The Shadow Maker (3 page)

A uniformed constable nodded gravely to the two detectives and closed the door of Emma’s private room before resuming his seat on a nearby chair. As they walked from the ward, Rita flipped through her notes before shoving the pad and mini-disc recorder in her pocket. Something was bugging her, and Strickland knew what.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Spit it out.’

‘Are we going to question Kavella?’

Strickland sighed and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day.

‘Look, I want to go after him as much as you.’

‘Then we’ve got a perfect excuse,’ Rita insisted. ‘Emma was at his club. Her attacker even mentioned “the cave”. Surely that’s no coincidence, and we know Kavella’s into designer violence, organised rape. For God’s sake, did you know he was selling tickets to that vice ring he was running?’

‘I know you take the injustice personally because you were the arresting officer. The girl was at his club, yeah, about an hour before she was picked up on the other side of the city. Where’s the connection?’

‘She could have been followed.’

‘It’s possible. But you know as well as I do we’ve got to be careful.

At this stage we’re only justified in checking out the club’s customers.’

He pressed the button for the lifts. ‘We can’t make a move against Kavella without evidence or his lawyers will have us for harassment.

It’s as simple as that.’

They rode to the ground floor in silence, but the lift doors opened on a clamour of voices.

‘Oh, no,’ said Strickland. ‘The dingo pack.’

Journalists. They’d invaded the hospital’s reception area - radio reporters, photographers, newspaper hacks, a couple of camera crews

- and it was too late to avoid them. Among them was someone who was more unwelcome than the rest: TV crime reporter Mike Cassidy. He winked at Rita as the media scrum converged on the two detectives.

‘I’ll do the talking,’ said Strickland from the corner of his mouth.

The arc lights came on and the cameras flashed - along with the questions.

‘Is it true a woman’s eyes have been put out?’

‘Is she a prostitute?’

‘Has anyone been arrested?’

Strickland held up his hands, ‘Okay, okay. A brief statement, that’s all.’ He waited for the microphones to jostle into position. ‘I can’t give many details at this stage, so let me just confirm a woman has been the victim of a vicious attack in the early hours of this morning. It’s one of the most sickening I’ve had to deal with in more than twenty years on the force. And yes - she’s been permanently blinded as a result. As you’ll appreciate, she’s traumatised and heavily sedated. We’ve just come from talking to her. As yet she’s unable to identify her attacker but she’s given us a description which we’ll make public later.’

That brought another barrage of questions.

‘Does that mean there’s a maniac on the loose?’

‘What are the police doing to catch him?’

‘Is he likely to strike again?’

‘Let me assure you,’ said Strickland firmly, ‘the investigation is already well underway and we’re doing everything in our power to track down the assailant.’

Then Mike Cassidy asked, ‘Is that why Detective Sergeant Van Hassel is here? Has she been brought in to profile the attacker?’

Strickland glared at him and gave Rita a sideways glance. He was fully aware of the history between them.

‘Detective Sergeant Van Hassel is part of the team working on the case. And it’s clear that profiling can give valuable insights when we’re trying to trace anonymous offenders. But at this point in the investigation, she’ll be concentrating on basic detective work, like the rest of my officers. And that’s all I’ve got to say. No more questions. Our press office will issue further details.’

As the journalists began to disperse, Strickland drew Rita to one side.

‘I’m going back up to the ward. I want uniform clear the media’s banned from going anywhere near the victim.’ He leant closer. ‘What I want you to do is put the heavy word on your boyfriend.’

‘We split up months ago.’

‘Whatever. Just tell him to back off. We’ve got enough to worry about without him doing a beat-up.’

She watched Strickland go back into the lift and deliver a stern jerk of the head as the doors closed. This was a chore she could do without.

She caught up with Cassidy as he was trotting down the steps outside the hospital entrance, his cameraman beside him.

‘Thanks for nothing, Mike.’

The two men stopped and turned.

The cameraman grinned but Cassidy waved him on. ‘See you back at the office.’ He waited until the other man was out of earshot. ‘Nice to bump into you too, Rita. I’ve missed you chasing after me.’

‘In your fantasies,’ she said. ‘What were you trying to pull back there?’

‘Lighten up. It was a valid question.’

He said it without a trace of deceit. It reminded her of how disingenuous he could be, and why their relationship had survived only a few stormy months. Like many journalists he was plausible and witty. On top of that he possessed the chiselled good looks of a professional charmer, which in a sense he was. She’d fallen for his brazen approach, along with the handsome profile and the dark eyes with their hint of danger. Even now she only partly regretted it. If nothing else, their time together had been worth the entertainment value alone.

He turned on a lopsided smile. ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘Strickland is still needling you for being a woman on the make. He told you to have a go at me.’

She sighed. ‘Well, you’ve given him more ammunition. And he wants me to curb your tabloid approach. So what am I supposed to do?’

‘Tell him to fuck off.’

‘I certainly will not.’

‘Then tell him I’m uncooperative. That I’m ready to hype the story - and I’ll only reconsider over a drink with you.’

‘And what’s that supposed to achieve?’

‘It’ll achieve a drink for a start.’ Cassidy chuckled. ‘And it might make me reconsider the virtues of gutter journalism. It’ll also give you the chance to explain why you dumped me.’

‘That’s easy. Your lack of ethics.’

‘But I’m a reporter. Ethics is a grey area.’

‘Not when it comes to cheating on me with that lawyer.’

‘It was research. I was working on an expose.’

‘Exposing your cock in the process.’

‘Come on, we’re both adults,’ he protested. ‘It was a big exclusive.’

‘Not so
big
, as I remember.’

‘Very funny.’

‘And anyway, it proves my point. You’d sell your soul for a scoop.’

He shrugged and leant back on a railing of the disabled access ramp. ‘Only with global TV rights.’

She tried to look at him with contempt, but couldn’t help smiling.

‘Which would make you a global arsehole.’

‘Good to see your sense of humour’s intact,’ he said.

‘Exactly what my friends said when I went out with you.’

‘Your girlfriends were jealous you’d got me into bed. I was an impressive catch.’

‘It’s the size of your ego that’s impressive,’ she laughed. ‘They wanted to arrest you.’

‘On what charge?’

‘Perverting the course of justice.’

He conceded the point with a grunt.

Around them moved the daily traffic of the hospital - visitors going in and out, kids with their arms in slings, old people in wheelchairs. Rita stepped aside for a woman with a pram.

‘Look, Mike, seriously,’ she said, ‘I can do without the coverage.’

‘Well, well. What a surprise. Rita Van Hassel, publicity shy.’

‘I’m not even fully qualified as a profiler.’

‘Pull the other one,’ he said. ‘You’ve been profiling cases for more than a year. I remember the tedious hours of homework.’

‘It won’t help me do my job.’

‘Tell it to the other boys and girls.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s too late, mate. The TV cameras were rolling. The snappers were grabbing shots of you. See it from the hacks’ point of view

- a criminal profiler who also happens to be a sexy blonde. That’s too good an angle to miss.’

‘Oh, shit.’ She scuffed the ground with her heel. ‘Like I said -

thanks for nothing.’

Rita found Strickland in the hospital car park, his face reflecting a mood of futility.

‘Well she’s a write-off,’ he said at last, his cigarette smoked to the butt. ‘As a witness, I mean,’ he added uncomfortably.

‘I’ll question her again tomorrow,’ said Rita.

‘She won’t be able to identify him. This is gonna come down to forensics.’

‘So what do you want from me?’

‘Follow up what evidence we’ve got,’ he said, grim-faced. ‘But I think your ex has got a point. Start doing a profile as well. I know it’s early but I’ve got a feeling we’re in for the long haul on this.’

‘Okay. She’s given me enough to work on.’

‘Good. Anything that’ll narrow the field.’ He dropped the cigarette butt and ground it under his heel. ‘Time to start the donkey work.’

Mike Cassidy’s TV channel headlined the story on its early evening bulletin.

A newsreader introduced the segment:

A young woman is being treated in hospital after falling victim to a
horrific attack in which she was blinded. The twenty-five-year-old,
who is believed to have a conviction for prostitution, has not yet been named by police. The attack took place in a hotel room overnight. A team of detectives is hunting the man who carried out the assault.

Reporter Mike Cassidy is at the scene.

Rita winced inwardly as Mike’s face filled the screen.

The full details of what happened in the hotel behind me have not yet
emerged. What we know so far is that the woman checked in to a second-floor room after midnight, apparently to engage in sex with a male
client. Sometime later the encounter turned violent. Among other injuries inflicted in a savage assault, the victim’s eyes were deliberately put out.

The man leading the police investigation, Detective Senior Sergeant
Wayne Strickland, has expressed his disgust at the sadistic act.

Now Strickland was on the screen, and Rita heard again his brief statement of that afternoon.

Let me just confirm a woman has been the victim of a vicious attack
in the early hours of this morning. It’s one of the most sickening I’ve
had to deal with in more than twenty years on the force. And yes - she’s been permanently blinded as a result.

The camera cut back to Cassidy.

This evening she remains under intensive care in hospital. Although she
can’t identify her attacker, she’s been able to give detectives details of
his appearance. A short time ago, police issued a description. The man they’re hunting is in his mid twenties or early thirties, white, clean-shaven and of medium build with dark hair. He was wearing a silver Ned Kelly T-shirt, black jeans and a distinctive pair of silver-rimmed glasses with mirror lenses. He drives a black Mazda MX-5 convertible.

Any member of the public with information should contact police or
ring Crime Stoppers. And while detectives are hoping to make an early
arrest, they’re also preparing for what could be a difficult investigation by drafting in a criminal profiler.

Rita groaned on hearing Strickland’s words used out of context.

Detective Sergeant Van Hassel is part of the team working on the case.

And it’s clear that profiling can give valuable insights when we’re trying
to trace anonymous offenders.

Rita’s face appeared on the screen as Cassidy summed up.

It’s an indication of what the police are dealing with. Somewhere in
the greater metropolitan area this evening a dangerous predator is on
the loose. Women working in the city’s sex trade have been warned to be on their guard. The implication is obvious. Unless there’s a quick breakthrough, this maniac could strike again.

As Van Hassel’s close-up appeared on the TV screens, an ironic cheer went up around the squad room, accompanied by wolf-whistles.

‘Who’s the cheesecake?’ ‘Nice crime bust!’

‘Get knotted,’ was her response. The attention was unwelcome

- though she was pleased to see that she looked professional on camera - now that her name, face and reputation were associated with the case. This left another bone to pick with her ex-boyfriend, but that would have to wait.

Rita was concentrating on a vital piece of information Emma Schultz had given them. According to Emma, she was the attacker’s second target of the night, after the first one had fought back and managed to break loose. Assuming the account was correct, the first victim was a crucial witness. So where was she? Rita was doing a running check on police reports, the emergency services and the hospitals, but so far not a single case of attempted sexual assault had emerged. A few domestic incidents had been reported in the past twenty-four hours, though none was consistent with the facts of the investigation.

With the line of inquiry getting nowhere, she phoned the police forensic services centre. Her call was put through to a crime lab scientist, Dale Quinn.

‘Hi there, Van Hassel, so they’ve put you on the hooker mutilation, eh? I’m in the middle of processing the evidence bags.’

‘What have you got so far?’ she asked.

‘There’ll be DNA from the semen and perspiration we got. He sweated a lot - not surprising given the circumstances. I’ve also got sets of fingerprints off the poker, chains and ashtray, but I’ve checked and his prints aren’t on record.’ Quinn cleared his throat.

‘The substance we recovered from the floor was corneal and vitreous tissue. There were burnt traces of it on the tip of the poker. So that’s what he used -
after
he’d had sex. There were traces of semen on the grip.’

‘What about the hooker’s stuff ?’

‘That’s what I’m examining now - the contents of her handbag.’

‘Anything significant?’

‘You mean aside from the crack, the can of Mace, strawberry-flavoured condoms and lubricant?’ said Quinn. ‘There’s a mass of receipts, coins, cards, cosmetics - the usual female clutter. Why don’t you drop by in the morning? We’ll have it done by then.’