Читать книгу Until Death - Sandy Curtis - Страница 6

Normally Joe wouldn't let a drunk in his taxi, it cost too much to clean after they'd thrown up, but there was something pathetic about the girl walking down the side of the road. He wound down his window and called to her.

'You want a lift? It's dangerous to walk alone at night. Even in this neighbourhood.'

She turned and looked at him. Fear widened her eyes, and from the state of her clothing, he wouldn't be surprised if she was running from a man who had tried to take more than she was willing to give. Damn, if someone had done that with his daughter ...

'Get in,' he commanded. 'It doesn't matter if you can't pay. I'll take you home.'

She jerked at his words and shook her head.

'Somewhere safe, then. Come on.'

He watched the fear on her face dissolve, then she frowned as though wondering if anywhere was 'safe'. Just when he thought she was going to refuse, she opened the back door and got in.

'Where to?' he asked, eyeing her in the rear-view mirror. She hesitated, then whispered, 'The airport.'

'The airport?' It certainly wasn't a destination he would have imagined, but she fumbled in her bag, brought out a purse and looked inside.

'I can pay,' she said, adding 'Please,' like a young child remembering her manners.

Many times during the trip Joe tried to make conversation, but the woman just sat there. Sometimes her eyes would close and her head nod but she would jerk awake, look quickly around, then settle back with obvious relief.

He dropped her at the domestic terminal, and glanced back only once, but the sight of her slight, forlorn figure stayed with him until he finished his shift in the early morning. He went home and watched his daughter sleep.

Noise. There was too much of it, reverberating off the hard floors and bouncing back from the high ceiling. People hurrying, talking, looking at her and whispering. Libby found the women's toilets and stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes seemed to sink behind her cheekbones, and her normally pale skin now had an almost translucent quality. She noted this objectively, then watched as her hands seemed to move of their own accord to flick open the brush she always carried in her bag and tidy her hair.

A flash of diamond and gold on her left hand caught her attention. Rings. Engagement and wedding rings. Puzzled, she stared at them a moment longer, wondering where they had come from, then took them off and dropped them into her bag.

At the ticket desk she held out her credit card and asked for the next plane to Brisbane. She was allocated a seat on the last flight out of Sydney, and as the city's lights dropped out of sight below her, she fell into a deep sleep.

'Miss, you have to wake up now. We've arrived in Brisbane.'

The gentle hand on her arm and the firm but friendly voice were telling Libby something, but her mind seemed to have retreated to somewhere she couldn't access.

'Bris... Brisbane?'

'Yes. We've arrived. You'll have to leave the plane now.'

She looked around, tried to get her bearings. Yes, she was in a plane, but why?

The flight attendant proffered a container of water. 'Perhaps this will help you wake up,' she said kindly. The water was cold, deliciously so, and made Libby realise how dry her mouth had been. She whispered her thanks, stood up, and walked slowly out of the plane. In a daze, she followed the exit signs, and found herself outside the terminal building. The air was hot and sultry, and she felt the first deep throb of a headache.

The yellow shape of a taxi glided into the rank, and she remembered that she was supposed to find 'somewhere safe'. Was that why she had come to Brisbane? To her grandfather? Memories of a large hand holding hers drifted back to her. A kind voice telling her to jump, that he would catch her, and strong arms holding her securely, then placing her gently on the ground. Trust, complete trust, she had given it to him and he had never betrayed it.

But so many years had passed since she had last seen him. Her mother ... Pain swept through her. Her mother was dead. And that man had said she had killed her. It couldn't be true. Libby knew she had a temper, but she'd worked hard at controlling it. And she loved her mother. They didn't agree on anything, but ...

A man bumped into her back. Startled, she looked around, realised she was next in line for the taxi, and tired people with assorted luggage were looking at her impatiently. She hurried into the taxi. As it drove away she dredged her memory for the address. The suburb, New Farm, came easily, but it wasn't until they'd almost reached the area that she remembered the street name. The house number escaped her entirely.

In the daylight she might have been able to recognise the house, but night's shadows and inadequate street lighting provided no clues to jog her memory. Perhaps if she walked ...

Fare paid, Libby watched the taxi drive away. Lights shone from only a few of the old brick houses. Large trees on the footpath cast darker splotches on the ground and fear vied with the sickening sense of despair in her stomach. Sweat trickled down her back, sticking her blouse to her skin.

The faint creak of a gate hinge made her glance back. A dark shape detached itself from a hedge that had overgrown a low fence, and started walking behind her. She quickened her pace slightly, passed under a streetlight and glanced back again. A man, cap shielding his face, wearing black T-shirt and baggy jeans, walked purposefully towards her. Libby resisted the urge to run. He looked as though he could easily catch her. She was petite, and hopeless at running.

To her relief, he walked by her. She let out the breath that had stuck in her lungs, and followed. At each house she passed, her disappointment grew. She began to doubt her memory. So much could have changed in sixteen years. She'd rarely seen the street at night, and wondered if she'd even remembered the name correctly.

Pre-occupied with her thoughts, she didn't notice the man in front slow his pace. It was only when she was a few metres from him that she realised he had stopped and was searching through the front pocket of his jeans. She walked a few more paces, then paused.

If she hadn't been so tired, her reaction would have been quicker. But he moved so fast she just had time to turn before he grabbed her arm with one hand and pulled her bag with the other. She tried to hit him, but her blows fell on arms and shoulders that didn't flinch.

The fist that punched into the side of her face spun her body to the footpath.

Her head smashed onto the concrete gutter.