A Time to Run Read online

  He’d dozed for a couple of hours before the wan light of dawn woke him. He hadn’t moved since he woke, staying under the covers. The first thing he did was grab his mobile phone off the bedside table to check for a message that he knew wouldn’t be there. Now his phone was clutched in his hand under the doona, just in case it rang.

  A sense of unease had kept his mind active all night. He was worried but couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. He wasn’t sure if it was about their fight, the feeling that she didn’t trust him enough. All he wanted to do was keep calling Sammi’s number till she answered and he knew she was OK. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

  But he knew ringing her phone at quarter to seven in the morning after she’d had a night out on the town would put her in an even worse mood. He didn’t mind her going out, but usually they would have kissed and made up by now.

  Gavin knew Sammi started work at midday. He always loaded her work rosters onto his phone so he knew what shift she was on. She took work seriously and would drag herself into work rather than call in with some dodgy excuse because she was hungover and tired.

  It was a small town. Someone else probably knew by now that she hadn’t been home all night. The night crews regularly did laps past all the other officers’ houses, and would have seen that her car was not in the carport or yard. Sammi knew all of that. If she didn’t turn up for her shift after a night out, there would be trouble, and not just from the boss. There would be a loss of reputation among her colleagues for letting the team down and for being soft. There was a certain bravado among Sammi’s workmates. It was like a badge of honour, partying all night and then still putting in a day’s work. The inevitable teasing if she turned up to work with a hangover was always better than the snide remarks if she didn’t turn up at all.

  He trusted Sammi, but she was with Candy. Gavin had met Candy only a couple of times but knew what she could get up to. He knew going out with Candy was Sammi’s way of punishing him.

  Gavin did a few calculations. Candy lived in the western suburbs of Brisbane, a good three hours’ drive away. Sammi would have to be out of bed and on the road by about 8:45 am. Knowing her, she wouldn’t want to cut it too fine. Gavin looked at the clock radio. He’d ring her at 8:15. She might even appreciate him waking her up in time so she wasn’t late. He rolled over, shutting his eyes. He pretended Sammi was next to him and tried to relax.

  Saturday 6:50 am

  The drug fog had lifted a little and Sammi tried to focus. Now was the time to make a plan. She didn’t know how much longer she would be bumping around in the back of the ute but she knew with absolute certainty that she would need all her wits about her once the ute stopped. She would have to think on her feet.

  Now was the time to try some cool-headed practical thinking. After all, this was what she had been trained for.

  Sammi had been a police officer for six years. She had joined the Queensland Police Service after a failed attempt to become an accountant. She completed two years of a finance degree before she realised she was sentencing herself to endless days in an office. She’d applied to the police halfway through her degree and had been accepted straightaway. She’d had two weeks’ holidays to transition between a uni share house in Toowong and joining a recruit squad in the Police Academy at Oxley.

  On her first day of station duty, which was like work experience for wannabe coppers, she knew she’d made the right choice. She loved the unexpected, turning up to jobs without knowing what would happen once she got out of the car. She relished driving fast with lights and sirens, looking for the best route as the traffic moved aside. She thrived on the surge of adrenaline when she turned up at a fist fight, hand on her capsicum spray, trying to sort out the goodies from the baddies. It was never that straightforward though. Sammi also enjoyed getting both sides of the story in any dispute, sifting through what was said and deciding who was lying to her – and why.

  She was also developing into a good negotiator. Her supervisor in her first year had repeatedly told her, ‘Don’t start a fight you can’t finish.’ Since she was an average-sized woman, and the people looking for a fight were more often than not men, she had become adept at talking people down. Separating, listening, defusing.

  She had been in very few fights, and had finished them all, sometimes with a bit of help. That was one of the other great things about being a police officer – someone always had your back. She rarely worked alone, and always drew comfort from knowing that if she failed or didn’t cope, her partner would pick up where she left off. It was an unwritten rule that even if you didn’t particularly like the person you were working with, you stood behind them. The suit of blue tied you together, and you could count on whomever you were with on any given shift.

  Right now, alone and in trouble, Sammi still felt as if someone was on her side. She knew that when she didn’t turn up for work, one of her colleagues would start making phone calls and soon enough ten thousand coppers throughout the state would be on the lookout for her. It made her feel marginally better. She just had to give her buddies a bit of time to locate her.

  Sammi knew she had to play her part to help them find her. She had to lay clues where she could, leave behind a trace of herself that might be found. She had to let them know she’d been in the back of this ute. Her wrists did not seem to be bound too tightly. Probably duct tape. She wriggled her hands, twisting them in opposing directions. Although she couldn’t free herself, it did loosen the binding. Carefully, she swung herself onto her knees. She lifted her bound wrists as high as her shoulder joints would allow. She set one foot in front of her and slowly pushed off her knee. She kept her head down and her arms up. Trying to keep her balance as the ute bounced along, she splayed her hands and pushed her palms against the canopy roof. She was pretty certain she left close to a full set of handprints on the ceiling before a bump in the road made her body lurch forward and she crashed towards the floor. She couldn’t reach out with her hands to catch herself so tipped her head downward and took the impact on her forehead rather than her face. It hurt, but she ignored the pain and concentrated on the task she had set herself. She reached upwards, then sideways, leaving as many sets of fingerprints as she could on as many surfaces as she could reach in the ute. If the tray of the ute was ever cleaned, some may just be missed. One print from her little finger would be enough to identify her. Any forensics officer would be able to confirm she had been here.

  It was a start. Sammi felt a small sense of satisfaction that she had thought of this.

  She looked at the motorbike in the back with her. Had it been there when she climbed into the ute? Clearly, he had taken her somewhere private where he could move her from the front to the back. Maybe he had gone somewhere and picked up the bike on the way. So the bike was probably part of his plans. She didn’t know enough about mechanics to disable it, but surely if she dislodged something, a hose or a cable, it might slow him down. Time could make all the difference for her. Time for her colleagues to put together the pieces so she could be found.

  She wondered if anyone had started looking yet. Had Candy made it home? Had she noticed Sammi wasn’t there? How long until Gavin started calling again?

  Closing her eyes, Sammi pictured Gavin, calling to mind every detail of his face. Why had she become so angry about a simple bank account? She would give him every cent she had if he needed it, and he’d do the same for her. She should be safe in their bed right now, with Gavin curled behind her like a question mark. She knew with certainty that he would be the one to raise the alarm when she failed to return his phone calls and didn’t show up at their home in the morning. He kept his softer side covered – Sammi had seldom needed it – but she had repeatedly seen his tenderness with his mother before she passed away.

  It was daylight outside now; that much she could tell, but no more. She had no idea how much longer she would need to endure this ride. The minutes boun
ced in a jumbled mess around the tray of the ute with her. Part of her wanted the ute to stop, but she knew while she was trussed up alone in the back, nothing worse was happening to her. She had no doubt things were going to get a whole lot more dangerous once they came to a stop.

  She wriggled around so she was kneeling with her back against the motorbike. She felt the wires coming down from the handlebars to the chassis. She fingered them, trying to find one in the middle, one that would be less obvious. She gave it a sharp tug. Nothing happened. She tried pulling it upwards, leaning her weight forward. There was a grating sound as whatever was holding the wire in place gave way and it came loose. She followed the wire down with her fingers and tried to tuck the loose end back into the clump of wires so that it was not immediately obvious. That was the best she could manage. She had no idea which wire she had just pulled loose, or even if it would stop the bike. With her luck, she’d probably just disabled the left blinker. But anything was better than nothing. It might make him angry at her, but any consequences would be balanced against the time she could buy for herself. Slowly she lowered herself back onto the tray of the ute. She pressed her face against the cool metal and thought. Right now, all she could do was wait and see what happened next.

  Saturday 8:40 am

  Gavin dialled Sammi’s mobile number, thinking exactly what he’d say when she picked up. He was certain she would answer. Their fight was yesterday. They’d both had ample time to cool off. He would tell her he loved her as soon as she picked up, before she had a chance to hang up. She had won, he would grovel. It had been a long night and he would apologise if it meant she came straight home.

  Sammi’s phone went straight to message bank. Why was it turned off? Gavin didn’t bother leaving a message. His feeling of unease increased. It wasn’t like Sammi to have her phone off. But it was possible she might have had it turned off during her night on the town and had forgotten to turn it back on.

  He ferreted around in Sammi’s bedside drawer and pulled out an old address book. He riffled through the pages till he found Candy’s home number. After the phone rang out three times, Candy answered. He guessed he had woken her and he couldn’t care less.

  ‘Where’s Sammi?’ he asked without preamble. ‘She needs to get on the road if she’s going to be back in time for her shift.’

  Gavin heard Candy calling Sammi’s name, her voice thick from too much alcohol and not enough sleep.

  ‘We didn’t come home together,’ Candy said.

  ‘Go and see if her car’s still there,’ he said. He heard her puff a little as she walked around the house, opening doors and calling Sammi’s name.

  ‘I can’t find her,’ Candy said, ‘but her car’s still here.’

  ‘Where did you see her last?’ Gavin snapped.

  ‘Um, Lion’s Head at Inala,’ she answered.

  ‘And where is Sammi now?’ he asked in a hostile, controlled tone.

  A moment’s pause.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Candy replied.

  Gavin had to bite his tongue to stop from yelling and swearing at her.

  ‘Well, who does?’ Gavin asked, spitting out each word slowly and clearly.

  ‘Umm . . .’ Candy started, then trailed off into a confused silence.

  Gavin hung up and threw the phone at the couch.

  Saturday 8:50 am

  The ute lurched to a stop. Sammi watched with intense relief and fear as the crack of light at the tailgate widened. Sunlight flooded the tray of the ute. She blinked, half-blinded by the sunshine, but did not want to shut her eyes. She didn’t see the hand grab her ankle, and could do nothing as she was yanked forward. The tape across her mouth was ripped off in a single movement that made her skin sting and her eyes water.

  Despite herself, her stomach heaved and the vomit she had fought so hard to keep down spewed forth.

  ‘Dirty bitch,’ a male’s voice growled.

  She was wrenched off the back of the ute and flopped heavily to the ground. Another heave of her stomach, and she let the vomit come. Her eyes adjusted and she was looking at a pair of black boots against a bush backdrop. She rolled slightly onto her side so she could look at her captor.

  It was the barman. He’d changed out of his jeans and polo shirt and was wearing a black T-shirt and camouflage pants tucked into army boots that laced up past his ankle. He was holding a large hunting knife, the fat silver blade curving into a sharp point.

  She sucked in a shuddering breath.

  ‘You finished chucking now?’ he asked loudly.

  She nodded.

  ‘You’re not going to try anything stupid, are you? We’re in the middle of the bush. There’s nowhere to go. It’s just you and me. So you just listen and do as you’re told.’

  He seemed to be waiting for some response, so she nodded again. Then without warning, he lunged towards her with the knife. Instinct and reaction kicked in and Sammi rolled, tried to get under the ute.

  She wasn’t fast enough and Don laughed as he grabbed her by the arm. He hauled her into the open, wrenching her shoulder, her hands still bound. He was behind her and she just caught the flash of the blade of the knife as it swung downwards in a sweeping movement. She felt a stinging pain at her wrist and then her hands were free. She pulled her hands apart and brought them instinctively up in front of her face. She let out an involuntary gasp as she saw blood dripping from a cut on the outside of her wrist where he had nicked her.

  ‘Don’t go bleeding too much now,’ he said with a sneer. ‘The fun hasn’t started yet.’

  She held a finger across the cut to stem the bleeding. He reached in through the open window of the car, pulled out a water bottle and threw it to the ground in front of her.

  ‘There you go, have a drink. You’ll need it,’ he said.

  She eyed the bottle, and then him.

  ‘No, thanks. I think I’ve fallen for that once already.’

  He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. But you’re going to regret it if you don’t have a drink now. You’re going to need all your energy.’

  She shook her head, just from stubbornness now. She was parched. Between the alcohol, the drugs he had given her and the sour tang of vomit, her mouth felt like the inside of a cat litter tray.

  He left the water where it was and turned back to the ute. He went to the passenger door and Sammi caught a glimpse of movement through the window. A large brown dog leapt out of the front of the car. It saw her on the ground and started bounding towards her, tail high in the air and pointy ears swivelled forward.

  ‘Leave it,’ the barman rumbled and the dog stopped a couple of paces in front of her, its black eyes staring. She didn’t make eye contact with it. It looked like a pigging dog to Sammi, the type trained by hunters to flush out and bring down feral pigs. It had a large head to accommodate a fearsome set of teeth. Kilo for kilo, it would have weighed almost as much as her, Sammi estimated. This was no family pet.

  ‘Here,’ Don growled again, and the dog turned and trotted back to his side. He seemed to have it under control. Sammi wondered what other commands it responded to. She had been to a job on a rural property, where the farmer had trained one of his dogs to attack on command. Capsicum spray had taken care of that dog – one squirt in its face to turn it around and one squirt up its bum to keep it moving.

  She had nothing out here though. Only her body, brain and wits. She prayed that would be enough.

  Saturday 8:53 am

  Candy slowly and mechanically made herself a cup of coffee while she tried to clear the fog from last night. The phone call from Gavin had brought confusion at first, but anxiety was now coming to the fore. She carefully played through the events of the night, looking for clues as to why Sammi was not here and yet her car was.

  Candy tried to recall Sammi’s last words to her before she left, but couldn’t remember more beyond the light-head
ed mass of open-mouthed kisses and sweaty bodies.

  If she had been annoyed with Candy, surely Sammi would have grabbed her gear and her car and driven home? Everything was still here. Her overnight bag still stood next to the guest bed, which hadn’t been slept in. There was no clue to her disappearance.

  It wasn’t like her. Sammi was the reliable one, the one who would make sure everyone else got home in one piece. Candy was the one who played it wild and loose, went out alone and let strange men take her home. She should be the one missing.

  Candy felt a burst of anger. She jumped to her feet and stormed into her bedroom.

  ‘Get out!’ she screamed to one naked man on the bed and another hogging the bedclothes on the floor. They struggled upright at her voice. She picked up their shoes and clothes and threw them at their owners.

  ‘I don’t even know your names! Get out of here now!’

  Last night’s passion had evaporated in the morning light. The men hurriedly pulled on a minimum of clothes and grabbed wallets and keys before hurrying out the door.

  Candy drew her gown closer around her and returned to the kitchen. She felt useless. Her hand was trembling as she reached for her coffee. She just didn’t know what else to do.

  Saturday 9:01 am

  It was 9 am before Gavin went to the local station where Sammi worked. He knew everybody, having whiled away many hours over beers and snags on the patio at the back of the station. A lot of the staff also had their cars serviced at the workshop where he was employed as a mechanic.

  The shift sergeant greeted him warmly at the front counter. Gavin knew that Bob Simpson was respected and reviled in equal parts at the station. He expected the junior staff to do their job properly and professionally, as he did his. Their attitude to Bob generally reflected their attitude to work. If they liked to do things in a half-arsed fashion and fly by the seat of their pants, invariably they did not like Bob, who went by the book in all cases.