Читать книгу Grievous Harm - Sandy Curtis - Страница 8

John read the case notes attached to the photos on Toni's computer screen. Kate Maclaren, 31, US citizen, had contacted the Sydney police and registered her sister-in-law Melanie Maclaren, and niece Cindy Maclaren, as missing persons. She'd given a photo to the police and it had been entered into the missing persons database. The photo showed a thin, brown-haired woman, a blonde-haired woman, and a young girl with similar colouring holding onto a small quilt sprinkled with butterflies and bears.

'Odd case, that one,' Toni said as she walked up next to him. 'Kate Maclaren' - she pointed to the blonde woman - 'said she made the quilt for her niece Cindy, and that the girl wouldn't have parted with it. It's a cot quilt so it's not very big, and the girl apparently carted it around with her.'

She clicked the screen onto the next page, which showed a photo of a young girl, naked, a red plastic flower in her dark hair, the fear in her eyes giving lie to her blatantly sexual pose. Underneath her was a quilt sprinkled with butterflies and bears.

'All photos get scanned for pattern matching,' Toni said, 'and this quilt matched the one in Maclaren's photo. Because it was hand-made, it was easy to get an exact pattern match.'

John scanned the data forwarded by Taskforce Argos in Brisbane. 'The records say the photo was in a virus email a member of the public received and reported to the police.'

'Yes. It was one of those worms that trawls through your drive and forwards random photos to email addresses in your address book and to random mailing lists, using your ISP's server or its own built-in mail engine. It analyses the host computer's security and blends in with normal traffic.'

John glanced up at Toni. She was in her element here, he realised. The consummate professional. Her technical expertise and knowledge a perfect buffer for what he knew must be a continuous reminder of the past.

'They were able to trace the computer the email originated from,' Toni continued, 'but it was a dead-end after that. It was obviously sourced from an anonymous network, and anonymous re-mailers won't pass on where it came from.'

'And the owner of this computer?'

She made a small sound of annoyance. 'By the time the police traced the IP address the email originated from, the owner had disappeared. He must have been tipped off because he'd taken the computer with him. They're still looking for him, but it sounds like their chances of locating him are slim.

'Maclaren contacted the Sydney police about the missing sister-in-law and child, but when they investigated and found the sister-in-law had sold up and moved out they didn't consider them to be missing persons. But then our system discovered the match with the quilt.

'We could find no connection between Cindy Maclaren and the girl in the photo. She may have come by Cindy's quilt in a dozen different ways. It might even belong now to whoever took the photo. There wasn't anything about the photo that could give a clue to where it was taken, but our experts are still working on it. The flower in the girl's hair is plastic, made in China and distributed worldwide.'

'So what's current?'

Toni settled herself on the edge of the desk. 'This is where it gets interesting. When the Sydney cops asked Kate Maclaren about the quilt she said she'd made it herself, so there was no doubt it was the same quilt. She also said she'd found out that Melanie and Cindy Maclaren had joined a church in Kings Cross called the Loving Hand,' - she indicated an old brick building in the background of the photo - 'and that she was going to look for them there.

'We made some enquiries into the Loving Hand and when the Sydney cops went back to see Maclaren to see if she'd found out anything she brushed them off. Thanked them politely and said she was sure her relatives were fine and she was going to stay in Australia and have a holiday.'

If John had antennae, they would have started twitching. He glanced back at the on-screen photo. 'So the cops decided to check her out?'

'They tailed her for a few days. Long enough to see that she'd joined the same cult her sister-in-law had. They're still trying to keep an eye on her but you know how limited resources are. Those photos show her entering and leaving the church.'

The photos showed more than that, John thought, but he only asked, 'What's the background on the church?'

'It's run by a Nathaniel Bartholemew. He was born Nathan Blakely but changed his name when he started the church. Prior to that he was a salesman, and apparently a good one, but he couldn't seem to hold down a job. His employers wouldn't say much, but we gathered that seducing his clients seemed to be part of his sales routine. Before that he worked as a wardsman in a psychiatric institution for several years.'

'What about now, running the church?'

'We've heard no complaints in that department. At first he was just a lone preacher who delved more into psychoanalysis than any religious doctrine, but he got the people in. He's made no effort to grow the church, won't do television interviews, responds to media questions with the line that he's "been put on earth to help the hopeless and the downtrodden", and generally keeps a low profile.'

She tapped the top section of the photo. 'The church is on the second floor, and some anonymous philanthropist pays for a charity to run a drop-in centre on the ground level. They have separate entrances and that staircase' - she indicated an open door in the building front - 'is the only way into the church from the street. There's a back entrance off a laneway and Bartholemew uses that.'

'Are the church and the drop-in centre connected?'

'No.'

'Has the Tax Office approved the church as a religious organisation?'

Toni nodded. 'They've done spot checks on the books and nothing seems out of place. The church also runs three communes they call Heavenly Houses that Bartholemew visits on a regular basis. They're set in isolated bush areas and security is fairly tight. An allegation was made some years ago by a former House resident, who reckoned that they'd taken her son from her. The police investigated and discovered she'd signed guardianship over to the church. They talked to the boy, who said he wanted to stay in the House. The woman said she was going to apply to the court to get him back. A day later she died of a drug overdose. She'd had a history of drug and alcohol abuse and although the death was thoroughly investigated, it couldn't be proven to be anything other than accidental.'

'Any other family?'

'The woman's brother. But after she died he stopped talking to the police.' Another antennae twitch. 'Suspicious.'

'I know, but without proof,' she shrugged.

'Do you have a photo of Bartholemew?'

Toni clicked another icon and brought up a photo of a man getting out of a sleek silver sports car - a Volvo C70. Long-haired, bearded, he could have been anywhere from thirty to forty years old. Dressed casually, he carried a long, brown garment over one arm.

'He won't allow cameras or mobile phones into the church,' she continued, 'and he guards his privacy, but this was taken in the parking space behind the church. His address is in the file somewhere.'

'Can I have a copy of the file?'

The assessing look she gave him had John thinking he'd overstepped his clearance. 'Why?'

John deliberated before answering. 'Because there's a man standing in the church entrance who might be connected to my current assignment.'

Toni waited for him to continue, but he'd already told her more than he should. Eventually she said, 'Okay, but if you find out anything that will help us with this case I'd better hear from you.'

A minute later she escorted him to the main entrance. He hesitated near the door. 'Thanks.' Damn, but it felt like an inadequate thing to say. 'I hope you have a great wedding.' Not much better, but at least it was personal. Now they'd slipped from their official roles all the awkwardness from so long ago came flooding back.

'Thanks.' She looked as uncomfortable as he felt. 'Good luck with your case.'

She turned and walked away.

'I'm positive it's the same man.' John paced his loungeroom and gripped his mobile as he listened to McSwain's doubts. 'The man behind Kate Maclaren in the photo is the same person who took the girl from the brothel. It's a long shot, and I know there's no direct connection to Leon Thompson, but it might be the only lead we can follow if he goes to ground indefinitely.'

'Thompson knows you're willing to pay top dollar for the information,' McSwain countered. 'He'll be in touch as soon as he has it.'

'I'm not the only buyer.' John tried to keep his impatience from showing in his voice.

'You could risk the entire operation by getting involved on this level.'

'I won't get involved. I'll just observe.'

Silence. McSwain knew how to use it, but John had been around him long enough not to trap himself by arguing further and giving his boss another opportunity to reject his idea.

'Observe only,' McSwain said finally.

A few hours later, John flew into Sydney. The hotel he chose offered the kind of anonymity he needed and was close to the hostel where Kate Maclaren was staying. Not that she was on his list for observation, but if the opportunity arose for using her to gain information he would take it. The way he was feeling about this case, it would be easy to ignore McSwain's order to observe only. He couldn't seem to push the image of the dead girl from his mind. Sometimes when he closed his eyes her face would merge with Jessica's and the guilt would rise high in his chest and threaten to choke him.

The photos hadn't done Kate Maclaren justice, John decided the next morning. They hadn't captured the sheen of blonde hair that looked like it had no allegiance to a bottle. Her lips, full but not pouty, gave a man ideas that had nothing to do with carrying out boring surveillance.

He watched the way her jeans hugged her hips and how she bunched her hands into the pockets of her jacket. She'd wound a green scarf around her neck and the wind whipped it over her shoulders as she hurried into the Loving Hand church on the other side of the street.

It was a temptation to follow her into the building. Even though he knew the connection to his current assignment and the dead girl was a tenuous one, his instinct told him that at the moment this offered more than sitting around waiting for Leon to phone. He propped himself against a shop wall and waited.

By the end of the afternoon John had noted that a lot of the people who attended the church also seemed to take advantage of the free tea and coffee offered by the drop-in centre at lunch-time. Like Kate, a small proportion of the church-goers returned to the church for the afternoon session as well.

It was only as the last two people left and the entrance door to the church was being closed that John saw the man who had caught his attention in the photo at Toni's office. His well-worn jeans and baggy jumper were no different from the clothing of a lot of other men in their forties, but his movements were those of a man accustomed to using his physical strength to intimidate others. John watched the disdain on the man's face as he closed the door after the last two church members left the building.

It took less than a minute for John to make his way to the narrow parking area behind the building. Just in time to see Nathaniel's sports car drive away.

A door slammed shut somewhere above his head. Heavy footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs attached to the building's back wall. John moved back into the alley as the guard reached the ground level.

It was easy to follow the man. But like the surveillance he'd carried out all day, it yielded no useful information. The man caught a train to Liverpool, had a few beers with some mates, spent an hour in the gym, grabbed a Chinese takeaway, and watched television alone in his unit before going to bed.

John took notes and photos, went to the nearest hotel for a counter meal, shrugged off a woman offering more than he wanted to risk, and eventually returned to his hotel room to try to work out the possible connection between Leon Thompson's espionage links and a suspected paedophile ring.

The next morning John watched Kate Maclaren again enter the church building, but this time he noted the way she strode down the street before changing her demeanour as she reached the entrance. She hunched her shoulders and lowered her head. Even her feet seemed to lack the energy that had propelled her to the door. It was as though she was sloughing off her normal self and taking on a different persona.

Damn. The change had been so subtle that he'd missed it yesterday as she'd entered the building. What he saw now confirmed his suspicions that she wasn't attending the church to find spiritual peace, but trying to find out the whereabouts of her sister-in-law and niece.

He hoped for her sake she didn't give herself away.

Normally, having an American frequenting his church would have been flattering, but also a nuisance for Nathaniel. There was no prospect for recruitment in overseas visitors; he had no wish to become entangled in a possible investigation from the immigration department if they over-stayed their visa. But Kate Maclaren posed a different kind of problem.

Nathaniel tried to ensure those he admitted to the Heavenly Houses were the jetsam of society, those whose disappearance wouldn't bring any attention his way. He'd only slipped up once, when a woman had escaped from one of the Houses and demanded her child back, but one phone call had ensured permanent silence for the troublemaker. Others who caused problems were dealt with just as permanently. He was never told the details, but he suspected their deaths came as a relief in the end.

Kate had mentioned her search to him and her hope that he would be able to help her locate her family. She'd seemed to accept his explanation that Melanie and Cindy were now members of the Loving Hand church and had moved on to one of their Heavenly Houses. At her request to see them, Nathaniel had regretfully informed Kate that only devoted church members were allowed into the Houses, but if she were to apply herself she might one day achieve this.

In reality, there was no possibility he would ever allow her to do so, but it was one way to keep an eye on her. He was careful to treat her no differently from the other church members. If he did end up having to have her eliminated, he wanted not even a whisper of doubt about his innocence.

He cursed himself for allowing Cindy to give her quilt to her friend to stop her crying when her time had come to leave the House. That damn quilt and whoever took the photo had created more than enough trouble. But he'd been assured the idiot had been removed from the client list. Permanently.

It was a shame, he sighed, as he watched Kate swaying to the rhythm in the chanting. She was the kind of woman he found a challenge. Although she appeared to be a placid, compliant type, flashes of a strong and passionate personality sometimes surfaced, and he was more than interested in destroying the barriers that kept that facet of her in check. He kept fantasising about having her beneath him, answering his lust with her own.

The sister-in-law was an insipid creature in comparison. He would be happy to throw her out of the Heavenly House and not waste his energies on her, but an order had already been placed for the child and there was no chance now to go back on the deal. He wouldn't be paid until delivery, but Nathaniel knew better than to even suggest letting the child go. He'd already protested that he didn't feel the child was ready, that he hadn't had enough time to work on her. She had such a strong personality that he feared she would cause trouble. And he knew how troublemakers were treated.

It was a pity. She was a beautiful child.

But business was business.

Kate excused herself from one of the 'bonding' sessions Nathaniel was running to go to the bathroom, a ploy she'd used since her first session so he would think it a nervous habit of hers. She was always careful to use the facility, constantly aware of the scrutiny of the two men who, although posing as fervent followers of Nathaniel, acted more like guards than devotees. These men also led the services when Nathaniel wasn't there, and although they lacked Nathaniel's magnetic personality, their fervour never wavered.

In the weeks she had been attending the church services, Kate had observed that only one worker was employed in the office situated opposite the bathroom door. The door was usually latched open when the woman was working during the week, but closed when she wasn't.

Five days ago Kate had timed her exit from the bathroom so she could catch a glimpse of the code the woman was inputting to the office door security panel. Now she watched as the woman hurried down the corridor, pulling her coat collar up against the bitter winter winds she would face on the street below, her handbag clutched against her side.

Kate's heart beat faster. Normally the woman left later than this, when Nathaniel's sessions were finished and everyone was leaving. Although the office was closed on weekends, the services then usually involved families, and children often roamed the corridors, making it almost impossible to slip into the office unobserved. Here was the opportunity she needed, but how long would it be before Nathaniel became suspicious of her prolonged absence and sent someone to look for her?

Kate pushed the thought aside and hurriedly keyed in the memorised numbers. Her tension mingled with relief as the door unlocked. She opened it and slipped inside.

She dashed to the computer and shook the mouse to break the colours spiralling across the screen. Boxes formed, each demanding a password. She tried typing in the most logical, but gave up when it became obvious logic wasn't sufficient. Although there was only one full-time office worker, Nathaniel and his two disciples also used the office when they weren't guiding their followers through group and individual counselling and prayer sessions. Right now, Kate knew, they were occupied, but she had no idea how soon they would come looking for her or if the office worker would return.

Kate knew what she was looking for - the location of the 'Heavenly Houses' where those followers deemed to be most suitable were allowed to go after they'd been assessed by Nathaniel. Already two of the people in the sessions Kate attended had progressed to the 'disciple' stage, but even they weren't privy to the whereabouts of their destination. Their trust in Nathaniel had been absolute, and they had been overjoyed at being selected. Even now Kate shuddered at the memory of how they had given themselves over to him so completely.

Fear made her fingers tremble as she flicked through the paperwork on the desk. Accounts, correspondence. Nothing revealing. She pulled open a drawer on the filing cabinet closest to the desk and started checking the files. They were alphabetically arranged and systematically recorded; from details of members who had donated to the church, to bank statements showing a healthy, but not wealthy, balance.

She froze at the sound of footsteps in the corridor.

The security panel beeped softly.