Bones In The Well E-Book

Gary Gregor

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

The Australian Outback is a hot, remote, desolate place to die. Skeletal remains of several young women have been discovered in the bottom of a long abandoned well, and Major Crime Investigators Russell Foley and Sam Rose are assigned to the case.

Foley and Rose soon learn a number of young backpackers, traveling around Australia on the adventure of a lifetime, have been reported missing in the area. Are these the remains of those unfortunate young women?

As yet another young girl is reported missing, Foley and Rose find themselves in a race against time to find her before she becomes another victim at the bottom of the well. But can they find the killer amid millions of acres of nothing - and stay alive in the process?

Leseprobe

BONES IN THE WELL

BOOK NO. 3 – FOLEY & ROSE SERIES

GARY S. GREGOR

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Next in the Series

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2017 Gary S. Gregor

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A number of people play a role in getting an author's story from an initial idea to a published book. For some of them, that role is small, for others it is significant. All who contribute in some way, regardless the level of input, are important to me, and although it might be cliché, it is true that this book would never have seen the light of day without each of them.

If I must nominate just a few, I would start with my former colleagues in the Northern Territory Police Force. You wonderful folk are the inspiration for my characters and, while those characters are fictional, I occasionally draw on the personality traits of some of those I have met in the job. If you recognise yourself in any of them, please remember that you are there because you inspire me.

My beautiful wife, Lesley, who tolerates my long hours in front of the computer without complaint, I love you and I thank you, although I still insist my love of writing is not an obsession.

Last, but by no means least, I thank all at Next Chapter Publishing. The Next Chapter team took a punt on an unknown, and that's rare in this business. I hope I can justify your gamble. I know I'll never stop trying to honor that leap of faith; thank you.

This book is respectfully dedicated to the memory of police officers everywhere who have paid the ultimate sacrifice in the service of their communities.

1

A hand snaked over Miranda Winters’ shoulder and grabbed her roughly from behind. She cringed as the strong fingers, smelling heavily of nicotine, slammed painfully across her mouth. She tasted her own blood as her teeth cut into her lip. She tried to scream, managing only a muffled, garbled cry. Immediately she regretted the effort, as the hand tightened even further across the lower half of her face.

A second strong arm encircled her waist pinning her arms in front of her, then yanked her backwards. Her backward momentum was suddenly halted as she crashed into the chest of someone behind her. She felt the hot, foul smelling breath against her cheek. In an instant, her feet left the ground, and she felt herself carried backwards. Palpable fear, gripped her tighter than the arms embracing her. She could not move her head in any direction. She darted her eyes crazily from side, to side, searching for someone, anyone, who might see she was in trouble. She saw no one.

Earlier, before the sun sank behind the Devil’s Marbles, there were people everywhere, tourists mostly. Many strolled casually through the area looking at the amazing rock formations, while others relaxed at their respective camp sites, animatedly discussing the spectacle of a glorious sunset over the Marbles as they enjoyed their ritual happy hour.

A few, like Miranda, were young, most were middle-aged, and a few were elderly. All were filled with wonderment at the red, yellow, and orange, hues, draped like a fine, transparent curtain across the western sky as the hot central Australian sun slowly settled below the distant horizon.

Formed by the combined processes of weather, and erosion, over tens of millions of years, the Devil’s Marbles comprised hundreds of granite boulders, scattered over a large area approximately one hundred kilometres south of Tennant Creek, and three-hundred-and-ninety kilometres north of Alice Springs in the heart of Australia’s Northern Territory. Some of the boulders balanced precariously on top of one another, appearing as though they may topple at any moment. Others appeared to have been cleaved neatly down the middle by the unpredictable forces of nature. A short, gravel, access road from the Stuart Highway running from south, to north, through the centre of the formation, led the inquisitive traveler to the basic campground on the eastern fringe of the area.

Managed jointly by the traditional aboriginal owners and the Territory Parks and Wildlife Service, and now officially known as Karlu Karlu/Devil’s Marbles Conservation Reserve, the area attracts over one-hundred-and-forty thousand tourists every year, many of whom are back-packers, just like Miranda Winters.

For those traveling on a shoe string budget, also like Miranda, there are no outrageously overpriced accommodations designed to separate the traveler from his, or her, holiday dollars. Folks who visit Devil’s Marbles either drive motor-homes, tow caravans, carry tents, or sleep in their vehicles. There is also no power connected to the area, and ablution facilities are limited to two basic, biochemical, composting, unisex toilet blocks.

* * *

Now it was dark, and no one was around, at least Mandy couldn’t see anyone within the scope of her vision given the limited movement of her head. She was in trouble, deep trouble. Surely someone would see her predicament. Just a short while ago, before the sun set, there were people all over the place. Now there was no one.

Mandy had heard a few horror stories about girls, and sometimes boys, who came to Australia in search of adventure and fun. And, perhaps for those so inclined, a holiday romance. She supposed back-packing in a foreign country, wherever it may be, came with potential risks, particularly for a young, attractive female. She had plenty of family and friends back home in London eager to point those risks out to her, and not the least vocal was her mother and father.

Australia had an ignominious reputation for back-packers going missing, even murdered. But, Mandy figured the sheer number of young, high spirited tourists who sought adventure in the land-down-under offered her more than acceptable odds against her becoming one of the unfortunate statistics. Besides, she liked to think of herself as a thrill seeker. Since she arrived in Australia, she had bungee jumped from a bridge, tandem parachuted from a plane, snorkeled on the Great Barrier Reef, taken a fast lap in a V8 Super Car around the famous Bathurst racing circuit, climbed Ayres Rock, and even tried rock climbing in the Summer Day Valley in Victoria’s Grampian Ranges.

Mandy did not consider herself immune from danger, it was more she figured the potential risk of her falling victim to danger was minimal. If she was going to take the plunge and spend the money to travel to the other side of the world, she was determined to get value for her money.

She had a small number of friends who had visited Australia, and not one of them had anything adverse to say about the experience. To the contrary, each of them pestered her, almost to annoyance, insisting she should go. Inwardly, she was jealous of them all, but ultimately, she decided she simply had to go and experience it for herself. Despite the warnings of those few loved ones.

All she had to do was save the money required for the return airfare, plus a bit more to sustain her until she could get a part-time job. As a trained nurse, she figured it would take her eighteen months to accrue the required funds, but, such was her determination and enthusiasm, it took just twelve.

* * *

Mandy struggled to breathe. The hand across her face slipped upwards a little and now crushed against the lower half of her nose as well as her mouth, making it difficult to suck air into her lungs. She moaned again, struggling frantically against the anonymous force carrying her backwards. She desperately needed to breathe, and waves of panic washed over her. Is this what it feels like to drown?

From sheer panic, Mandy made the decision to fight back. If she didn’t, she was sure she would suffocate. Her legs swung free of the ground, and she tried to kick backwards, hoping to score a hit hard enough for her attacker to loosen his grip and allow her to take a much needed breath. Anticipating her resistance, her attacker slammed her feet hard on the ground. He leaned close and hissed in her ear.

“You try that again, and I will kill you right here, right now!”

* * *

Initially, traveling to the other side of the world alone was a source of nervousness for Miranda, much more so for her parents, but of those she would have chosen to travel with, all had already been to Australia, which left her no alternative but to go alone. She’d hoped she would meet another like-minded Brit also traveling alone; a nice English boy would be perfect. They could team up; safety in numbers, she reasoned. The idea eased her parents’ concerns, albeit minimally.

As it transpired, Mandy did meet another back-packing Brit. Lillian Clutterbuck was an extroverted, opinionated, twenty-two-year-old from Hartlepool, in England’s northeast. Mandy met Lilly in Sydney, and they traveled together for several weeks until Lilly met Michael, a typical sun-tanned, surf loving Aussie boy. Lilly elected to part company with Mandy and continue her travels with her new found love, following the surf breaks up and down the east coast.

Initially, Mandy was disappointed about the prospect of continuing her travels alone. Having someone else to talk to, as well as to share traveling expenses as they crossed the seemingly endless kilometres between towns and cities, was nice. Eventually, however, she settled into a routine and, for the most part, she was comfortable with her own company, until now.

Mandy was trapped within the strong arms. She was not a big girl; the contrary was the case. But whoever was carrying her to God knows where seemed to be doing so with such ease she might have been no heavier for him than a small child.

She certainly wasn’t helping him; it was impossible with her legs dangling, and swinging crazily beneath her. Somehow, she managed to get one arm free, and she grabbed at the hand across her mouth, trying desperately to pull it away from her face. She needed air.

The man stopped, and lowered Mandy until her feet just touched the ground. “I won’t tell you again!” he spat into her ear. “If you want to die here, I’m okay with that!”

Mandy stopped struggling. The man lifted her again, and continued to walk backwards. Every step he took, she could sense the distant campsite getting further and further away. She looked in its direction, nestled peacefully behind the shadowy shapes of the domed granite rock formation silhouetted against the dark eastern skyline. Help was right there. So close.

In the darkness, any hope of assistance from any of the many tourists, who were by now settling down for the night, was rapidly disappearing. A blanket of hopelessness, heavy and suffocating, settled over her. She realised with a resigned finality, all hope was lost. She thought of her mother, and her father, and hoped they would forgive her.

After what seemed an eternity, but was in reality no more than a few minutes, her captor spun her around. They were in front of a large, dark vehicle. She didn’t know what type of vehicle it was; motor vehicles were nothing more than a mode of transport for Mandy, and not something she needed to be particularly knowledgeable about. She could see it was big, and it loomed in front of her, a big, dark shape against the surrounding blackness of the night.

Without warning, the man slammed her against the side of the vehicle, and her forehead cracked against the side window. A sharp pain streaked across the front of her head, and what little air she still had in her lungs was expelled with a loud Whoosh!

Before she could recover, her arms were yanked roughly behind her, a knee was rammed roughly into her buttocks forcing her body even harder into the side of the vehicle, and her hands were bound tightly together with something she guessed was plastic cable ties.

Mandy began to sob. “Wh… what do you want?” she stammered.

“Shut the fuck up!” the mad hissed.

Then, he covered her mouth with a smelly, dirty rag, and tied it behind her head. It tasted of oil, or grease, and she gagged, as she struggled once again to breathe. A solitary tear escaped from her eye and rolled down her cheek.

Her captor dragged her roughly to the back of the vehicle and opened the large rear access door. A light came on, and she immediately recognised the vehicle as a large four-wheel-drive.

Rough, strong hands shoved her into the rear cargo compartment; her backside fell hard onto the floor, and her legs dangled out the back of the vehicle. She was wearing a light, summer dress that rode up high, almost to her thighs, briefly exposing a glimpse of white panties. Her captor paused, stared for a few seconds at the enticing view, and smiled. Mandy thought she heard a soft moan. She tried to slither backwards, deeper into the vehicle, hoping her dress would come down, preserving her modesty.

The man grabbed her legs and pulled her forward. With one big hand, he held both her feet tightly together, slipped a cable tie over them and yanked it tight, securing her legs together. She felt the thick, plastic tie cut deep into her ankles.

Then, he lifted her legs, swung them round, and pushed her onto her back in the cargo bed. He stepped back, leered at her for a moment, and then slammed the door shut.

Mandy lay on her back across the cargo bed with her head hard against the driver’s side of the confined space, with her arms secured painfully beneath her. With difficulty, she managed to turn onto her side. When she tried to stretch, she found she couldn’t extend her legs, so she drew her knees up to her chest and lay in the fetal position.

Never having felt at ease in confined spaces, Mandy sensed a panic attack coming, and sobbed involuntarily. She had to control it. She had to overcome the urge to scream. Besides, no one would hear her, anyway. She remembered reading something, somewhere, about the relationship between fear and panic. When fear overrides the ability to think clearly and rationally, it becomes panic… or something like that. At this point, a panic attack was the last thing she needed. Get a grip! she urged herself silently, as she struggled to control her breathing and focus her thoughts on how she was going to get out of this mess.

She heard her abductor get into the driver’s seat, slam the door behind him, and start the engine. Then, the vehicle began to move away. Where was he taking her? How far would they go? Was she ever going to see her parents again? Was she even going to live through the night? These were the thoughts crowding Mandy’s consciousness as she felt the vehicle bounce across the rough terrain.

They were on a dirt road; she could smell the dust seeping into the vehicle. She thought about her car, back at the Marbles. She’d left it parked and locked, in the main campground while she walked through the magnificent rock formations, where, captivated by the beauty of the place, she lingered too long after the sun had set.

Her car, an old but functional Ford Festiva, had by necessity become her accommodation as well as her means of transport. Everything she owned was in the car; her clothes, her passport, her mobile phone, her meager food supply of rice crackers, instant noodles, tea bags, and a few pieces of fruit; each of which seemed to be the staple fare of back-packers such as herself.

She wondered if anyone else camped at the Marbles would notice she was missing. She thought not. She had not befriended any of her fellow travelers other than to say “Hi” to a few as their respective paths crossed while wandering through the Marbles, snapping photographs and wondering at the amazing balancing act of many of the huge boulders. Accordingly, she doubted anyone would even notice she had not returned to her car. She was alone, gagged, trussed hand and foot, dumped into the back of a car, and was being driven to a fate upon which she did not want to speculate.

* * *

Wherever her abductor was taking her, it seemed to be taking many hours, but Mandy guessed it was less than an hour. Her abductor played country music loudly, and occasionally she heard him singing softly along with the tune. Mandy had never been a fan of country music; it was the music of hicks, and mountain dwelling, in-bred folk. The quality of her captor’s voice did nothing to assuage her dislike of the genre.

She began to count the number of songs played, mentally figuring three minutes per song. At one point, she lost count but decided it was close to twenty. By her estimation, they had been traveling for approximately one hour, perhaps an hour and fifteen minutes. She usually wore a watch, but had left it in her car; she wouldn’t be able to read it anyway, with her hands trussed behind her back.

They were still traveling on rough dirt roads, she deduced, given the jolting and bouncing her body was forced to endure. Her fingers were becoming numb, and she wriggled them in a vain attempt to relieve the tingling. A persistent ache in her shoulder where she lay on it promised to spread to her neck, and back. She considered turning completely over but, to do so would leave her with her back to the rear cargo door of the vehicle, an option she quickly dismissed. If they stopped, and the stranger opened the rear door she wanted to be facing him and whatever he might have in store for her.

Mandy closed her eyes and tried to shut out the awful music pounding through the vehicle’s sound system, and the equally awful vocal accompaniment of the man who now had total control over her life.

Eventually, the vehicle slowed, and stopped, and, thank God, so did the music. As Mandy lay in the cramped, uncomfortable space, waiting for whatever was to follow, she heard the crackle from the engine compartment as the motor cooled in the cold night air. She focused intently, listening for any other noises which might give her an idea of where they were. She heard only the engine crackle.

She waited, expecting to hear the driver moving about, opening the driver’s door and shutting it behind him. Was he coming to drag her out of the back of the vehicle? Nothing! Mandy heard not a sound.

The driver must be sitting quietly in the front seat. What was he doing? What was he going to do? She found herself hoping he would do something, anything. Waiting for something to happen, was worse than the prospect of dealing with it when it finally did. Then, she heard him speak.

“It’s time, my precious,” the man announced in a tone, not loud, and not so soft she couldn’t hear, but in a normal, controlled speaking voice, as though he might be ordering a litre of milk from the local corner store. So unassuming was his announcement, Mandy could almost imagine him smiling.

The driver’s door opened, the interior light came on, and the front seat squeaked as the man got out of the car. He shut the door, and suddenly the vehicle interior was plunged into darkness. Mandy listened. She heard footsteps approaching the rear of the vehicle, and then the door swung open. The interior light flashed on again, and Mandy looked up at the man standing in the open doorway. Beyond where he stood smiling down at her, she saw only blackness—no street lights, no house lights, no corner store, nothing.

“Get out,” the man ordered.

Mandy lay still, staring wide-eyed and afraid at the stranger.

“Get the fuck out!” he yelled. His voice seemed to echo in the still, black night air.

Mandy started at the shrillness of his voice. She tried to move forward, towards the open door, but it was difficult with her hands and feet bound. She sobbed involuntarily behind the gag in her mouth, and tried harder to move.

Eventually, the man reached inside the vehicle and grabbed Mandy roughly by the upper arm. He dragged her forward, and she almost fell from the car. He changed his grip from her arm to her feet, swung her legs outwards, and left her half lying, half sitting, on the edge of the cargo compartment. All concerns of modesty were gone. Mandy’s short dress was now well above her thighs. Her captor stared lustfully.

“You sure are a pretty one,” he declared. He fumbled in his pocket, and produced a pocket knife. He opened the blade, and Mandy’s eyes widened with fear. The man reached down and, with one deft stroke, cut the cable tie binding her feet.

Mandy felt a sudden rush of pain in her feet and ankles as the blood began to run unrestricted to them. The man again gripped her upper arm, and yanked her from the vehicle. When her feet touched the ground, she tried to stand but her feet were still numb and she fell against the man. Her face crashed into his chest, and he held her roughly against him. Mandy heard his breath quicken, and one hand moved to her backside where it rested for a moment, and then began to knead her buttocks.

Mandy wanted to throw up. She fought desperately to quell the urge lest the dirty gag in her mouth cause her to choke on her own vomit. She moaned loudly.

As if he had just remembered the gag, the man grabbed at the rag and pulled it free of her mouth. Now it hung loosely around her neck, and Mandy immediately took several deep breaths of fresh air. She pushed against the man’s chest, and shuffled backwards until she hit the vehicle and almost toppled back into the cargo bay. Regaining her footing, she looked up at the man. His features were dark, and vague, in the half-light emanating from the vehicle’s interior.

“What do you want?” she sobbed.

The man stared at her and smiled. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said quietly.

“Wh… who are you?” Mandy stammered.

“My name is not important,” he answered. “What is your name?”

Mandy paused, not sure what she should admit to. “My name is Miranda… Miranda Winters,” she said finally.

“Miranda… Miranda,” the man said. “Miranda… that’s a pretty name.”

“What do you want from me?” Mandy asked again. “I have no money,” she offered, almost as an afterthought.

“Do you think I’m a thief?” the man queried.

“No… no,” Mandy said, hurriedly.

“I don’t want your money,” the man shrugged.

Mandy paused. “What then?” she asked, positive she knew the answer.

“All in good time,” the man smiled. “Right now you need to sleep.” He took her by the arm and steered her away from the vehicle.

“Wait there,” he ordered, forcing her to halt. He let go of her arm, and fumbled in the rear of the vehicle. A storage compartment on the inside of the rear door dropped down, he reached in and grabbed a torch. He switched it on, and shone it in Mandy’s eyes. Mandy turned her head, avoiding the bright light.

The man shut the rear door and spoke. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Where?” Mandy asked.

“Turn around and walk, straight ahead,” he ordered. “Remember, I’m right behind you, so don’t try to run.”

Mandy turned slowly, paused, and looked into the darkness ahead of her. The man stepped up close behind her and shone the torch at the ground just in front of her. Up ahead, in the near distance, she saw a large, dark, shape. At first, she couldn’t make out what it was. It looked huge; a big, high, black, shape looming out of the darkness. Then, as she stared at it, she realised it was a house.

The stranger pushed Mandy gently in the back. “Start walking,” he commanded.

Mandy froze, afraid to move. She did not know what evil awaited her inside the house, and she did not want to find out.

The man leaned forward, his mouth close to her ear. His lips brushed lightly against her lobe. “If you don’t start walking, I am going to kill you,” he whispered.

His breath was warm and moist against her cheek.

She jerked her head away from the terrible smelling breath. “I don’t want to go in there,” she sobbed.

“Okay, have it your way,” the voice said.

Suddenly Mandy felt the sharp, point of a knife blade against the back of her neck. She flinched involuntarily, and tried to step away from the threat. A hand grabbed her by her hair.

“I don’t want to use this, but if you don’t move your pretty little arse you will die, right here in the dirt, and your body will lay here all night for the dingoes to feast on.”

Mandy gasped aloud. “Okay… okay.” She stumbled towards the dark shape. “I’m going… I’m going,” she sobbed. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“I thought you might see it my way eventually,”

Her captor kept a tight grip on her hair as she walked tentatively towards the house.

The house was huge. Even in the dark, with just the torch light to guide her, Mandy could see it was a big homestead with a very wide verandah running all the way along the front. She supposed it would also surround the entire building. There were steps, several of them, leading up from ground level to the verandah deck. Mandy paused in front of the bottom step and looked up.

“Go ahead, up the stairs,” the man prompted from behind her. He nudged her with a light tap on the back of her head.

Mandy began to climb, slowly, stopping briefly at the top of each step. There were railings on either side of the wide stairs, but with her hands bound behind her she was unable to balance herself, and ascending the stairs was not easy. Then, there was the unknown; a fate she did not want to contemplate awaiting her at the top of the steps. A feeling, a premonition she had never experienced before, washed over her, and suddenly she was certain if she entered the house, she would never again come out, at least not alive.

“Get up there!” the man insisted. He shoved her again, more forcibly this time.

Mandy stumbled, regained her footing, and climbed the last step to the landing. In front of her was a large pair of double doors. Partially lit in the glow of the torch light she could see the doors were closed and the top half of each contained an ornate stained glass panel. The door handles were large, round, carved knobs, and her eyes were drawn to them as if she half expected them to start turning by themselves.

Then, she felt the knife blade at her hands, and suddenly the plastic tie fell away. Pain rushed to her fingers as the blood was again free to flow. She brought her hands to her front and massaged them in an attempt to get the feeling back.

“Open the door, it’s not locked,”

The voice startled Mandy. She stepped forward, and stopped in front of the doors, reached out, and grasped one of the knobs, her tiny hand barely covering it. It turned easily, and she gently pushed forward. The door swung open and creaked loudly in the stillness of the night.

Before she stepped inside, she looked around her, estimating her chances at making a run for it. She hoped to see lights from nearby houses. Somewhere she could run and scream for help. There were no lights. As far as she could tell in the enveloping darkness there were no neighbors. She was alone, in the middle of nowhere, at the mercy of a stranger who obviously had plans for her she did not want to think about. She stepped forward and entered the homestead.

The man flicked a switch just inside the doors and the room was suddenly flooded in light. Mandy blinked against the light, and looked around. She was in a wide, long hallway made to look deceptively bigger by the lack of any furnishings along its length. There were doors along both sides of the hallway but she did not have time to assess where they might lead. The man shoved her roughly forward, and she stumbled along the hallway towards the rear of the house. About half way along the hall, he grabbed her from behind, forcing her to stop in front of a closed door which had a sturdy bolt complete with a padlock securing it.

The man grabbed Mandy’s arm, thrust her aside, and produced a key from his pocket. He fumbled with the padlock, slid the bolt, and unlocked the door. He placed the key back in his pocket and pulled on the door handle. The door opened outwards and a deep, uninviting blackness appeared beyond.

“Shoes!” he demanded.

“Wh… what?” Mandy stammered.

“Shoes… take them off.”

Mandy paused. “My shoes? You want my shoes?”

“Take your shoes off, or I’m gonna hurt you,” the man threatened.

Mandy kicked off her shoes.

“Get in the room,” the man ordered.

“Wh… why,” Mandy stammered.

“You heard me. Get the fuck in there.” He shoved her roughly into the room. Before she could react, the door slammed shut behind her, and she heard the bolt slide and the padlock click.

Terrified, Mandy turned in the dark, and threw her body against the door.

“Please… please… don’t lock me in here. Please!” she cried. She heard footsteps fade into the distance. The man was gone. She was alone. She fought against the rising panic threatening to overpower her. She banged on the door with closed fists and sobbed loudly. No one came.

With extreme difficulty, she managed to regain a small degree of control, and scrambled in the dark, feeling around, on both sides of the door, searching for a light switch. Finally, she found it and flicked it. Nothing happened. She flicked it up, and down, several times. The darkness remained. Despair threatened to consume her. She leaned forward and her forehead banged against the door.

“Please… please,” she sobbed. “Please don’t leave me here.” Then, from somewhere behind her, she heard a voice.

“He took the globe.”

Mandy spun towards the voice in the dark, and almost fell. “Wha… what? Who’s there?” she cried.

“He took the globe,” the voice repeated.

The voice belonged to a girl, and it carried the pitiful, mournful tones of someone totally defeated.

“Who are you?” Mandy called.

“My name is Veronica,” the girl answered softly.

“Where are you?” Mandy asked.

“Over here, to your left. Follow the wall. There’s a mattress on the floor,” the girl named Veronica instructed.

Mandy moved cautiously, feeling her way around the wall to her left. Eventually, she stumbled on something soft on the floor. She knelt down and fumbled with her hands, and found a mattress. She collapsed onto it, and drew her knees up, her hands clasping them tight to her chest.

“Where are you?” she asked again.

When Veronica spoke, her voice was close, and it startled Mandy.

“I’m right here, next to you. There’s another mattress, on the floor.”

Mandy reached out in the dark and her hand touched Veronica. She felt a naked shoulder and moved her hand upwards until she felt her face, and then her hair. The girl’s hair felt oily and dirty.

Veronica pulled her head away from Mandy’s touch. “Please, don’t touch me.”

“I’m sorry,” Mandy apologised. “Where are we? What is this place?”

“I don’t know where we are,” Veronica said. “I haven’t been outside since he brought me here.”

“Who is that man?” Mandy asked.

“I don’t know. He won’t tell me his name.”

“How long have you been here?” Mandy probed.

Veronica hesitated, and then said softly, “I don’t know. I gave up trying to keep count of the days. About three weeks… I think.”

“Three weeks! Jesus what does he want?’

For a long time, Veronica did not answer.

“What does he want?” Mandy asked again.

“Sex,” Veronica answered, finally.

Mandy’s heart sank. Her worst nightmare was now a reality. “Oh God!” she moaned. “We have to get out of here.”

“We can’t get out,” Veronica said. “There’s only one door, and it’s always locked.”

“We have to try!” Mandy insisted.

“We can’t get out,” Veronica repeated. “Others have tried.”

“Others! What do you mean others?” Mandy asked.

“There were others before me… and you,” Veronica said.

“Jesus, how many?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are they?” Mandy asked.

“I don’t know,” Veronica answered.

“Did they escape?”

“No.”

The finality of Veronica’s response caused Mandy to shudder involuntarily. “Did he let them go?”

Veronica did not answer.

Mandy reached out in the darkness, put her arms around Veronica, and pulled her close. “I’m Miranda,” she said. “Call me Mandy.”

Veronica clung to Mandy and began to sob, quietly at first, and then louder until her weeping became uncontrollable.

“Shh… shh,” Mandy crooned. Veronica’s sobbing was contagious, and Mandy fought hard not to lose control herself. “It’s okay. We’ll get out of here,” she said with little confidence.

“I’m next,” Veronica said finally, between deep sobs.

“What?”

“I’m next. The girl who was here when he brought me here has gone.”

“Gone where?”

“He took her out and she never came back,” Veronica explained.

“When did he take her out?” Mandy probed.

Mandy felt Veronica shrug. “I don’t know… a few days ago… maybe a week,” she paused. “At any one time, there’s never more than two of us here. The last girl… her name was Janice… she told me another girl was here when she came, and eventually she never came back. When he took Janice, she fought like mad, but he is too strong. I think she knew what was going to happen.”

“Rape?” Mandy asked.

“Worse than rape. He did that all the time, and always brought us back after.”

“What do you think happened to the others?” Mandy asked.

“I think he killed them,” Veronica said amid a renewed bout of sobbing.

Mandy held her tight and suddenly realised Veronica was almost naked. “Where are your clothes?” she asked.

“He took them, soon after he brought me here. He left us wearing only bra and knickers. He’ll come for yours… probably in the morning.”

2

Sam Rose woke slowly, turned his head, and looked at the woman sleeping next to him. He watched as her chest rose, and fell, rhythmically, the bed sheet just covering the gentle swell of her breasts. Her hair, long, and blonde, splayed haphazardly across the pillow, and one wisp fell across her cheek. The fine, light tip waved almost unperceptively as she softly exhaled.

There were only two occasions in Rose’s life where he had grown more than fond of a particular woman, and Sarah Collins, sleeping peacefully beside him, was one of them. Love was an unfamiliar emotion for Sam. He was, of course, aware of the concept of love and all it entailed in respect of the partnership between a man and a woman, but until Sarah came into his life he came close to experiencing it himself on only one other occasion. Like any new, exciting experience, it was going to take getting used to, he thought.

Careful not to wake her, he rose on one elbow and stared at the woman who had, in recent months, become such an important part of his life.

For Sam, confirmed bachelorhood was never a conscious decision reached after having given due consideration to the benefits as well as the negatives. Rather, he could well be described as a devotee of the brotherhood of single men, were such a brotherhood to exist. He was considered by many of his colleagues to be the epitome of a lady’s man. Indeed, it would be fair to say of Sam, one-night stands had become somewhat of a stock in trade.

Since the onset of puberty, when he first came to the realisation there were very distinct differences between the male and the female of the species, he had more than his share of girlfriends. Long term physical, and emotional attachments to members of the opposite sex were not something he purposely set out to avoid. It was simply one of those things which, for one reason or another, rarely happened for Sam. He never considered himself out of step with his male counterparts, and it wasn’t something he should be particularly concerned about.

Sam Rose and Sarah Collins were both cops—Northern Territory police officers to be precise. Sam was a Detective Sergeant attached to Major Crime in Alice Springs, and Sarah was the Officer in Charge of Yulara Police Station, five hundred kilometres to the south west of Alice Springs. They met when investigating a series of murders at Lasseter’s Cave, west of Yulara. Over the period of their investigation, a mutual fondness developed culminating in the inevitable physical consummation of their relationship.

Both Sam and Sarah were single; Sarah was married once, but the union ended in divorce when she discovered her husband enjoying an afternoon delight with her next door neighbor. Her involvement with Sam was the first with any man since her divorce, and initially, she was surprised to find herself attracted to him given his reputation as a skirt chaser. The last thing Sarah wanted, or needed, was to get involved with another man with a wandering eye and a penis that followed.

She was well aware the police force had more than enough testosterone dripping, knuckle dragging Neanderthals. She swallowed her disgust whenever she passed within ten metres of them as they sucked in their bellies, puffed out their chests, and played with the back of their short necks so their biceps bulged. Sam Rose, to Sarah’s relief, was not one of them.

Since getting to know him however, she had decided his reputation, although almost certainly having a degree of truthfulness to it, was not something by which she should judge him. He was a single man; a free agent. He was a good-looking man, without being drop dead gorgeous. He was tall and had a body commensurate with his height and weight. He made her laugh, and he was good to her, and for her. It was easy to understand why any woman would be attracted to him. He possessed the physical, and personality, traits she found sadly lacking in the majority of men she came into contact with, and that was always going to be a plus.

They were together a few months, and although he worked in Alice Springs, and she at Yulara, Sarah had no reason to suspect, or evidence to suggest, he might be cheating on her. It comforted her to assume his apparent monogamous behavior might be attributed to his feelings for her.

Men, many of them, had declared to her, she was beautiful, Sam being one of them, but beauty was not something which preoccupied Sarah’s thoughts any more than as a passing interest. She was not ugly, she knew that much about herself. She accepted she was probably pretty, but she had always prescribed to the theory, real beauty originated from the inside. The visible, physical image was merely window dressing and of little consequence when assessing an individual’s overall character, and of no consequence at all when measuring one’s ability to attract a member of the opposite sex.

Despite Sam’s good looks, Sarah discovered he had qualities far more attractive than mere looks, and while she was not in love with him, she was well aware, as their relationship progressed, she might very well be before much longer.

* * *

Sarah opened her eyes and saw Sam resting on one elbow watching her.

“Hi,” she murmured sleepily.

“Good morning,” Sam smiled.

“How long have you been laying there staring at me?” Sarah asked.

“A while,” Sam answered.

Sarah stretched and yawned. “What are you thinking about?”

“I was wondering whether you might be interested in good morning sex,” Sam answered.

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “You woke me three times last night,” she declared. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Well… to be fair,” Sam reminded her, “One of those occasions you woke up to go to the loo and, if you recall, you took advantage of me when you came back to bed.”

Sarah raised herself onto her elbow and brought her face close to Sam. “And, if you recall, you never objected.”

Sam smiled and kissed her lightly. “I might be silly, but I’m not a total idiot.”

Sarah kissed him back. “Well we don’t have time. I have to go back to Yulara this morning. I need to shower and get dressed.”

Sam lifted the bed sheet from his body and looked down at his groin. “What am I going to do with this?”

Sarah followed his eyes. “Oh dear… that looks nasty… you really should get that looked at. Is it painful?”

“A little, but you could ease the pain,” Sam suggested.

Sarah looked down again. “Mmm… maybe I could make time to administer pain relief.” She moved her leg across his body and sat astride him, the bed sheet sliding away from her naked body. “Be brave… I’ll have you fixed up before you know it.”

“Take your time,” Sam said.

* * *

Russell Foley opened his desk drawer and took out the holstered Glock .22 semi-automatic pistol, clipped it onto his belt, and adjusted his jacket so it concealed the weapon. Foley, a Detective Inspector, and Officer in Charge of Major Crime in Alice Springs, made a point of completing a tour around the city and suburbs of the Alice as often as he could. The time constraints of his position made it difficult to do regularly, but he was conscious of the need to stay in touch with the streets and the people on it.

Foley loved his current position, but he missed working at the coal face of the job. Out on the street, reacting accordingly when drunken Joe Citizen was smacking the daylights out of his wife, or one of his kids. Or, when he decided sex with his spouse, or with anyone, was a right and not a privilege, and was there to be taken, by force if necessary, as opposed to being consensual.

Russell Foley had been on the job long enough to know there were streets in any town or city which had become the breeding ground for lowlife scum who considered themselves above the law. Alice Springs, in the heart of the Northern Territory was no exception. Foley considered the Alice, as it was affectionately known, and indeed most towns in the Territory, was at a distinct disadvantage from most other major cities in Australia. It was isolated, at least geographically speaking, and it was populated by an eclectic mix of races and cultures, too many of whom considered themselves to be more deserving of hand-outs than others like them.

Despite benefits, government or otherwise, being available for everyone entitled to receive them, it seemed there were always going to be those who considered themselves deserving of even more, and were inclined to take it illegally. These folk were the reason Foley joined the police force in the first place, over twenty years ago. There had to be something intrinsically wrong with people who chose to steal that which belonged to another, those who laid claim to a benefit to which they were not entitled, or those who, be it pre-meditated or otherwise, took the life of another.

Russell Foley not only loved his job, he was good at it. Was his contribution making a difference? The short answer was, probably not. He knew nothing he alone did in relation to his job would bring the crime rate down. While that was disappointing, those statistics were never going to change until member numbers increased proportionately with those willing to chance their luck and break the law. Foley took little consolation in the realisation that, government budgets being what they were, there was not likely to be an increase in member numbers any time soon.

He was about to leave his office when the telephone on his desk rang shrilly. Given the nature of his job, a ringing telephone was rarely good news. “Shit!” he cursed aloud, and stepped back into his office.

* * *

Russell Foley knocked on Sam’s door. While he waited he looked at the front yard of the modest, police department subsidised home. The lawn, small and compact, was in need of mowing, and the narrow garden bed running the length of the low front fence was bereft of anything resembling flowers, and crowded with everything resembling weeds.

He heard the click of the door lock and turned to see Sam Rose, standing in the doorway looking casual and relaxed in a fleece tracksuit which looked like it could well be a relic of the nineteen-seventies. Foley slowly, and deliberately, eyed Sam’s attire from head to toe. “Been shopping at St. Vincent De Paul again?” he said.

Sam paused, and fixed Foley with a look which displayed offence. “I’ll have you know, St. Vinnies have some very good stuff… and it’s cheap. What are you, the fashion police now?”

Foley pushed past his friend and stepped into the house. “It’s very fetching,” he scoffed.

“Please, come in,” Sam said sarcastically as he closed the door and followed Foley into the small lounge room. “You insult my choice of off-duty attire, and now I suppose you want coffee?”

“No time for coffee,” Foley shrugged. “We have a job.”

“What’s this ‘we’ business?” Sam said. “I’m on my days off. I told you Sarah was coming in from Yulara.”

“How is the lovely Sarah,” Foley asked.

“She’s gone back. Left about an hour ago, and she’s fine, thanks for asking.”

“Have a nice time?” Foley smirked.

“None of your bloody business… but for the record yes, we had a nice time.”

“You’re a lucky man,” Foley said. “I hope you know that.”

“I do know that,” Sam nodded. “What’s the job?”

“We’re going on a road trip,” Foley answered.

“Where to?”

“About an hour west of Wauchope,” Foley said.

“Where’s Walk Up?”

Foley shook his head. “Not ‘Walk Up’ you uneducated moron. It’s Wauchope… one word… Wauchope! It’s up near the Devil’s Marbles.”

“Now I really am insulted,” Sam said. “You criticise my choice of wardrobe, and now you call me an ‘uneducated moron’. I went to high school… I’m well educated.”

“Sorry,” Foley laughed. “I stand corrected. You’re a very intelligent moron.”

“Apology accepted,” Sam said. “I do know where the Devil’s Marbles are,” he added, eager to demonstrate his limited geographical knowledge.

“Ever been there?” Foley asked.

“No.”

“For someone born and raised in the Territory, you haven’t seen much,” Foley said.

“You’ve pointed that out to me before,” Sam responded. “What have we got up there at this ‘Wauchope’ place?”

“Bones at the bottom of a well,” Foley smiled.

“Oh, that’s great,” Sam said. “Bones at the bottom of a well… probably a bloody kangaroo fell in getting a drink of water. It’s my day off!” he moaned.

“What else would you be doing, besides recovering from what has obviously been a strenuous couple of days?” Foley winked.

“Something wrong with your eye?” Sam asked sarcastically.

“My eye is fine,” Foley smiled. “Go pack a bag.”

“Pack a bag! How far away is this place?”

“Wauchope’s about four hundred kilometres north, and the well is another hour east.”

“I shoulda hid under the bed when you knocked,” Sam murmured as he stalked off to his bedroom.

When he returned a few minutes later, he had an overnight bag draped over his shoulder. “You know I get paid extra for sacrificing my day off.”

“Tell it to the Pay Office,” Foley said, crossing to the door.

They stepped outside, and Foley indicated the unkempt garden. “Your lawn needs mowing, and you need to plant flowers in the garden bed.”

“I’ve never owned a lawn mower in my life,” Sam said dismissively. “I can’t see myself changing now.”

“You could pay someone to mow it for you,” Foley suggested.

“Then I gotta pay every few weeks for the rest of my life,” Sam scoffed. “I’m gonna get a few head of cattle, they’ll keep the grass down.”

Foley laughed. “What about flowers?”

Sam began walking towards the unmarked police car parked in the driveway. “The cows will crap on the lawn, I’ll shovel the shit on the flower bed, and flowers will grow all year round.”

“Do you even own a shovel?” Foley asked, following along behind.

“No, do you?”

“Of course I own a shovel,” Foley answered.

“Then why the fuck do I need one?”

* * *

Russell Foley turned right from Sam’s street, and merged into the traffic building rapidly towards the morning peak hour.

“Have you two made any plans?” he asked, as he swerved around a slow moving, heavily loaded utility.

“Plans?” Sam said, looking across at Foley.

“Yes, plans,” Foley said. “You know, plans for something more permanent in regards to your relationship.”

“More permanent than what?” Sam asked.

“More permanent than seeing each other more often than once every now and then,” Foley explained.

“No,” Sam answered.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Sam said.

“You like her don’t you?” Foley asked, concentrating on the traffic ahead.

“Yes, I like her,” Sam agreed.

Foley glanced quickly at Sam. “Why don’t you marry the girl?”

Sam looked again at Foley. “What… you’re my mother now?”

“A blind man can see she’s perfect for you,” Foley added.

“Maybe the blind man should marry her,” Sam said.

“What?” Foley cried, surprise evident in his tone.

Sam shifted in his seat. “Look, Russell, I appreciate your concern, I really do. I’m fond of Sarah… I might even be falling for her, but I’m not the marrying kind. Marriage scares me.” He paused. “You know better than most, police marriages are, in the majority, doomed to failure.”

“Only when one half of the partnership is in the job,” Foley explained. “You and Sarah are both cops, you both know what the job involves.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Sam asked, feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” Foley shrugged. “None of my business, I just thought I’d ask. I’d kinda like to be best man before I’m too old to stand at the altar with you.”

Sam smiled. “Best man! Don’t you think you’re being a bit presumptuous?”

Foley looked back at Sam. “Why, who else have you got in mind?”

Sam reached across and patted Foley on the shoulder. “No one else, Russ, if and when I ever decide to get married, you’re the man, buddy.”

“I think I’m gonna cry,” Foley said.

“Please don’t,” Sam smiled. “Tell me more about the bones in the well,” he suggested, changing the subject.

“The Tennant Creek chaps are at the scene. The well is located on a cattle station out beyond an old tungsten mine east of Wauchope. A boundary rider was checking out the well and discovered a body at the bottom. He contacted Tennant Creek, and a couple of uniform blokes attended, had a look, and called it in.”

“Why are we going? It sounds straight forward?”

“It looks like there may be more than one body,” Foley said.

“How many more?” Sam probed, his interest aroused.

“I don’t know,” Foley shrugged.

* * *

On arriving at Wauchope, Foley stopped at the fuel pumps in front of the hotel. While he filled the tank, Sam stepped out of the vehicle and stretched. He looked around at the tiny settlement consisting of a solitary hotel and very little else which could be considered inhabitable. He wondered why anyone would even want to live in such a lonely looking place. At first glance, apart from the hotel, there seemed to be absolutely nothing to offer even the most enthusiastic traveler.

Wauchope was a few hundred metres off the main tourist route. Russell Foley explained during the four-hour drive to get to this point, Wauchope was once a thriving township servicing the now abandoned tungsten mine further to the east. When the mine closed in 1941, the population plummeted, and now just a few hardy souls remained.

Fifteen kilometers to the south, was Wycliffe Well, a much more popular stopover point. Wycliffe Well boasted a spacious caravan park offering a variety of accommodation options for the weary traveler. Also on offer were fuel supplies, and a roadhouse with a basic, clean, dining room where hungry tourists could enjoy a meal, a cold beer, and a glass or two of wine while reading the many articles adorning the walls claiming it to be the UFO capital of Australia.

Well marketed, and equally well managed, Wycliffe Well had long ago outstripped Wauchope as the preferred place for the traveler to break his journey. As an added incentive, there was always the possibility of seeing a genuine UFO. However, in the event a tourist was unfortunate enough not to see a UFO, he or she could, by way of consolation, have their photo taken with their face stuck through the life size Alien cut-out on display outside the entrance to the roadhouse.

Sam walked around the vehicle, stopped in front of the hotel, and cast his eyes about. He did not see a soul anywhere, not even another vehicle. He turned to Foley who was almost finished filling the fuel tank.

“Does anyone live here?”

Russell Foley glanced at the immediate area. “I guess so, I’m getting petrol out of this pump so I expect someone is watching me.”

“I suppose real estate would be cheap,” Sam surmised.

“Are you considering a tree change?” Foley kidded.

Sam paused. “If I was, I think I could find somewhere with a little more life.”

Just then, a black dog appeared from around the side of the hotel, stopped, cocked its head to one side, and studied Sam, and Foley, with momentary interest. The dog lifted a leg, peed against the corner of the building, and then disappeared back around the corner of the hotel.

“That reminds me,” Sam said. “I need a leak.”

Foley hung up the fuel nozzle. “We need to leave the car here. Someone from Tennant Creek is meeting us here with a four-wheel-drive vehicle. Apparently it’s a rough, dirt road out to the well. I’ll talk to the hotel manager and find out where we can leave our car.”

“How far do we have to go?” Sam asked.

“About another hour,” Foley answered. “

Foley, and Sam, removed their weapons from their belts, locked them in the glove compartment of the vehicle, and walked towards the hotel entrance.

“Are you hungry?” Foley asked Sam.

Sam looked at his watch and shrugged. “A little, but I’m not in the mood for road-house take-away. Bloody stuff will clog up your arteries quicker than cement.”

“Since when have you been health conscious?” Foley said. “Some of the shit you eat would kill a horse.”

“A man can change, can’t he?” Sam answered.

“It’s Sarah, isn’t it?” Foley prodded Sam.

“What?”

“It’s Sarah. She’s got you eating healthy food at long last.”

“I’ve lost weight,” Sam said, patting his belly.

“How much weight?”

“A couple of kilos,” Sam said.

“Good for you, Sam,” Foley smiled. “Good for you. Has she got you jogging yet?”

“I’m health conscious, not suicidal,” Sam stepped in front of Foley, and pushed through the door of the hotel.