Reaper, p.19
Reaper, page 19
He listens as the footsteps slow, hears them come around to the side of the bench, captures the form in his peripheral vision.
He hears the sharp intake of breath as his prey realises exactly what is lying at his feet, hears the words ‘What the fuck?’
He jumps to his feet, and in one smooth movement swings around, his arm arcing through the air.
He feels the knife shudder slightly as it meets flesh, glances off bone and then slides smoothly through tissue.
He listens as the shocked word ‘You?’ tumbles out of the man’s mouth.
His arm pulls back and in another fast, sweeping movement drives the blade up and under the man’s ribcage.
He watches as the man crumples to his knees, pulls the knife out as he does so.
His heart is racing with the sheer thrill of it – he can hear it pounding in his ears.
He smells the hot, metallic scent of blood, inhales long and hard through his nostrils, savours it.
His eyes meet those of his victim, their brilliant blue already fading. But he can’t risk any chance of survival.
He pulls back his arm and drives another blow into his chest.
He watches as the man pitches forward, face first onto the ground.
He must work fast now, while there is still some blood pumping.
He pulls the man’s puffer jacket off, wrestling with his unresponsive arms, and then wriggles and manoeuvres on its replacement. His large, black, hooded duffel coat.
He succeeds at last and ensures some of that blood seeps into the coat.
He steps back to judge his handiwork. His eyes are satisfied with what he sees, the distance between the two bodies, the way they lie sprawled on the concrete. He just needs to do one more thing to finish the story.
He makes one more stab on the new arrival into the forearm, ensuring that it penetrates through the coat.
He then sets the props, places the bloodied knife in his hand by Artie’s outstretched arm. Here’s something I prepared earlier, he says to himself as he sets the knife he had used on Artie alongside the new body, so they have a knife each, and it looks like both came armed.
His plan could not have gone better.
He picks up the puffer jacket, surveys the scene one more time, and then turns and walks away.
Thank you, Shane McFarlane, he says. Thank you very much.
52: Meredith
Meredith stood off to the side of the scene, under the gaze of Queen Victoria, as the SOCOs carefully erected the marquee over the bodies with well-practised precision, enclosing it and protecting it from the persistent drizzle and from prying eyes. From her safe distance she had taken in enough to know what lay there, was beginning to understand the possible ramifications of it. There was a sense of disquiet, there was a sense of relief, and there was a sense of puzzlement. The cause of the disquiet: two men were dead, clearly violently killed in a central Auckland park, in Albert Park. The cause of the relief, one of them, by all appearances, may have solved her current mystery, the case that was perplexing them all. The puzzlement – one of them she knew.
So much for the curfew protecting people, keeping them off the streets. While most were safe in their beds, there were still those who flouted it, and had paid the price of ignoring it. The pair had been discovered this morning by the first commuters walking through the park on their way to work, after the curfew had lifted. It wasn’t the best start to their morning. A shudder ran down Meredith’s body, and not just from the cold. She drew her coat more tightly around her, pulled the hood down lower over her eyes.
The hood – the large, black hooded coat. One of the men was wearing it – that very Grim Reaperish coat. It couldn’t be a coincidence that on a night that the city was supposed to be locked down, when the majority of the citizens were safely at home or in shelters, on a night where there would be no witnesses, the Reaper had struck. On a night when there would be fuck all patrolling of the shut-down city because resources were too thin, and the mayor’s promises of defence forces being brought in had turned out to be empty, the Reaper had claimed another victim.
But this attack had been different. It looked like this time the victim had fought back. And they weren’t a decrepit old man, a vulnerable woman or some other easy push-over. This time the Reaper had taken on more than he expected. From what she had seen, the victim had been a solid, strong-looking, Pasifika male. What they were doing in the park on what had been a pretty miserable night she did not know. Not yet. What was clear was that he hadn’t gone down quietly, and had even come armed. Specially prepared for the occasion? Or were they the type of person who always took precautions? Again, she didn’t know yet. But she would.
Her reverie was disturbed by what sounded like a whimper coming from the trees behind her. She turned around, peered towards it, straining to listen. Had she imagined it? The drizzle deadened sound; all she could hear was the quiet conversation of the set-up crew, muffled instructions, co-ordination. She turned back around, but then heard it again. It was definitely there, not her imagination. Meredith walked towards the trees, slowing as she approached the low, underplanted shrubs. There was enough morning light now to make out a shape curled up under the plants. The whimpering came again, and now she could see eyes following her as she approached.
A warning growl drifted to her ears.
She paused a moment, then ducked down onto her haunches.
‘Hey there,’ she said, slowly reaching out a hand. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay.’
Again, a warning growl.
She held her hand steady, ‘You’re alright, I’m not going to hurt you.’
She moved her hand forward slowly again, repeating her soft words of reassurance, and this time the nose lifted, reached forward and cautiously sniffed her hand.
‘You’re okay,’ she said again, and slowly turned her hand over, lifted it around and up, and stroked the dog’s wet head, gently patting it, running her hand over its ears.
The dog was too far under the bushes to get a good look at, so she called it quietly.
‘Come here, sweetie, out you come.’ She curved her hand under its chin, giving it a scritch. ‘Out you come and I can give you some proper pats. I’m sure you’d like that.’
The animal rose to its feet and Meredith could see immediately that something wasn’t right. It managed two unsteady steps towards her before falling back down onto its side, letting out another slow whimper.
‘You poor thing,’ she said, edging forward to it, running her hand along its side.
The flesh quivered beneath her touch. There didn’t seem to be any injury; this was a dog that looked like it had been drugged. She recognised that post-sedation look from when she’d had her Lola, from seeing her at the vets after an op, before her bastard ex-husband had claimed her in the custody battle. And if this was a sedated dog, she knew it would be cold and hypothermic so she had to get it to a vet, quick smart. She also knew in that moment who the other dead man was.
She stood up and unzipped her coat, lay it over the dog and then, squatting down and bundling it into her arms, rose back to her feet.
She knew this dog.
‘You’re okay, Ace,’ she said, rearranging its awkward bulk and hoisting it up to a comfortable position. It lifted its head, gave her face a lick, relaxed into her arms.
She knew who this big Staffy-cross mutt was. She’d been talking about him yesterday, arranging his care after the death of its owner.
She caught the eye of the constable standing guard on the other side of the circular path – indicated her precious bundle, took in the puzzled look before turning and striding in the direction of her car.
This was Old George’s dog.
The dog had been drugged, deliberately. There was only one reason Meredith could think of to do that. To eliminate a threat.
And it didn’t take much extrapolation to realise the other dead man had to be Artie, the man entrusted with Ace’s care. Yet another of the targeted homeless. But this time the homeless man had fought back. Had been one too much for his assailant to handle.
She shook her head in dismay. The dead man in that big, black duffel coat – the Reaper who had met his own fate, was none other than Shane McFarlane.
53: Max
He slid into the passenger seat, shut the door a little too heavily, and kept his gaze determinedly forward.
The silence hung there, leaden. He could feel her presence beside him, smell the scent of her shampoo, his peripheral vision taking in her arm on the driver’s seat. He knew she was looking at him, waiting for him to say something.
What was there to say? What did she expect? Was she waiting for him to thank her for picking him up from the police cells, when she’d dumped him there in the first place? Was he supposed to be grateful for that?
He heard her sigh and turn on the ignition. The car’s engine growled to life, and she went to put it in gear, but hesitated, didn’t pull away. Instead she sat there, both hands on top of the steering wheel, letting the car idle, the vibration coming up through the floor, the sound of the heating fan working hard.
He waited.
‘Look, Max’ – her voice held an ache of tiredness and an edge of strain – ‘I’m sorry. You know damn well I was just doing my job, that I wouldn’t have had you arrested unless I was certain you killed him.’ She tripped slightly on the word, then paused again, as if finding the right ones to say next. ‘But I was wrong, I’ll admit I was wrong about you.’
That would have cost her to say it, he knew, but still he didn’t say anything, looked straight ahead.
‘I should have trusted my instincts. I should have known you could never do something like that, that you would never have killed Cochrane. But the evidence – that was what I had to go on at the time.’
Max was going to let the silence continue, punish her in the only way he knew how, the only way he had power to in this moment, when a scuffling noise from the backseat caught his attention. He hadn’t seen anyone else sitting in the back when he’d climbed in.
The noise came again, a scratching and a distinctive snuffling. Curiosity overrode his pigheadedness, and he swung around, to be greeted by a pair of brown eyes looking back at him through the gap between the seats.
‘Ace,’ he said, immediately reaching behind his seat, wincing as his shoulder went through a rotation it was still not happy about after his beating. His hand was immediately greeted with a couple of licks and a nudge.
‘Meredith, why on earth have you got Ace in the back of the car?’ he asked warily. Last he knew the dog was being looked after by Artie after Old George had been murdered. ‘What’s happened?’
‘God,’ she said, and turned the ignition off, turned to face him. ‘I’m sorry. All I ever seem to be is the bearer of bad news.’
He finally looked her in the eyes then, saw the crease between them deepen. ‘Tell me what’s going on,’ he said. The wariness he felt in his gut upgraded to a sense of dread.
‘There was another one – another murder. Last night.’
He’d been allowed to watch the news last night and front and foremost had been the curfew imposed by the mayor, the state of emergency. The city was supposed to have been in lockdown, so how could a murder have occurred right underneath their noses?
‘I thought the city was supposed to be in lockdown,’ he said.
‘Supposedly. But you know the score. There’s not enough police to go around in normal times, let alone to patrol and enforce a curfew. And the promised defence force personnel were MIA.’
He looked from her face to that of the guileless dog in the back.
‘Please don’t tell me it was Artie.’
‘I’m sorry, Max,’ was all she said.
The dread materialised and morphed, bringing with it a thudding in his chest and a need to cough, to choke it down.
‘How? What happened?’
‘It was overnight. A stabbing, up in Albert Park.’
‘But that lot never usually went to the park. What was he doing there?’ Artie’s gang only ever frequented the main streets, the shops, keeping to the shelter of the verandas, trying to get coins off the shoppers, the workers, the tourists.
‘Meeting someone, we believe. We think he was lured there.’
‘By the Reaper?’
‘Yes, by the Reaper.’
Fuck. That surprised him. Artie was a savvy man, and with all the recent deaths and a curfew, he would have been vigilant and very suspicious of any stranger. Unless it wasn’t a stranger. Again, that thought didn’t sit well.
‘And the dog? What’s the story there?’
Ace was manoeuvring himself to be in easier reach of Max’s pats.
‘The dog had been drugged. I found him at the scene, sheltering under a bush.’
‘But he’s okay?’
‘Just picked him up from the vet before I came to get you. He’s going to be fine.’
‘Jesus, Meredith, when are we going to find this guy? He’s got to be stopped.’
‘We?’
‘You know what I mean.’
But he did mean we. Another man dead, another of his people, his community. He had so much skin in this game, and if the A-team couldn’t find the culprit, then by God he was going to do everything he could to get the bastard.
‘He’s already been stopped.’
Max’s hand stopped patting. He swung his head around to look at her.
‘What do you mean he’s already been stopped?’
‘Your friend, Artie. He fought back. He fought back hard. And he was carrying a knife. Did some serious damage.’
‘Fatal damage?’ Max asked.
‘Fatal damage.’
‘And you’re sure it was the Reaper?’
‘Pretty certain, yes.’
‘But not a hundred percent?’
‘As certain as we can be at this stage.’
‘What do you mean?’ He wished she would just spit it out. She was being evasive and he wanted to know why.
‘The other man – the other body – he was wearing a coat. A large, hooded black duffel coat.’
‘Oh. The coat of a reaper.’
‘Yes, and he was also carrying a knife, someone who came prepared for a fight. Out in a Grim Reaper coat carrying a knife and something to drug a dog with in the middle of the night in a city under curfew.’
‘Someone who meant business.’
‘Very much so.’
She stopped talking, drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.
‘You haven’t asked me the most important question,’ she said.
‘You know who they were?’
She nodded.
‘Well are you going to tell me, or just keep me in suspense?’
‘Max, the other man…’ Still the hedging. ‘It was Shane McFarlane.’
Every fibre in his being wanted to shout ‘I told you so’ to rub it in that he’d been right all along. But he didn’t want to be that person, as pissed off as he was. He didn’t want to stoop to being that petty. Not with her.
‘And yes, you had your suspicions, I know,’ she continued. ‘And you did tell me about them. But when we brought him in he turned it around on you, made a very compelling case for you being the one who killed Gary Cochrane, implied that you were also the Reaper. He manipulated the situation – successfully, unfortunately for you.’
‘I always said I was being framed. And, believe me, I’ve spent the last few days trying to figure out exactly who set me up. I have to say McFarlane was forefront in my mind. Although I still can’t figure out why. If it was some weird kind of vendetta over his son’s death I can’t understand it, because it was his son that did the killing, not my girl.’ The thought of his Jess caught in his throat, and he blinked away the spring of tears to his eyes.
Not before Meredith noticed though. ‘You okay?’ she asked.
Max nodded, turned his attention back to the dog, who gratefully received it.
‘There’s another thing you should know,’ he said. Normally he would never have disclosed this, in order to protect his source, but it was too late for the man now. ‘Artie was my informant. He was the one that gave up Nero as his supplier, gave up Gary Cochrane. Did you know that?’
Meredith’s eyebrows raised, the surprise spreading across her face. ‘But you said you didn’t tell McFarlane who gave you the lead for the dealer.’
‘I know I didn’t, and that’s what puzzles me,’ he said.
‘You think he found out anyway? You said he had a knack of always being able to track you down, that he must have been following you. Do you think it’s possible he saw you talking with Artie, or overheard something? Decided he needed to tidy up some loose ends?’ she asked.
‘Well you have to wonder now, don’t you? Why else would he have tried to kill Artie?’
‘It does make some kind of sense.’
‘But it was a hell of a high-risk game. Especially stabbing him – doing something so up-close and personal. Why didn’t he just try to poison him, the same as the others, or even shoot him. Something with less risk of failure or of the victim defending themselves?’
‘Well his gamble didn’t pay off,’ said Meredith.
‘Certainly didn’t.’
‘Maybe it was to get to the dog. The dog was a witness, after all.’
‘Right, well that would make sense if you could speak dog.’ He gave a small chuckle. ‘What’s happening with the dog now?’ he asked.
‘I think I’ll have to take him to the animal-rescue centre. It would be the kindest thing. Find him a new home. For a street dog he really is a sweetie.’
‘You weren’t tempted to keep him yourself?’ he asked.
‘Ha, of course I was. Very. But that’s impossible – my landlord doesn’t allow pets of any kind.’
‘That’s a shame.’
Max left the words hanging there, turned back to Ace, leaned forward and was rewarded with a lick on the face.
‘Could you take him, Max – even if just for a while?’
He would have loved to, in an instant, but the simple fact was he didn’t have a home to take him back to.
