Not Forgotten Read online

  He was as physically fit as someone could get without being a bodybuilder, spending his downtime in the gym downstairs, unwinding after long hard days like these. His hair, sporting a few stray greys, was longer than regulation allowed but he could never find the time to have it cut.

  Darryl nodded stonily at Matt’s assessment of the case. “Marie Stanton, twenty-seven-year-old med graduate. The perp took his time with her before he cut her throat ear to ear.”

  Matt shuddered. He had seen this work before and knew exactly who was responsible. The only problem was finding the man. He was as elusive as a four leaf clover and had been wanted by law enforcement for years. His capture would be paramount to that of Ivan Milat’s.

  “The Butcher,” he said through his teeth. His face was a mask of pure rage at not being able to prevent the victim’s unfortunate and unnecessary death.

  Darryl’s face screwed up in disgust. “It’s been confirmed.”

  Matt felt the wariness in his body deepen. He had already been up for seventeen hours and he figured he’d be up for another seventeen at least. He ran his long thin fingers through his hair, in agitation, no doubt making the almost black tufts stick straight up in the air. He mentally shrugged. Appearance wasn’t high on his list of concerns.

  Matt took in the room. There were five detectives in Harbour Bay’s DU—Detective Unit—including himself and Darryl. Thankfully the city was fairly quiet when it came to murder, at least until now, and he and Darryl along with the other detectives in the unit worked a variety of cases across all of the divisions within the LAC, Local Area Command: Dean Matthews, Nicholas Doyle, and Amelia Donovan, the only woman on the team.

  Amelia was neither fat nor thin, her physical type tough rather than fragile and could take down any man in a fight—including him one time when she had goaded him into a knock-down all-in wrestle. He had walked away red-faced and from that moment on he had admired the spunky woman. Her raven hair was just long enough to be tied into a ponytail and she sported light brown almond shaped eyes. She never hid her femininity from the men she worked with. Her clothes often hugged her body but not enough to distract them from a case. She was all business and didn’t take any shit from anybody, least of all ‘scum-sucking criminals’ and they all had tremendous respect for her. She was one hell of a detective, ambitious too. Matt knew, as he knew the sun would rise again tomorrow, that one day she would be his boss.

  “And the last two victims?” he asked, dreading the answer he knew was coming. Marie Stanton hadn’t been the first, not by a long shot. Since the early nineties, the Butcher had been killing, moving from state to state leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. For some reason which Matt couldn’t fathom, the Butcher had come back to Harbour Bay and apparently he planned to stay.

  His gaze drifted over to the large bulletin board opposite his desk. Multiple photos of smiling women were pinned to the board. Below the snapshots were the corresponding crime scene photos. Each mutilated body stared back at him, condemning him for allowing them to die. Darryl’s stare followed his.

  “The boys in forensics say they’re all the work of the Butcher.”

  Matt nodded. It had been five years since the Butcher had last reaped havoc in Harbour Bay. At that time he had not yet been labelled a serial killer. He had moved on after inadvertently leaving his last victim alive and in police custody.

  Matt stood, running his hands over his wrinkled forest green shirt, as if to magically iron out the creases. His tie was loose and hung haphazardly around his neck. He started making his way down the corridor of the LAC, Darryl easily keeping up with his long strides.

  “I hear back in 2005 with the Walker double homicide, there was a survivor,” Darryl said, looking for new angles in which to tackle the case.

  Matt nodded, remembering it like it was yesterday. It had been his first case as a detective, and the crime scene was forever burned in his memory. The Ford Fairlane parked into a tree. The body of Senator Ian Walker left on the highway, his throat slit, his head barely attached to his neck. His wife, Missy, half inside the car and half out. Both their bodies had been stabbed multiple times close to or not long after death.

  It had still been dark when he and his partner, Ed Graham, a seasoned veteran with over twenty years’ experience, had entered the LAC. The sight of the little girl huddled beneath a mountain of blankets had broken his heart and gave him nightmares for months afterward. He was surprised at the strength of will to survive the girl had showed. After pulling herself free of the nearby river that flowed adjacent to the town she had ran towards the nearest civilisation she could find, which happened to be a house roughly thirty kilometres outside of Harbour Bay. She’d banged on the door until it had opened to reveal two sleepy farmers. The owners had bundled her up in a blanket and had immediately taken her into town.

  When children her age would have collapsed in tears and closed themselves up, Hallie Walker had talked and hadn’t stopped until she had told her entire story. Not only had she told her story but she had kept on telling it to whomever asked. Matt figured it was due to the fact the girl was running on pure adrenaline.

  Later, she had sat there still as a statue, the only sign of life her active eyes shifting about the room as they took in the commotion around her. He and Ed had walked over to her and her solemn amber eyes, red from crying, watched them warily. Her short shoulder length red-brown hair was knotted from the events of the night, her clothes still damp beneath the blanket and her skin smelled of the river.

  She’d been terrified, her slight body shaking slightly. He imagined all that she’d experienced, all that she’d witnessed. How scared and alone she’d felt, knowing help was too far away, the highway rarely used other than by locals as travelling motorists preferred to use the newly built freeway that bypassed the smaller towns along the coast.

  When he and Ed had started questioning Hallie, she repeated her story once again, giving them the cold facts not even a traumatised cop might recount with such detailed efficiency. She was extremely remarkable, Matt had noted at the time, and noticed her reluctance to steer towards anything emotional. He understood the need to close that part of oneself off. Anyone in her situation would do the same. Later he learned the young girl had been admitted into a rehabilitation centre that specialised in the mentally unbalanced for observation and eventually incarcerated. A sad ending for such a brave girl, Matt had thought at the time.

  “There was the daughter. Hallie Walker was twelve years old and was able to give us a detailed description. We ran the sketch through the media—newspapers, TV, internet—but came up empty.”

  “He was considered a transient?” Darryl asked.

  “Yes, but a very smart, methodical one. His attacks are well organised so he has the means to stalk them for a considerable amount of time. He’s been doing this for almost twenty years and the only time he ever messed up was when he left Hallie Walker alive.”

  “Can she help?”

  Matt shrugged. “She did once. Whether or not she can now is a different story. A couple of months after the Walker murders, Hallie was incarcerated in Paradise Valley.”

  “That’s rough,” Darryl commented.

  “It is,” Matt agreed. In his mind’s eye he saw Hallie Walker as she had been—formidable. A force to be reckoned with even when she was hurting. There was no guessing as to who the young woman in Paradise Valley was. For some reason he couldn’t imagine her as a little girl lost somewhere within her own mind. Hallie had seemed so capable to him, so brave and sure of herself that he couldn’t believe she would allow herself to be beaten down.

  He wondered if she still had those intelligent, almost gold eyes. The ones that saw and understood too much. He sighed, knowing full well he would find out soon enough. But this was a delicate situation. One in which he was clearly out of his depth. He was going to need help.

  He was going to need a professional.

  Chapter 2

  Doctor Natalie Miller sat in
the leather bound chair that faced the couch. Her office, decorated in soft pastels and soothing tones, was on the fourth floor of a building in the CBD of Harbour Bay. It had taken her years to afford the sleek office in its prime location but whenever she looked around she felt such a sense of accomplishment. After all her hard work, she had finally made it in her profession. She was one of the most sought out psychologists in the city and the surrounding areas and was now earning a healthy wage.

  Yet, for all her talent in the field, she had never once turned her insight on herself to heal her old wounds. Natalie knew she was emotionally stunted and often felt ice cold inside. She had dated some over the years but had never allowed anyone to see the other side of her—the vulnerable side, afraid of having someone exploit it. It all came down to trust. Her trusting others, and she just couldn’t do that.

  Fear was a powerful immobiliser.

  She made notes on her notepad as her shy, awkward teenage patient spoke. He tried—and failed miserably—to keep his eyes off her body. His gaze ping-ponged between her breasts that rose and fell with each of her breaths and her silk encased legs, exposed by the knee length hem of her navy fitted dress.

  Billy had been seeing her now once a week for almost a month since he had set off the fire alarm at his high school and had subsequently been suspended in a cry for help. His parents thankfully heard the cry and had sent him to her. He was a good kid, a little high strung from the daily pressures of bringing home good grades and the stress of making his parents proud.

  Poor Billy, she thought. During these turbulent teenage years it had to be torture to be stuck in a room with someone you found attractive. He was trying so hard to pretend otherwise. She had thankfully been spared such awkwardness. Natalie may spend her time watching the males of the species but never in attraction. No, from a young age, she had found herself looking at a man and assessing his strength, wondering what lurked beneath the surface. Later, when she had begun dating and a man ordered an alcoholic beverage, she would wonder whether he was a happy or a mean drunk but never stuck around long enough to find out.

  The study of the people around her, while it had been in fear, had been what had first interested her in psychology. She wondered if she could read someone so accurately that she would never be surprised by their actions. After four years of psychology classes she had come out of university with a bachelor’s degree and a masters in clinical psychology.

  She took a deep breath. Billy’s eyes were instantly upon her breasts like heat seeking missiles. She would need to rethink her business attire for the days she counselled the teenager. Not that she ever dressed provocatively. Natalie hated being on display and much preferred to melt into the background, her back against the wall, protecting herself.

  She made herself silently count to ten. Billy was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable. He was a sweet kid but he was also a male and Natalie didn’t trust the male gender. She was always wary of them and their intentions and never once allowed her guard down in their presence. Even Billy, who was tall and lanky and seemed as soft as a marshmallow.

  She pushed away her issues and focused on her patient. He deserved her full attention. She made several more notations on the page and asked him how he felt, listening not only to his words, but his tone and watched the expressions play across his face to determine his truthfulness. A buzzer sent out a low hum from her desk, alerting her to the hour.

  “It appears our time is up Billy,” she said, standing. He rose also in one limber motion. “Have you spoken to your parents about how you feel?”

  He swallowed hard. “No. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

  “Your parents love you, Billy. You could never disappoint them. I’m sure they’ll be shocked to hear their pushing has caused this breakdown.”

  “I guess,” he said, his tone conveying he was not convinced.

  “Would it give you courage if I was there also? Perhaps at your next session, they could attend as well? We can tell them together. Help them to understand what it is you’re feeling and why.”

  “Yeah. I think that could work.”

  “All right. I’ll have my receptionist arrange a time that’s suitable for all and we’ll work this out. Are you going to be okay? Are you still stressed?”

  “I don’t know.” He gave her a once over.

  “Billy,” she said softly. His gaze jumped to hers guiltily. “I have a suggestion. Why don’t you ask one of the girls from your school to the movies? That’ll be fun and stress free and it’ll get you out of the house.”

  He blushed. “I like my women to have meat on their bones and a nice round figure. The girls at school are too skinny.”

  Natalie wasn’t sure if she should feel complimented or insulted. She maintained a healthy weight, but she would never fit into a size eight.

  “I’m not asking you to marry her, Billy, just take her out as friends. Have a few laughs. It really is the best medicine.”

  “Okay, Doctor Miller.”

  She wasn’t sure from the teenager’s tone if that meant he was going to comply with her suggestion or ignore it. There wasn’t anything more she could do. The patient had to be willing to help themselves before she even had a chance. Which probably explained her own reluctance.

  She waved off that thought as she walked Billy to the door. “Remember, when you feel like it’s all too much, just let go. Get up and go outside. Breathe and get some fresh air into those lungs, okay?”

  “Yeah, I know. Don’t let it get to me.”

  “Exactly. I’ll see you next week.”

  Billy nodded before slipping through the door. When it was closed behind him, Natalie sank into the chair at her desk. She glanced at the clock. It was still morning and she had hours to go before she could retire. Today was just dragging on. She closed Billy Duncan’s file before tucking the red folder away in her desk drawer. She stole a look at the pile of manila file folders on her desk. Sometime soon she would have to go through and review each case. It was something she was not looking forward to. Natalie didn’t like seeing her failures, of those she couldn’t help, the ones referred elsewhere or institutionalised. No she never liked knowing the statistics on her work, just as she never liked to hear criticism, constructive or otherwise.

  She walked over to her side table where her coffee maker sat and measured out the coffee and pressed the button on the side. The coffee maker sprang to life and made delicious sounds as the scent of coffee filled the room and revived her weary body. She stood there watching the coffee slowly pour into the carafe and when it was done, poured the strong coffee into her favourite “I Love Psychology” mug her aunt had given her when she had graduated.

  When she returned to her desk, she set her cup down and waited for it to cool. Rather than waste time, she switched on her computer and brought up the local news website. She had planned to check her emails but didn’t see the harm in playing five minutes of hooky as she caught up with what was happening around the world. The front page of the website caught her attention. Under the heading of Breaking News was Murder in Harbour Bay.

  Curiosity edging her on, Natalie clicked on the photograph of a young, beautiful woman with a brunette bob and hazel eyes. The caption said her name was Marie Stanton, a med student at the local university. The article was short but to the point:

  Marie Stanton has been brutally murdered in Harbour Bay. While reports are sketchy, the police are saying citizens should be vigilant. Anyone who was in the area at the time of the murder should come forward for questioning. Detectives are keeping quiet about the exact details of Ms Stanton’s death but what is known is she was found in a downtown parking garage off Charles early yesterday morning. If you can shed any light on this crime please call local officials or Crime Stoppers.

  The reporter went on to speculate that the murder was one of many attributed to the Butcher, the man who’d killed Senator Ian Walker and his wife Missy just outside of town on the King George Highway in August of 2
005.

  Natalie shivered despite the warm temperature. The thought someone had been murdered in her town gave her the creeps. Someone walking about outside her office doors was a murderer. She hoped the police would catch the bastard quickly. A man like that did not deserve to be out in the world free while women like Marie Stanton would never live again.

  She clicked on the email icon on her taskbar and scanned her emails, relieved to find nothing required immediate attention. She answered a few about rescheduling appointments and deleted the junk. She closed her inbox and decided to get on with her work. Maybe that would clear her mind of the recent article and thoughts of a murderer free in her beloved city. She glanced over at her appointments book and took in the name of her next patient. Natalie swivelled her chair around and opened her desk drawer to pull out his file. She then turned her full attention to the file.

  The name Henry Rellet was printed in capitals on the top of the page. Natalie took another deep sip of her coffee and let the liquid trail down her throat and into her stomach. She caught herself just moments before she moaned in pleasure. She was so caught up in her nirvana that she didn’t hear the man enter her office and come to stand beside her desk. One minute she was alone with her delicious and desired coffee and the next a man with brown hair and sparkling green eyes was standing beside her, casting a shadow over her desk and paperwork.

  “Doctor Natalie Miller,” he said in greeting.

  He was a tall man, good-looking too, and she was surprised that these were her first thoughts about the stranger invading her privacy. Natalie felt the burn of desire low in her belly and was startled at her response. She had heard of instant desire but had never experienced it herself. She was by no means a virgin but not one of the few men she had invited into her bed had ever made her feel this wanton. She realised she was undressing him with her eyes and immediately squashed the imagery, delightful though it was.