Deadly Obsession Read online

  For my father, John Gumbley. Thank you for a lifetime of love and support. Your endless encouragement inspires me to reach for my dreams.

  PROLOGUE

  Melissa McDermott was ridiculously drunk.

  Tottering on dangerously high heels, she swayed, trying to steady herself, but failed. Stumbling, arms flailing, clutching at air, she fell through the doorway and onto the street outside.

  Icy early morning air slapped her in the face at the same instant her knees hit the pavement. The impact sent pain shooting through her body. Melissa cried out.

  No one heard her.

  The world spun in circles as, hunched over on her hands and knees, she waited for the nausea to pass. How did she get this drunk? she wondered, wishing she was at home, curled up nice and warm in her bed.

  Glancing around, she saw through a blur that the streets were dark?, devoid of all activity; there were no cars, no people. How was she going to get home?

  Not knowing what else to do, Melissa slowly pushed herself up off the pavement. After a few attempts, she finally got unsteadily to her feet. Clinging to the nearest wall for support, she waited to regain a semblance of balance before starting off in the direction of her flat.

  She made a ghostly figure, silhouetted in the glow of the moonlight, staggering between the shadows of buildings that lined the road. Everything was still; it was cold and eerily quiet, but Melissa hardly noticed her surroundings. Her concentration was completely focused on staying upright.

  She had only been walking a short time when, out of nowhere, a car horn splintered the silence of the night. Startled, Melissa flinched and lurched sideways. Grabbing a telegraph pole for balance, she turned in slow motion towards the noise. A small car had pulled up alongside the kerb. Through a haze she saw the window slide down. A hand shot out and waved. Someone called her name from another dimension. Unable to focus or move, Melissa squinted at the car.

  ‘Get in. You must be freezing. I’ll give you a lift home.’

  The familiar voice spoke kindly.

  Melissa didn’t think to wonder why someone would be driving around the deserted streets of Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs in the early hours of a Thursday morning. She was only grateful for a lift home.

  Suddenly her stomach rolled and lurched dangerously.

  Hugging the pole for support, Melissa gagged, tilted sideways and emptied the contents of her stomach into the gutter beside her. If she had been sober she would have been mortified at the display. But she was far too drunk to be concerned about her dignity.

  ‘Better out than in,’ the voice in the car said.

  Melissa was vaguely aware of the car door opening and the driver climbing out to stand beside her on the footpath.

  Once the heaving had ceased, Melissa felt herself being prised from the telegraph pole and gently guided towards the car. The door opened and she collapsed gratefully into the passenger seat.

  ‘Thanks,’ she slurred, closing one eye so she could get a better look at her saviour. ‘Oh . . . it’s . . . you.’

  Relieved, she let out a long sigh. Her head felt too heavy for her neck and she let it loll back against the headrest. She closed her eyes, feeling safe.

  ‘I really app . . . appreciate . . . Sorry . . . So drunk.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ Melissa heard the driver reply just before she felt a sharp jab on the side of her neck.

  Then everything went black.

  CHAPTER 1

  THURSDAY, 21 JUNE 2012

  Detective Lexie Rogers stared, with a mixture of horror and fascination, into the open eyes of the dead man. Lifeless orbs gazed vacantly past her, staring blankly into the distance, at nothing.

  ‘What a waste.’

  Lexie turned towards the booming voice of her partner, Brad Sommers. He was studying the array of framed diplomas and certificates that adorned the far wall of the science lab.

  ‘This guy was a bloody genius,’ Brad said.

  Lexie shrugged.

  ‘Depression doesn’t discriminate,’ she replied.

  The smell of death was not yet overpowering, but it was still there, permeating the air of the sterile room. They were at the University of New South Wales at Kensington, in the Eastern Suburbs of Sydney, and the dead man before them was, or rather, had been, a professor in the Department of Physics.

  Brad came to stand next to Lexie. At 177 centimetres in height, there were few people who could make her feel short. But Brad, who stood at 192 centimetres, was one of them.

  ‘Surely there have to be easier ways to kill yourself?’ Brad said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  Ugly memories surfaced as Lexie considered the many suicides she had attended since joining the New South Wales police force almost nine years ago. Having been stationed at Kings Cross – Sydney’s red light district – for eight of those years, Lexie had seen a lot. Her own private slideshow of gruesome images flashed through her mind. She blinked in quick succession to erase the images.

  ‘I’ve certainly not seen anything like this before,’ Lexie replied.

  There was no doubt this guy had wanted to kill himself, Lexie thought, but there was certainly nothing clear cut or ordinary about the way he had gone about it. The professor was seated, his legs tied to the metal chair. A white rag, used as a gag, was clenched between his teeth. In his hands was a severed electrical cord.

  ‘What’s with the ties and the gag in his mouth?’ Constable Jason Fulton asked. He was one of the two young uniform officers first on the scene. His partner, Dillon Scott, a small stocky guy, stood silently at the far end of the room, as far away from the body as possible.

  Lexie watched the way Constable Fulton’s round eyes looked up at Brad, her big, burly partner, with a mixture of fear and admiration. She hid a smile. Brad was a competent and experienced detective sergeant whose mere size and presence alone commanded respect. However, cocooned within his large exterior, lay a heart of gold. She didn’t know anyone – besides the crooks who had crossed him – who disliked her partner.

  ‘The ties are knotted at the front,’ Brad said. ‘That could have easily been done alone by the deceased, and the gag, I’m guessing, was to stop himself screaming out when the electricity shot through his body.’

  It seemed the impact of the electrical blast had propelled the professor backwards. The chair leant against the rear wall of the room precariously on its back legs.

  ‘This is a very calculated and organised suicide,’ Brad said, almost to himself.

  That was an understatement, Lexie thought, glancing at the assortment of handwritten signs placed around the room. From speaking to other staff they had learnt that the cleaner arrived without fail at 6.00 am each morning to clean the laboratories before classes started. It seemed the professor had counted on this and had been considerate enough to tape a sign to the door warning: ‘DEAD BODY INSIDE. CONTACT THE AUTHORITIES.’

  As the professor had expected, the cleaner had turned up to do her job, but instead of heeding the written warnings, curiosity got the better of her. She had still been hysterical when Lexie and Brad arrived, making it impossible to get a sensible statement out of her.

  With gloved hands, Brad plucked the note from the table next to him and read aloud its contents. His forceful voice echoed around the room as Lexie listened to the explicit instructions left by the dead man.

  ‘To whoever finds me; I’m sorry for the shock. Please contact the police. Notify my sister and inform her that there is a suicide note in the bottom drawer of her bedside dresser. This will explain everything and disclose all of my bank account details and provide information regarding my will. My funeral has been paid for. Please contact Professor Heinrich and ask him to take my physics class later today and until they find a r
eplacement.’

  Brad pulled a disbelieving face and continued more slowly now.

  ‘I apologise for any inconvenience or trauma my untimely death may have caused my family, friends, colleagues and emergency personnel. I JUST COULDN’T TAKE IT ANY LONGER.’

  Brad finished reading with a deep sigh, shaking his head in dismay.

  Holy crap.

  Lexie stood motionless. The silence in the room continued and, as her eyes drifted between Brad and the two uniformed officers, she wondered if they were all thinking the same thing: why does a person, clearly depressed to the point where he’s ready to take his own life, nevertheless meticulously organise matters so as to make life easier for those he’d left behind? It was hard to fathom.

  Brad grunted as he placed the note into a clear, re-sealable evidence bag.

  ‘Hm; it appears to be a straightforward suicide, nevertheless, we should declare it a crime scene, just in case.’

  This was exactly what the young uniforms wanted to hear. That was why Lexie and Brad had been dragged from their warm beds on this chilly June morning. It was a detective’s job to make the call. They had to assess the circumstances, evaluate the scene, make the determination as to whether the cause of death appeared suspicious or unnatural, and finally decide if there was cause to conduct a full investigation or whether the death could simply be ruled a suicide, accidental or natural.

  Lexie knew Brad was a great believer in covering all bases and considering all possibilities. It had happened all too often; an incident that had appeared completely straightforward at the time, hours, days or even months later could turn on its head. If a potential crime scene was compromised there was no going back, so it was better to play it safe and do a thorough forensic examination at the time.

  Lexie’s phone let out a shrill ring. Digging into her pocket, she fumbled and almost dropped it.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Lexie. Are you still at the university?’

  Lexie recognised her boss’s voice instantly. Casey Blair was the detective inspector in charge of Bondi Junction detectives’ office. Like her colleagues, Lexie admired her boss, who was fair, approachable, straight-down-the-line, and would back her troops to the very last.

  ‘Yes, we’re still here,’ Lexie replied, turning her back on the dead man’s tortured expression.

  ‘Well, you’re going to have to leave the uniform guys to finish up,’ Casey Blair told her. ‘A young woman’s body has been found at Clovelly Beach. Get yourselves down there right now. I’m calling everyone in on this.’

  CHAPTER 2

  Following Brad past the deserted lap pool nestled by the edge of Clovelly Beach, Lexie spotted the blue and white crime scene tape flapping wildly in the distance. It was now 7.30 am and the wind was strong, the air frosty. They had only just left the warmth of the car and already her fingers were numb. She dug her hands into the pockets of her coat.

  As they drew closer, Lexie could see a group of curious onlookers gathered near the outer perimeter crime scene tape. Prevented from encroaching any further by uniform officers, the crowd parted to allow Brad to pass through. He had an air of importance without arrogance and it seemed people knew instinctively that he was in charge.

  Lexie followed closely in his wake, nodding at the uniform officers, Hilly and Nicko, as she passed by. Brad lifted the crime scene tape high enough for them to duck under. Crossing the space, they made their way to the next line of blue and white – the inner perimeter – where another uniform officer paced back and forth, frantically rubbing his hands together in a futile attempt to keep warm.

  Senior Constable Darren Russell greeted them with a frozen grimace.

  ‘Sergeant Spencer is in charge,’ he told them, jotting down their names in the crime scene log.

  ‘Thanks, mate,’ Brad replied, lifting the tape once again for them to slip under.

  Lexie took in the scene. Forensics had already arrived and an unfamiliar, overall-clad little man was busy taking photographs. Next to him, Mark Byrne, an experienced and competent forensic officer Lexie had worked with previously, was on hands and knees collecting, collating, evaluating, and examining blades of grass and dirt, possible fragments of trace evidence undetectable to the human eye.

  Only metres away, two female uniform officers stood awkwardly around a shape on the ground: the body. Lexie saw them both glance over to her and Brad, nod, and then look back at the ground.

  On her left, two grim-faced ladies stood along the tree-lined walking path. Their heads swivelled nervously, and in unison, from left to right; glancing out to sea, back towards the crime scene, then back out to sea again. Their distress was palpable and Lexie felt a moment’s sympathy for the older women. They looked to be about her own mother’s age and stumbling upon this grisly find first thing in the morning was, without doubt, the last thing they would have expected to encounter on their morning walk. Not a nice way to start the day.

  Brad followed the direction of Lexie’s gaze.

  ‘We’ll get to the witnesses in a minute. Let’s see what Spencer has to tell us. Can you believe we’ve had two dead ’uns before breakfast? This has to be a record,’ he groaned. ‘Something tells me it’s going to be a long day.’

  Lexie didn’t reply. Her attention was focused on carefully steering clear of the forensic services officers and ignoring the clenching of her stomach as her eyes became irresistibly drawn to the figure on the ground.

  Kim Spencer greeted them, brushing aside strands of long red hair that had blown free from under her hat.

  ‘Thanks for getting here so fast. It’s frigging freezing out here. Shocking bloody day! The sooner we get out of here the better.’

  ‘What have we got, Kim?’ said Brad, getting straight to the point.

  Kim Spencer had the reputation of being a competent and switched-on operator. She was in her mid-thirties and, having been in uniform for most of her service, knew her stuff. However, she did have a tendency to waffle, transforming a short story into an epic.

  ‘We arrived not long after the call came in. I checked for vitals but it was clear the girl had been dead for a while, so I immediately cordoned off the crime scene,’ Kim told them. ‘There were all these people milling around trying to get a look at the body. Why do people do that? I just don’t—’

  Lexie zoned out. Kim’s words faded out to sea as she glanced down at the body.

  The woman was lying on her back, her body in a neat straight line. Her eyes were closed. She had shoulder-length brown hair that lay limply around an attractive face. She was of average height and wore black high-heeled boots that looked expensive and in good condition. Denim jeans clung to slim legs and her grey jacket was fastened snugly around a narrow waist.

  Lexie noted that her clothing appeared intact. There were no obvious signs of a struggle or sexual assault. Her arms were crossed one over the other and rested on her chest. It was as though she had been positioned that way, her body laid out peacefully for a viewing.

  Between her fingers lay a single red rose.

  What the hell?

  Lexie glanced at Brad, who was also examining the body, then to Kim Spencer.

  ‘What’s with the rose?’ she asked.

  Kim shrugged.

  ‘Not sure. This is exactly how she was found. No one has touched her. It’s weird isn’t it? It looks like—’

  ‘I’m guessing those ladies over there are the ones who found the body?’ Brad interrupted, preventing Kim going off on a tangent.

  ‘Yes, they found the body.’

  Kim’s partner, Lisa, who had until now been silent, spoke for the first time.

  ‘They were going for their morning walk when they saw the body lying here. They were pretty hysterical,’ Lisa continued, rolling her bug-like eyes, ‘but I managed to get a statement from them. I told them to wait until you got here,’ she finished, shooting Brad a triumphant smile.

  Constable Lisa Fanning was tall and athletic, with wavy brown hai
r pulled back into a high ponytail. Her face was hard. Lexie thought she looked much older than her twenty-two years. She was a junior officer, full of her own self-importance and with an overwhelming need to prove herself by discrediting others.

  Lisa also appeared to hate Lexie for no apparent reason.

  ‘It’s strange,’ Brad murmured, rubbing his chin. ‘The way the body is positioned, it’s like she’s died peacefully in her sleep. It’s all wrong.’

  He was thoughtful for a moment, then pointed to a grassy incline behind where the body lay.

  ‘I reckon she’s been rolled down that hill.’

  Lexie, along with the others, followed his finger, then glanced back down at the body.

  ‘Come here, Lex.’

  Brad gestured for her to crouch down next to him for a closer look.

  ‘Tell me what you see.’

  Now only centimetres from the body, Lexie noticed a few twigs entangled in the girl’s hair. Her clothes, although undisturbed, were speckled with dirt and grass. She could make out smudged mascara under the closed eyes and the remnants of lipstick on the thin lips. There were a number of small cuts and lacerations to her face. Her red-painted nails were intact. There was no drug paraphernalia lying around. The grass around her was patchy, yet there were no obvious drag marks or footprints that she could see.

  ‘I’m seeing what you’re seeing,’ Lexie said finally. ‘I think you’re right.’

  Standing up, she once again glanced towards the incline.

  ‘Although if she’s been rolled down the hill, there is no way she would have landed like this. Someone has re-positioned her, tidied her up a bit and put the rose in her hands.’

  ‘It does look that way, doesn’t it,’ Brad nodded, again staring at the embankment as if it held the answers.

  There was a dead-end street at the top of the incline: Park Street. Lexie knew nearly every road, laneway and alley in this area. Her cosy one-bedroom flat was situated not five minutes from where she stood right now. If the woman had been rolled out of a car from the street above, Lexie would hazard a guess that she would land exactly where she was now.