The Vanishing Girls by Callie Browning (great novels of all time .txt) 📗

* * *

HOLDEN AND THE COMMISSIONER stepped carefully around the multitude of plants Dorothy kept in the verandah, hoping that he wouldn’t be there too long. He never liked the tense energy Derricks gave off, and it was especially profound in the gathering darkness beneath the flickering overhead bulb.

“What’s going on?”

“This is a delicate matter. I don’t want to be difficult, especially since the man is ready for retirement…” started Derricks. He glanced across as Dr Thorpe drove his pristine Mercedes Benz slowly out of the courtyard. “I’m not trying to make him lose his pension, but I’m finding inconsistencies in Thorpe’s reports.”

“Oh?” Holden twisted his mouth in confusion, unsure as to why Derricks was telling him this. “Just let Lynch verify them.”

“Dr Lynch is on holiday and won’t be back until Thorpe retires in two weeks so I’m stuck with the old man until then.” Derricks scrubbed his beard. “The thing is that I normally wouldn't be so uptight about it, but there are certain things — little things — that he didn’t list in the report for the girl we found in the factory.”

“Like?”

“Well, I saw some yellow dust on the side of her face. There are photos of it and everything, but Thorpe didn’t mention it in the report so I have no idea if it’s chalk or paint flecks.”

“It was pollen. My assistant saw some of it in the victim’s ears and washed it out. Along with some mud that was under her fingernails.”

“Hmm… pollen,” mused Derricks. “Do you know what kind?”

“No…and to be honest, we had to do more washing than we usually would when Lynch sends a decedent.” Holden raised an eyebrow. “Don't forget that we work under the assumption that the pathologist has already done his job by the time we get involved."

Derricks heaved a deep breath. “Look, I normally wouldn’t ask, but would you be willing to submit reports for the crown’s cases? Just for two weeks so I can create some redundancies.” His face was serious, his voice earnest as he leaned in. “Thorpe is a good man, you know. It’s just old age and the drinks. Plus, he’s been a little off since his wife left him. So just help him out a bit.”

“Well…I…” Holden wasn’t sure it was a good idea. A lot could happen in two weeks. “By the way, that tip my assistant had shared about the man in the brown car… did that yield anything?”

Derricks flicked his eyes toward the courtyard where Clifford and his son had left Eileen alone with Dorothy. They stood six feet apart, Eileen swatting sandflies and Dorothy looking as though she wished the sandflies would eat her alive. “No. Seems like her and the nosy neighbour just like blabbing for the sake of it. Try and keep this thing with Thorpe quiet for now. Your assistant is clearly a talker.”

Holden frowned at Derricks. If anything, Eileen was more clandestine than Holden was, which was unusual in and of itself. Derricks clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Thanks, young Davis.”

The commissioner jogged down the stairs, calling to the station sergeant who had driven him to the scene. Dorothy also got in her car and in a few seconds, both engines roared to life and the headlights cut a wide swath across the courtyard before they both drove away.

Fruit bats screeched overhead in the ring of trees around the courtyard, camouflaging the crunch of Holden’s footsteps on the gravel as he walked toward Eileen. She had been watching the cars leave and she startled when he touched her shoulder; he dropped his hand, wondering if he had been out of line for touching her. As much as he wanted to tell her about what Derricks had asked him to do, he felt now wasn’t the time.

“Let’s go. I’m sure you don’t want your chariot covered in bat guano,” Holden gestured toward the bats overhead. “Plus, it’s going to rain.” Eileen glanced at the grey clouds that gathered and nodded.

The engine wheezed the way it always did whenever Eileen turned the key.

Except this time, it didn’t start.

Chapter 9

Between a Rock and a Dark Place

The Baygon tin tucked behind her seat was empty. Holden had given her a small raise the previous week, but it was nowhere near enough to buy a new starting motor. Eileen was grateful, but between rent, petrol and utilities, her desires often eclipsed her assets. There were many other things she would have loved to upgrade, like the threadbare bedsheet at the window that kept the sun from roasting her to a crisp every morning. She sighed.

“There’s a phone booth at the gas station on the main road. I’ll go and leave a message at Thorpe’s office. He can tell Clifford to come back for us,” Holden said as he reached for the door handle.

“Oh, geez.” Eileen leaned onto the steering wheel and looked around. Her eyes caught the lurking shadows in the broad verandah and she heard the branches that creaked and twisted in the whistling wind. Fear curled in her belly, resolute and indifferent to her pride. Being with a man as tall and strapping as Holden should have made her brave, but her fear of the Slasher was too strong. Yes, they needed to leave, but she wouldn’t feel safe walking between two cane fields on that lonely road. Nor would she ask Holden to go alone because that meant staying in the car by herself. She imagined him returning to find her gone, leaving only a trail of bloodstains that disappeared among the drifts of yellow blossoms until she turned up a week later.

“Can’t we just…” her shoulders sagged; she felt like a child scared by the Heart Man. “…stay here?”

“Here? All night?” Holden’s face contorted in confusion. “Why ever would we do that?”

Eileen stared at him like he’d asked for directions to Mars. “There’s a serial killer on the loose. I don’t want