Private Oz (Private 7)

THE BRUNETTE LAY on her back, face horribly disfigured, legs akimbo, a roll of fifty-dollar bills in place.

“This is becoming bloody repetitive,” Darlene snapped as she knelt beside the body. “This bastard’s getting me down.”

I stood beside her staring down at the corpse. The woman’s blood had pooled on the concrete beneath her, clothes drenched red. I’d already learned her name was Yasmin Trent, forty-one, mother of three young boys, lived in Gervaine Road, Bellevue Hill, fifty yards from Stacy Friel and Elspeth Lampard. Yasmin had been a home-maker, and her husband, Simon Trent, a dentist. So that pretty much wiped out the finance motive theory.

There were two Police Forensics officers working on the body. They’d mellowed toward us recently. Realizing we weren’t going away, I guessed. Plus they’d benefited from Private’s resources. I caught a glimpse of Mark at the wheel of his car, the door open. He was talking to a sergeant.

I left Darlene to it and nosed around. It was a patch of waste ground behind a gas station in Sandsville in the Western Suburbs. The late evening traffic was light up on the freeway beyond the forecourt. The place was scrappy and grimy. A rusting car stood to one side. A few weeds poked through the concrete nearby. A dead palm stood close to the rear wall of the gas station building.

The MO had altered. It was another new disconcerting aspect to this case. Killers rarely changed their MO, even subtly. The dead woman was from the Eastern Suburbs. She’d probably never even been to Sandsville before. Maybe just seen it on TV when Channel 9 News carried an item about a knifing or a house blaze in the West. It was only, what? Thirty miles from here to Bellevue Hill? But the two places may as well have been in different solar systems.

So what was Yasmin Trent doing here? Killed here or in Bellevue Hill? Much of the MO was the same – facial disfigurement, multiple stab wounds to her back, vaginal ATM in reverse. We were looking for one sick mother-fucker.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned to see Darlene. She had her box of forensics equipment in her left hand.

“That was pretty quick.”

“I’ve learned what to look for. That part of it’s predictable. The hard work comes later. But you know what, Craig? There’s something not quite right about this.”

“You mean the body being here?”

“No, it’s not that. I can sense something isn’t right. I can’t put my finger on it. But I will.”

Chapter 63

HO DAI WAS thinking about hitting the sack. He’d just got back to his apartment after leaving his father’s house, walked into his tiny kitchen, got a glass of chilled water, turned and heard a sound.

He held his breath. The noise came again. He saw two shadows pass by a glass wall close to the front door, then watched as the handle turned and released.

He padded across the floor and into the bedroom, reached the built-in wardrobe, pulled inside and eased the door shut. It was dark but he knew where he kept the gun his father insisted he have. He felt the handle just as the intruders made it through the front door and into the hall.

Dai pulled the weapon down from a shelf and pointed it directly ahead. He heard someone enter the room.

“Mr. Ho,” a voice said. “We know you’re in here.”

“I have a gun,” Dai panted. “Open the door and I’ll shoot.”

A bullet thudded through the door and smacked into the wall a foot to Dai’s left. He felt his bowels loosen, just managed to control himself. A second bullet sent shards of wood flying in the dark and crunched into the wall at the back of the wardrobe. It was so close splinters flew into Dai’s arm making him cry out.

“Open the door a crack and drop the gun outside, or we’ll shoot again,” said the same man.

Dai stood rigid trying to think, trying to rationalize.

“I’m counting to three. One …”

Dai was wreathed in sweat, breathing hard. He couldn’t win, he was dead meat whatever he did.

“Two …”

The kid could barely move. Had to force his arm forward. The door opened an inch, two inches. He tossed the gun onto the carpet and slammed the doors outward, propelling himself into the bedroom. He tripped, crashed to the floor and felt the cold barrel of a gun on the back of his neck.

Chapter 64

ANTHONY HILARY WAS feeling really horny. Everything had been arranged with Karen. He would surf at 6 am with his buddies, Trent and Frankie, and then he would meet her at the empty old house he’d found the day before. When he’d first suggested it, Karen was reluctant, but he’d eventually persuaded her.

“I can promise you the most comfortable and cleanest sleeping bag in Sydney,” he’d told her with a grin.

“Oh! I’m touched!” she’d responded. “I must remember to mention that to my parents when they quiz me over why I’m leaving the house an hour early for school.” But then she had shaken her head and smiled. “Okay, Ant. 7 am.”