Thicker Than Water. Lindy Cameron

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СКАЧАТЬ that's exactly where I want us to go." Kit opened the door and all but dragged Marek into the room. She shut them in, but he switched the light on and then crossed his arms defensively over his chest and gave her a look that said, 'well, get on with it then'.

      Oh. Actually, on closer examination, Kit realised his was a typical 'how come you never listen to me?' stance, and his expression was more of a 'you asked for it'.

      Kit looked around at three cork-boarded walls, covered in the crime scene photos of what could only belong to the Barleycorn Task Force - the homicide investigation into the murderous activities of the person the press had dubbed the Rental Killer, but what those in the know regarded as the serial nightmare of Bubblewrap Man.

      "Do you still want to be in here?" Marek asked, coldly.

      Kit held on tight to a shallow breath, and walked a horror walk around a pictorial gallery of torture and mutilation beyond description which showed, from every possible angle, the ghastly images of once-were-women - stolen, starved, brutalised and murdered.

      Kit looked at the photos, at the victims, not to prove she could and certainly not because she wanted to - the devil himself, the bastard, knew that wasn't so - but because this was what was wrong with her friend.

      Day and night, for nearly four months, Jon Marek had been enduring the depravity wrought by this 'barbarian' as he'd called him. And Marek's job on this investigation was not a case of applying work time and professional energy to solving one or two beyond-awful murders. This was a thirty-hour a day offering-up of his mind and psyche to find the killer of two, then three, then... It was now five women who'd been starved, raped, beaten and had their hearts cut out while still, but barely, alive. Five victims, who had then been encased in bubblewrap and left in empty rental houses.

      Erin Carmody had been involved in finding victim number three, which was partly how Kit knew as much as she did about this case; and that was way more than the average woman on Melbourne's streets, who knew only that there was a serial killer loose amongst them. They could only surmise, from what the media were allowed to reveal, that this was a killer who worked to no apparent rhyme and with no reasonable pattern, there being nothing similar about the victims - not their age, their hair or eye colour, their job, their marital or financial status, their religion or ethnicity, their car, their gym, their vet. Nothing - except their gender. The random nature of the Rental Killer's choice of victim made him all the more terrifying, because any and every woman in the city was at risk until he was caught.

      And each time, since the phone call that led Erin and the police to the body of Susan West in an otherwise empty house in Elwood, Bubblewrap Man had called a different journalist to inform them where, in their neighbourhood, he'd left his latest victim.

      Marek sighed deeply and dropped into one of the orange plastic chairs placed at the huge table in the centre of the room. "Get the hell out of here, O'Malley," he advised.

      As Kit's attention shifted from the crime scene photos to the multitude of evidence bags that covered the table, she was overwhelmed for the first time in her life by the oppressive, age-old and female-only surge of cowering anxiety spawned by a perceived powerlessness.

      Shit! That's an awful feeling, she shuddered. Thank something, however, the already-dissipating flush of nameless panic did not make her feel afraid, or leave a residue of dread.

      No. You're not getting me, Kit scowled; feeling righteously angry and fighting mad. All she wanted now, was to draw her broadsword and cut this murdering bastard to pieces.

      "O'Malley, please?" Marek's eyes sadly searched hers. "This is no place for..."

      Kit squatted down, balancing herself with her hands on his knees. "No place for whom?"

      "For anyone."

      "Who are you talking to about this?"

      Marek harumphed. "No one. The crew - which means no one, I suppose. Oh, except you. I talked to you about it. Remember?"

      Kit shook her head. "Marek, that was nearly a month ago. There's been two more since-"

      "Tell me about it!"

      "No, you have to tell someone; you've gotta get this out of your head, Jonno. Go see the department shrink or de-briefer. There must be one assigned to a case like this, or you'd all," she waved in the direction of the squad room, "be losing it by now."

      "Some of the others have been talking to the Doc, but-"

      "But what, Marek? You do not have to be tough and totally in-control machismo-man you know. You won't be any good to anyone if you take the denial route to self-destruction."

      "You don't get it, Kitty."

      "No, you don't get it Marek," Kit interrupted. "I saw a side of you out there a moment ago that I've never seen before and, despite all your previous and thoroughly hideous cases, never thought I would. You have to get this case off your lone and sagging shoulders. Use me if you want. Hell, I've heard, and now seen enough to at least have a clue where your head is."

      That's right, O'Malley, she thought. Volunteer for nightmare watch. Like you need any more visions that aren't your own already.

      Kit's gaze wandered over the body of evidence gathered on the table: hundreds of bags containing great and small clues and, no doubt, more than a few irrelevancies. There were easily identifiable things like bus tickets, necklaces, feathers and underwear; strange what-on-earth things like little pieces of metal and wire, small bits of green stuff and tiny coloured fibres; and gruesome things like a tooth, hair, and thumb-cuffs with spikes on the inside.

      "This is not even the worst of it," Marek said softly. He was standing beside her staring, like she was, at all the evidence that had so far gotten him nowhere.

      "Please get some help Jonno," Kit begged, "before it's too late - for you. Or before you lash out and accidentally deck one of your mates out there."

      Marek let go a short laugh. "Harper is actually an imbecile."

      "That may be, Marek, but he still doesn't deserve the brunt of your bad shit," Kit stressed, realising she'd been fiddling with one of the plastic bags. "What is this?" she asked.

      "Don't know Kitty, but put it down; you really don't know where it's been."

      That's better, Kit thought, welcoming the return of Marek's gallows-side smirk. "My big question for the day," she smiled, "is why let off steam at poor Harper when you've got up-Chucky in your squad? He is, after all, an unmissable target worth hurling your invective at."

      "That's true," Marek smiled. "And if I beat the crap out of him, I won't need the shrink."

      Kit gave him a disapproving frown.

      "I'll make an appointment this arvo, I promise. Now, will you get out of here?"

      "For you, anything." Kit opened the door.

      "Do me a favour then? Tell Erin I'm not prone to violent verbal outbursts."

      "She knows, Marek."

      As Kit waited for Hector to return with his bugs and Enzo to get back from the loo, she glanced around Leo's Spaghetti Bar and wondered how it was that so many people could be just sitting around socialising at СКАЧАТЬ