Dance with the Devil Read online

  But he controlled the urge, allowing himself the indulgence of watching her while she slept, while her control wasn't in evidence and she was vulnerable to him.

  He loved her. With every fibre of his being, with every breath he took, he loved her.

  And with every breath he took came the fear of losing her - to the job he feared meant more to her than he did. He knew it was selfish, but he prayed she was pregnant. He was desperate enough to accept anything that would tie her to him. The thought of her swollen and beautiful with his child was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  The urge became too great, and he woke her to his need, rejoicing in the way she welcomed him into her body, hoping she had also welcomed him into her heart.

  Their lovemaking this time was sweet, languorous and, although he hadn't thought it possible, even more fulfilling. With each moment, Drew hoped the bond between them had strengthened.

  They slept, suspended in that twilight world of utter satiation.

  At eight o'clock, Drew woke Emma.

  'I'm meeting Chayse at The Centre at half past,' he told her. She nodded sleepily, then curled back into the pillow.

  'I don't want to leave you here alone. At least not without Bruno.'

  Emma looked at the bedside clock. 'Mum should be home within fifteen minutes. I'll be fine. I'll come in as soon as I've talked to her.'

  Drew hesitated. He didn't want to leave her, but surely she'd be safe for such a short time. It was a temptation to stay - she looked so damned appealing, her naked shoulders pale against the colourful patterned sheets. But there were a lot more files to get through, and he was terribly afraid the killer had more potential victims on his list. It was imperative that they find the thread that bound him to Dario and the judge and see who else might be at risk.

  He kissed her softly. He was tempted to tell her he loved her, but knew that for the moment he would have to be content with sharing what she could give. Perhaps soon…

  'Definitely the cat that got the cream,' Chayse said after observing his brother surreptitiously for ten minutes.

  Drew shifted in his chair and dragged another file onto the desk. 'What are you talking about?'

  'You,' Chayse laughed. 'If I don't miss my guess, you've made some headway with your favourite medical practitioner.'

  'I want to marry her, Chayse.'

  The surprise on Chayse's face quickly changed to delight. 'Great! I've always felt the eldest should be the first to succumb to the bonds - or should that be the chains - of holy matrimony.'

  He raised one eyebrow, and Drew observed the anomaly of sharing so many characteristics but no genetics with the man he called brother. But the bond they shared went beyond blood, it was a deep friendship they shared with no other. A sudden horrible thought occurred to him that perhaps the killer knew about Chayse, had already targeted him.

  'Have you asked her?'

  Chayse's question sidetracked his thoughts. He shook his head. 'No. I haven't even told her I love her yet. She…'

  A chirruping sound erupted from Chayse's belt. He reached for his mobile phone, grabbed a pen and wrote on some paper Drew pushed to him.

  Frustration hardened his features as he turned off his mobile. 'Another three possibilities bite the dust.' He rummaged through the pile of 'possible' files and dragged three onto the desk.

  'Jason Kominsky - alive and well and happily married in Sydney. Paul Smith - legs in plaster after a car accident two months ago. Simon Hall, died in prison over a year ago.'

  Drew frowned at the mention of Simon's name. 'Sad case, that one. Simon was raped by another prisoner and committed suicide.'

  'What was he in for?'

  'Drug dealing. Possession of stolen property. I'd defended him a few years previously on a lesser charge, got a suspended sentence. This time he got prison.'

  'What about the crim who raped him? It's a long shot, but could he have had something against you?'

  'Highly doubtful. Besides, he was murdered himself when he got out of prison.'

  As the last word left his mouth, Drew's expression changed, and he reached for the file. He scanned it quickly.

  'I didn't make a note of it here, but Mick told me there was something very peculiar in the way he was murdered. He'd been bound and gagged and stuffed in a barrel. Then the barrel had been filled with salt so that he suffocated.' He looked at Chayse. 'The peculiar thing was that his penis had been cut off before he'd been shoved in the barrel.'

  Chayse winced. 'Was it still with the body?'

  'Yes.' He gave a grimace of distaste. 'It had been stuffed in his mouth before the gag was tied; or re-tied. The neighbours didn't hear any screams so it would appear he was gagged when it was cut off. The police dismissed any weird cult theory. They couldn't find any clues and eventually put it down as a revenge killing. This guy had a history of homosexual rape, so the suspects were numerous.'

  'Someone with a van would have had no problems carting around a barrel and bags of salt,' Chayse mused. 'Had the guy been charged with Simon's rape?'

  'The charge was dropped. There were no witnesses and without Simon's testimony there was no case.'

  'So no-one had been made to pay for Simon's death. Any revenge-seeking relative that you know of?'

  'I never met his father, only his mother. Simon wouldn't tell me where his parents lived - he said he wanted nothing to do with them. I thought there must have been some history of abuse, but when I met his mother, I wasn't so sure. She must have found out about the trial because she turned up at the end when he was being sentenced. She obviously loved him, and he broke down and cried when she hugged him. She was only a tiny thing, nervous, jumpy. She thanked me for trying to help Simon, then she scuttled from the courtroom.'

  'So where was the father?'

  'I asked, but she didn't answer.' Drew rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. 'She did say something about Simon having to pay for his mistakes - something about atoning for his sins.' He stood abruptly. 'Come on. I want to see the police report on Simon's rapist. There are far too many biblical connotations linking up here. Someone attempts to crucify me, Dario is killed with what looks like a sacrificial dagger, the judge…' he paused.

  'Apart from the broken neck, it could look like a stoning,' Chayse filled in.

  'Yes. And now we have a criminal who's been turned into the proverbial pillar of salt.'

  'Don't forget the firebombing of our house. The Old Testament was full of fire and brimstone.'

  Drew grabbed his keys from the desk drawer. 'Speaking of fire and brimstone, what's it like staying with Mick?'

  Chayse grinned. 'Let's just say, older brother, that in the accommodation stakes, you're the only one who picked a winner.'

  The fire may have dimmed, but the brimstone was evident in Mick's caustic comments as he listened to Drew's hypothesis of the biblical allusions.

  Drew took a swallow of his coffee, remembering the last time he'd sat at Mick's desk, stinking of smoke and ash. The shock of losing his house hadn't struck him then, only the relief that Emma hadn't been harmed in the attack.

  'We've had no luck tracing the white van,' Mick rumbled. 'We've checked out the owners of every blue-striped white van in Cairns and they all have an alibi for the time of AA's murder or no connection to it. So now we're starting on the outlying areas.'

  'What about the dagger that killed Dario? Any clues there?'

  Mick shuffled through the feral paperwork on his desk. 'Got the report back this morning. Seems it was made from a French bayonet. Old one. But the markings on it are Vietnamese. Could have been a war souvenir.'

  'Traceable?' Chayse asked hopefully.

  Mick shook his head, and the movement seemed to vibrate all the way to his belly. 'I'll drag out Simon's file and track down all his associates. Maybe one of Simon's friends is on a vengeance kick. And it won't hurt to check up on Simon's family. Any idea where they live?'

  'Sorry. Simon never told me. But I can ask around at The Centre. It's been a couple of years,
but maybe some of the older kids knew him.' He stood up. 'How long will it be before you might know something?'

  'How long's a piece of string,' Mick mumbled. He looked across at Chayse. 'You staying? I could do with another pair of legs.'

  'Another pair of feet, you mean,' Chayse replied. 'I'll stay. I think this is the best lead we've got yet.'

  'Form F.' In another person, it might have been an exclamation but Mick rarely allowed himself the extravagance of excitement. 'Coroner's Certificate of Holding of Inquest. If Simon Hall died in prison, we should have a copy on file. It won't give his parents' address, but at least we'll have their full names.' He grabbed the phone, punched in the Records Storage number. 'Sally, I need a copy of Form F, with the deceased's name Simon Edmund Hall. Soon as you can. Thanks.'

  Drew hesitated. At last they were getting somewhere. Or so he hoped. His blood raced at the possibility of seeing the man who had tried to kill him. 'Do you want me to wait? I could go with you if you locate a suspect.'

  'We won't know how long this'll take, Drew. As you know, there are a lot of acquaintances in the drug world. And we'll have to track down the parents' address through a driver's licence or the electoral roll. Even when we get it, there's no guarantee they'll be at home or even that they'll know anything. We'll give you a call if we bring anyone in.'

  'All right. I'll call in on Angie on the way back to The Centre. See if she needs a hand with the arrangements for Dario's funeral.'

  Emma ached in every muscle in her body. Pleasantly, wonderfully, ached. She still felt a little disassociated from herself, as though Drew's lovemaking had set her free from all the worries and decisions that had surrounded her in the past few weeks. She knew it was only temporary, that reality, with all its associated problems, would soon intrude, but for now she enjoyed the respite.

  Her heart beat faster as she thought of Drew. She had never cared for a man the way she cared for him. Had never felt another's suffering the way she felt his, or reacted so spontaneously to the grin that lit his face and crinkled the fine lines around those striking blue eyes. With every moment she spent with him, the barriers around her emotions were dissolving. At work, those barriers had been a necessity, her only way to cope with the horrors people inflicted on one another. But where Drew was concerned, they felt like an impediment to something good, something wonderful, that she wanted to seize and never let go.

  How could her mother be so certain about love? At the moment, confusion seemed to be a more appropriate word for her feelings. Confusion, and this unfamiliar yearning…

  Lying back on the bed, she felt the cool breeze on her naked body, and smiled. It had been many years since she had slept naked. Impossible in her work, and just as impossible with her father liable to wander around at any hour of the night and place himself in danger. On her holidays, it hadn't seemed important because there was no-one else to be naked for.

  It was a luxury - being naked, sleeping in, making love…

  The shrill ring of the phone cut across her day-dreaming. She leapt out of bed, grabbing her robe as she hurried to the living room.

  Five minutes later, she stood under a warm shower. Well, so much for the fifteen minutes before her mother returned home that she'd promised Drew. Bruno had improved, but the vet wanted to keep him until the afternoon, so her mother wouldn't be home this morning after all.

  An hour later, Emma walked into The Centre. No-one was in the front office, but as she passed Diane's open office door Diane looked up from the book she was reading and smiled as she removed the glasses perched halfway down her nose.

  'Hello, Emma. Drew said to tell you he'll be out for a while. He and Chayse have gone to see Mick.'

  'Has there been a breakthrough?'

  'He didn't say.'

  Just then the buzzer sounded. Diane stood up. 'That should be my client. You can wait in Drew's office if you like.'

  'Thanks. I'll keep ploughing through the files.'

  She closed Drew's door behind her, and sat down in his chair. It was no more comfortable than the other two, but she liked to swivel around in it, a fascination she'd had since childhood.

  The 'possibles' pile had been messed about, and one of the files lay open on the desk. She flicked over a couple of pages, glancing idly at their contents. Suddenly she stiffened, her fingers moving over a copy of a police report.

  Coincidence, she told herself, but the blood ran cold in her veins. She read the page again.

  The name, the circumstances, were right. But it was years ago, surely it couldn't have any bearing on what had happened to Drew and Dario and the judge?

  She picked up Drew's phone, stabbed in some numbers. She waited until it rang out, then hung up. For a few minutes she looked at the handset, rationalising why her call hadn't been answered, but it was a waste of time. All her plausible scenarios had holes in them.

  One more try. But as each button dipped beneath her finger, her doubt grew.

  It rang out again.

  It was pure gut instinct, but Emma knew something was wrong. But was instinct enough reason to call the police? She could check it out herself, then let them know if she was correct. She was about to let Diane know what she was doing when she remembered Diane was busy with a client. She picked up a pen, scribbled a hasty note for Drew and placed it on top of the file.

  Then she ran to the Land Cruiser.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Waiting.

  Always waiting.

  For all Hadley's patience there were times when the waiting felt almost intolerable. His planning, so meticulous, so painstaking, had started to go wrong when he'd decided to crucify the Defender, and now it looked as though it was still going wrong.

  Even eliminating the Judge had not gone the way he'd planned. For the first time in nearly a year, the Judge had chosen a completely different site in which to fossick. So Hadley had been forced to relinquish his scheme for pushing the old man into one of the abandoned tin mines dotting his usual fossicking area and then stoning him to death. He'd watched and waited for hours until he'd decided on an alternative way for the Judge to die.

  A cramp twisted his foot. He pushed down into his boot and forced the spasm to ease. He'd arrived in the early hours of the morning after hiding his van and travelling almost six hours through the mountains by foot. He hadn't wanted to chance being seen, even in this remote valley, for he knew how country folk kept an eye out for their neighbours.

  The heat of a mid-morning sun trickled sweat down his back. He ignored it. At dawn he had cut the phone line. Then he'd waited. Waited for the Informer to leave the house as he did every morning and start doing his farm chores. But this morning was different. The Informer hadn't stepped outside the house.

  Clouds drifted across the sun, providing him some respite from the heat. Every moment he waited increased his risk of discovery. Soon he would have to decide whether to leave…or go into the house after him. He knew the Informer had a woman living there - he had seen her in the house during one of his reconnoitres, swollen and heavy with child. But perhaps the woman was no longer there? Perhaps she'd left?

  He would take the risk.

  Silently he eased from his hiding place behind the shed and ran softly to the house. For such a big man, he was incredibly silent. Sure-footed as the jungle animals he admired.

  He drew his knife, slipped the screen door open and eased into the house. Neat kitchen, dishes draining on the sink, a half-full coffee mug lonely on the table.

  A sound. A soft footstep.

  He slipped against the wall.

  The footsteps came closer.

  He hefted the knife, turned the blade up - and crashed the heavy butt onto a man's head as he walked into the room. The man slumped to the floor, twisting as he fell, exposing his face to Hadley.

  A wild elation seized him as he looked down at the young man. The Informer. He forced himself to remain calm. He had a job to do. Vengeance is Mine, sayeth the Lord, and he was the instrument of the L
ord.

  He knelt swiftly and prised open the young man's mouth.

  He grabbed his tongue.

  The slippery flesh slid from his grasp. He grabbed it again, this time digging his nails in and applying pressure. He pulled the tongue out as far as he could, eased the knife blade into the mouth, and began to cut.

  Drew pulled up in front of The Centre, turned off the engine and rested his head on the steering wheel. He felt emotionally drained after the hour he'd spent with Angie. Her grief was so devastating, so complete, that she seemed to have shrunk down inside herself. Only Steven brought a smile to her lips and broke the dark haze that engulfed her.

  It was like a time warp, walking into The Centre - the kids playing basketball, pool, talking, laughing - as though the terrible events of the past nine days had never occurred. He stood for a moment, watching them, before shrugging off the feeling of unreality.

  Diane's office door was closed, the low murmur of voices seeping into the corridor. Drew walked to the kitchen and turned the kettle on. No coffee would be strong enough to erase his sadness and grief, but hopefully bringing Dario's killer to justice would ease some of his anger and help Angie to deal with her loss.

  As he placed the steaming mug on his desk, a drop of coffee spilt over the side. He grabbed a piece of notepaper to soak it up. The unfamiliar handwriting caught his attention. He quickly scanned the message.

  The colour drained from his face.

  He snatched up his phone, punched in the number on the paper. The ring tone went on and on, burring into his stomach, escalating the alarm tightening his chest.

  'Answer, answer, answer. For pity's sake, answer.' Drew muttered the words like a litany. Finally it rang out. He dialled the faults number and spoke to an operator who informed him that if anything had happened to the phone he was ringing, there would be no way of knowing because the number would still ring in the Exchange.

  He crashed the receiver into the cradle.

  Damn Emma! Now he had no way of contacting her. Why didn't she have a mobile phone!