He opened the passenger side door and climbed out, his face grave. She was grateful he’d offered to come with her when she broke the news. Fed or no Fed, she welcomed his show of support.

This was the worst part of the job. Swallowing a heavy sigh, she climbed out of the car and joined him on the sidewalk.

The house was an old weatherboard that had seen better days. The lawn had yellowed from the frosts and a lack of water and was half overgrown. Incongruously, bright pots of colorful geraniums lined the concrete walkway, flowering bravely in the crisp winter air.

She climbed the steps with Clayton and looked for a doorbell. There was none. The Fed rapped loudly on the cracked timber beside the rusted screen door that led into the house.

She tensed when footsteps made their way toward them. The silhouette of a woman came into view. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage.

“Mrs Caruso?”

The woman peered apprehensively out at them.

“Yes, I’m Jacqueline Caruso. Who wants to know?”

Ellie’s lips tightened. There was no easy way to do this.

“Mrs Caruso, I’m Detective Cooper. This is Federal Agent Munro. We’re here about Angelina.”

The woman’s eyes widened and her face paled. With a shaking hand, she pushed a heavy, dark fringe of hair off her forehead and struggled to open the door.

“I-I think you’d better come in.”

They stepped into a narrow corridor that ran the length of the house. A tired hall runner in muted colors of navy and red softened their footsteps as they followed Mrs Caruso toward the back of the house.

A modest kitchen opened up at the end of the hall. Like the rest of the house, it was scrupulously clean. The Formica counter-tops sparkled. Not a single cup or dish sat on the dish drainer. The tea towel had been left to hang on the oven door in perfect alignment.

“Can I get you something to drink, Detectives? A cup of tea, perhaps?

Ellie admired her self-control. The woman had to know they weren’t there to bring good news. Her restless fingers that played with the ends of the black-and-white checked apron that was tied around her waist, were the only giveaways.

“Thank you,” Ellie replied with a quick peek in Clayton’s direction, “but we’re both fine. Is there somewhere we could sit? We need to talk.”

“Of course.” The woman touched her head, almost reflexively, patting down a non-existent stray hair. Apart from her bangs, the thick darkness of it was pulled off her face and fixed at the nape of her neck in a tight bun. The look would have been severe on a woman less attractive.

Her olive skin and chocolate-brown eyes hinted at European heritage. Ellie guessed her age to be mid-fifties, but it was tough to tell on a woman time had treated kindly. The dyed hair made it even more difficult.

They followed her out of the kitchen and back down the hallway into a small sitting room. Solid, well-constructed furniture that showed its age filled the room. A small, old-fashioned television sat in a corner unit. Family photographs crowded the mantelpiece above the roaring fire.

Ellie sidled over for a closer look. Her heart clenched as she recognized Angelina Caruso. She caught Clayton’s eye and moved her head imperceptibly toward the photographs. His lips tightened.

“Please, Detectives. Take a seat.” Jacqueline Caruso’s hand shook as she indicated the worn blue two-seater sofa. Orange and yellow cushions nestled in each corner.

Ellie clenched her teeth and perched on the edge of it. Clayton remained standing.

She drew in a deep breath and waited for the woman to seat herself in the matching wing chair.

“Mrs Caruso, I’m afraid we have some bad news.”

The woman’s hands fluttered nervously. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything? A biscuit, perhaps?”

Ellie swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry, Mrs Caruso. There just isn’t an easy way to tell you this.”

A high keening wail erupted from the woman sitting opposite her. She began to rock back and forth on her seat. “Please, not my Angelina. Please, Detective. Please don’t tell me you’ve found my Angelina.”

Drawing air into her suddenly depleted lungs, Ellie prayed silently for the right words—and failed. The woman’s daughter had been murdered in a horrifyingly gruesome way. Nothing could change that. No words would bring her back.

Without conscious thought, she looked to Clayton for help. His face was somber. He looked as upset as she felt. It had to be done. They needed information and Angelina Caruso’s mother might be the only one who could give it to them. A madman had sawn her daughter’s head off while she was still breathing…

He had to be stopped.

She leaned forward and captured one of the woman’s flailing hands. “Mrs Caruso, we think we’ve found Angelina.”

The woman’s eyes turned wild. “Don’t you mean to say you’ve found her head? Isn’t that what you meant to say? I read it in the newspaper. They said they’d found a head. I saw it the other week. The picture looked a little bit like her, but it was hard to tell with all the…” More color leeched from her cheeks. She swallowed and drew in a deep breath. “Today I saw the earrings.” A hand fluttered up and touched the plain gold stud in her ear.

“They were my mother’s. She gave them to me when I turned sixteen. I gave them to Angelina four years ago. She wore them everywhere.”

Her voice broke. Tears of pain pooled in her eyes. “My baby, my poor
baby.
” Huge sobs wracked the slim body. She fell forward, her head clutched between her hands.

The sound of the woman’s grief almost did Ellie in. Hot tears welled up in her eyes. Her chest tightened with emotion. She was grateful the media hadn’t got wind of all the details. At least the woman could be spared that much. For a little while, anyway.

The sobs that came from the woman across from them gradually quieted. Dark, watery, pools of pain flicked to Clayton and then to Ellie. Jacqueline offered a small, self-deprecating smile. Her cheeks flushed, as if she were embarrassed to have given vent to her emotions in front of strangers.