Read Online Feeding the Demons by Gabrielle Lord - Free Book Online
Authors: Gabrielle Lord
Tags: australia
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you where to stop.’ Angie did so, waiting for her friend’s instructions.
‘Stop!’ said Gemma. ‘Right there.’ The picture suddenly froze, the slashed crutch of the pantyhose, the knifed skirt shimmering in freeze frame, then Gemma started the tape rolling again.
Angie stared at it, then she looked at Gemma. ‘When did this happen? Where is this?’ she asked.
‘Night before last. At the Tusculum Hotel, Potts Point. The clothes are mine.’
‘Jesus Hell,’ said Angie. She watched as the close-up of the slashed pantyhose paused over the semen stain. Then she turned to her ex-colleague. ‘Don’t go away. Wait here. I’ve got something to show you.’
Angie left, then returned a few moments later with another cassette. She slid it home and switched it on. ‘Authorised Police Personnel Only’ Gemma read, then Angie fast-forwarded it; when the tape stopped, Gemma’s eyes widened. There, on another carpet, on another floor, with different clothes, was the same thing. Another skirt and underwear slashed, other shoes laid out either side of the sheer nylon feet, another pretty blouse ripped apart with knife cuts, talcum powder sprinkled at the opening of the sleeves and over the crutch.
‘It’s the same thing!’ said Gemma. ‘What happened to me.’
‘No. It’s not the same thing,’ said Angie. ‘It’s much worse.’
Gemma felt a chill of horror as she watched the police video pull slowly away from the clothes and start its slow, methodical recording. She gasped in horror as the picture panned over the carpet towards an open doorway where the splayed bare legs of a woman, knees and nightie covered with blood, came into view. The inexorable slow pan continued. The woman’s lower body, bloody fabric stuck to her belly, the terrible, gaping wounds in the upper chest and throat, revealing the complex muscles and tendons, hacked and exposed. Gemma stared. The woman’s face was turned away from the horror of her death, but her long glossy hair fanned out behind her, partly covering her upper arms. Near one of her open hands, graceful as a ballerina’s, was a golf club.
‘Oh Jesus,’ said Gemma, one hand almost covering her mouth. ‘Looks like she heard him while he was doing his gig. She arms herself with the golf club and creeps out to see what’s going on. She disturbs him. He attacks her with the knife he’s using to cut up her clothes.’ She leaned against the wall, knowing that everything pointed to the fact that the person who did this had been only metres away from her sleeping figure in a motel room less than forty-eight hours ago.
‘That’s how we read it, too. Are you all right?’ her friend asked. ‘You’ve gone very white.’
Gemma nodded. ‘Now,’ said Angie, ‘you’d better tell me all about your incident.’
She stepped forward and turned the video player off, gathered up the cassettes, then automatically started running off a copy of Gemma’s video. They both went back to the kitchen area of the Homicide unit. As they passed, a few people looked up from desks then returned to their work. Angie made two coffees just like the old days, using too much instant coffee.
‘Who’s the woman? Where was that?’ Gemma asked, as the jug boiled.
‘You tell me your story. Then I’ll tell you mine.’
Gemma did, as Angie made coffee. She told Angie about the DNA result on the man she’d spent the night with. Angie heard her out, passed her a cup of coffee and sat down at the large white table, taking it in.
‘Potts Point,’ said Angie, ‘where your hotel is, isn’t very far away from what happened last night,’ she said, touching the crime scene video. ‘Maroubra. A twenty-four-year-old accounts clerk. Single, living alone in a ground floor unit. But it was a hot night last night and she left a window partly open.’ Angie paused. ‘How anyone can lie down at night with a window open, let alone go to sleep, I just don’t follow. Don’t people realise it’s a
‘Stop!’ said Gemma. ‘Right there.’ The picture suddenly froze, the slashed crutch of the pantyhose, the knifed skirt shimmering in freeze frame, then Gemma started the tape rolling again.
Angie stared at it, then she looked at Gemma. ‘When did this happen? Where is this?’ she asked.
‘Night before last. At the Tusculum Hotel, Potts Point. The clothes are mine.’
‘Jesus Hell,’ said Angie. She watched as the close-up of the slashed pantyhose paused over the semen stain. Then she turned to her ex-colleague. ‘Don’t go away. Wait here. I’ve got something to show you.’
Angie left, then returned a few moments later with another cassette. She slid it home and switched it on. ‘Authorised Police Personnel Only’ Gemma read, then Angie fast-forwarded it; when the tape stopped, Gemma’s eyes widened. There, on another carpet, on another floor, with different clothes, was the same thing. Another skirt and underwear slashed, other shoes laid out either side of the sheer nylon feet, another pretty blouse ripped apart with knife cuts, talcum powder sprinkled at the opening of the sleeves and over the crutch.
‘It’s the same thing!’ said Gemma. ‘What happened to me.’
‘No. It’s not the same thing,’ said Angie. ‘It’s much worse.’
Gemma felt a chill of horror as she watched the police video pull slowly away from the clothes and start its slow, methodical recording. She gasped in horror as the picture panned over the carpet towards an open doorway where the splayed bare legs of a woman, knees and nightie covered with blood, came into view. The inexorable slow pan continued. The woman’s lower body, bloody fabric stuck to her belly, the terrible, gaping wounds in the upper chest and throat, revealing the complex muscles and tendons, hacked and exposed. Gemma stared. The woman’s face was turned away from the horror of her death, but her long glossy hair fanned out behind her, partly covering her upper arms. Near one of her open hands, graceful as a ballerina’s, was a golf club.
‘Oh Jesus,’ said Gemma, one hand almost covering her mouth. ‘Looks like she heard him while he was doing his gig. She arms herself with the golf club and creeps out to see what’s going on. She disturbs him. He attacks her with the knife he’s using to cut up her clothes.’ She leaned against the wall, knowing that everything pointed to the fact that the person who did this had been only metres away from her sleeping figure in a motel room less than forty-eight hours ago.
‘That’s how we read it, too. Are you all right?’ her friend asked. ‘You’ve gone very white.’
Gemma nodded. ‘Now,’ said Angie, ‘you’d better tell me all about your incident.’
She stepped forward and turned the video player off, gathered up the cassettes, then automatically started running off a copy of Gemma’s video. They both went back to the kitchen area of the Homicide unit. As they passed, a few people looked up from desks then returned to their work. Angie made two coffees just like the old days, using too much instant coffee.
‘Who’s the woman? Where was that?’ Gemma asked, as the jug boiled.
‘You tell me your story. Then I’ll tell you mine.’
Gemma did, as Angie made coffee. She told Angie about the DNA result on the man she’d spent the night with. Angie heard her out, passed her a cup of coffee and sat down at the large white table, taking it in.
‘Potts Point,’ said Angie, ‘where your hotel is, isn’t very far away from what happened last night,’ she said, touching the crime scene video. ‘Maroubra. A twenty-four-year-old accounts clerk. Single, living alone in a ground floor unit. But it was a hot night last night and she left a window partly open.’ Angie paused. ‘How anyone can lie down at night with a window open, let alone go to sleep, I just don’t follow. Don’t people realise it’s a
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