at Tony as he sunk deeper and deeper into the couch, like an ostrich without the necessary sand. “Did you know we were friends? Did you know I would find her?” she pushed. Tony began blubbering incoherently. “What made you choose that location? Out of all the beaches in Sydney, why did you choose that location, on that day?” she demanded.
“I always shoot at that damn beach! I must have shot there twenty times this year. No one is ever around, so you can get away without paying the permit. They charge a fortune to use the beaches these days. It’s the truth!”
He was pathetic. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, at least for a moment.
“Give me one good reason why I should believe you.”
As it turned out, Tony couldn’t give her a single reason. With his pathetic Don Juan façade ripped away, he became so flustered that he made a hasty retreat, begging her not to tell anyone in the business about the photos of Catherine’s corpse. It was a pitiful display. No alibi could be as poignant as his feeble ramblings for forgiveness.
Later that afternoon Makedde sat alone at the Raw Bar, a great sushi place on Bondi Beach. She watched as sizeable sets of waves rolled in, dotted with wetsuit-clad surfers, and then crashed back onto themselves, sending boards and bodies flying. She smiled as a plate of fastidiously designed sushi was placed in front of her. The salmon onigiri melted in her mouth, and the California rolls were fresh and delicious with a subtle bite of wasabi. An unconscious “Mmmm” escaped her lips as she ate.
Never keep a Vanderwall from their lunch.
She couldn’t picture Tony Thomas smashing someone’s skull in, unless he was drunk. Let alone slicing them open. Disembowelling? She was pretty sure he couldn’t stomach it. He had access to beautiful, impressionable young girls, and he obviously took advantage of it as best he could. But was he a killer? Mentally, she crossed him off her suspect list, but reminded herself not to be too sure.A clever psychopath could play any role they liked to assure you of their innocence. She had to keep her mind open, and she had to find the identity of the elusive JT.
CHAPTER 15
Detective Flynn was immersed in the data on his laptop when the loud, deliberate coughing of one of his colleagues made him look up. Cassandra, his soon to be ex-wife, was striding into the office with a briefcase and a stack of papers under her arm. Jimmy was behind her, waving his hands and mouthing the words, “The picture! Get the picture down!”
It was too late.
Cassandra paused in front of the bulletin board and scowled at the poster-sized photo of Makedde. He watched uncomfortably as her eyes rested on the breasts.
“I can see you’ve grown up, Andy,” she snarled, flicking her dark hair back. Anger was an unattractive emotion, and one he had seen from her all too frequently in recent years. He didn’t even attempt to explain.
“What do you want, Cassandra?” he asked, leaning against his desk with his arms folded.
She looked at him with disgust and threw a wad of papers onto the desk. “Sign these.”
Jimmy was watching quietly.
“Let’s do this somewhere private,” Andy said, pointing to the interview room. “Shall we?”
Cassandra led the way, making a wide berth around the photo. Andy followed. Before he shut the door, he stopped to show Jimmy a clenched fist, mouthing the words, “I’m going to kill you.”
They sat down at the table and he began reading the lawyer lingo.
“Just sign it,” she insisted.
“The car?” He gave her a steady look, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“I need the car,” she said.
He could feel his blood starting to boil. “ You need the car? I need the damn car. What I’ve got is a heap of crap. Jimmy’s gotta pick me up half the time.”
“Tough.”
“Tough?” He tried to restrain himself. “You have a car. You have two! What’s wrong with the Mazda?”
“It’s an old piece of shit. I
“I always shoot at that damn beach! I must have shot there twenty times this year. No one is ever around, so you can get away without paying the permit. They charge a fortune to use the beaches these days. It’s the truth!”
He was pathetic. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, at least for a moment.
“Give me one good reason why I should believe you.”
As it turned out, Tony couldn’t give her a single reason. With his pathetic Don Juan façade ripped away, he became so flustered that he made a hasty retreat, begging her not to tell anyone in the business about the photos of Catherine’s corpse. It was a pitiful display. No alibi could be as poignant as his feeble ramblings for forgiveness.
Later that afternoon Makedde sat alone at the Raw Bar, a great sushi place on Bondi Beach. She watched as sizeable sets of waves rolled in, dotted with wetsuit-clad surfers, and then crashed back onto themselves, sending boards and bodies flying. She smiled as a plate of fastidiously designed sushi was placed in front of her. The salmon onigiri melted in her mouth, and the California rolls were fresh and delicious with a subtle bite of wasabi. An unconscious “Mmmm” escaped her lips as she ate.
Never keep a Vanderwall from their lunch.
She couldn’t picture Tony Thomas smashing someone’s skull in, unless he was drunk. Let alone slicing them open. Disembowelling? She was pretty sure he couldn’t stomach it. He had access to beautiful, impressionable young girls, and he obviously took advantage of it as best he could. But was he a killer? Mentally, she crossed him off her suspect list, but reminded herself not to be too sure.A clever psychopath could play any role they liked to assure you of their innocence. She had to keep her mind open, and she had to find the identity of the elusive JT.
CHAPTER 15
Detective Flynn was immersed in the data on his laptop when the loud, deliberate coughing of one of his colleagues made him look up. Cassandra, his soon to be ex-wife, was striding into the office with a briefcase and a stack of papers under her arm. Jimmy was behind her, waving his hands and mouthing the words, “The picture! Get the picture down!”
It was too late.
Cassandra paused in front of the bulletin board and scowled at the poster-sized photo of Makedde. He watched uncomfortably as her eyes rested on the breasts.
“I can see you’ve grown up, Andy,” she snarled, flicking her dark hair back. Anger was an unattractive emotion, and one he had seen from her all too frequently in recent years. He didn’t even attempt to explain.
“What do you want, Cassandra?” he asked, leaning against his desk with his arms folded.
She looked at him with disgust and threw a wad of papers onto the desk. “Sign these.”
Jimmy was watching quietly.
“Let’s do this somewhere private,” Andy said, pointing to the interview room. “Shall we?”
Cassandra led the way, making a wide berth around the photo. Andy followed. Before he shut the door, he stopped to show Jimmy a clenched fist, mouthing the words, “I’m going to kill you.”
They sat down at the table and he began reading the lawyer lingo.
“Just sign it,” she insisted.
“The car?” He gave her a steady look, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“I need the car,” she said.
He could feel his blood starting to boil. “ You need the car? I need the damn car. What I’ve got is a heap of crap. Jimmy’s gotta pick me up half the time.”
“Tough.”
“Tough?” He tried to restrain himself. “You have a car. You have two! What’s wrong with the Mazda?”
“It’s an old piece of shit. I
Similar Books
