Sinister Intent Read online

  For Mum,

  You are, and always will be, my inspiration.

  You live forever in my heart.

  I hope I’ve done you proud.

  PROLOGUE

  Without warning, a knife is thrust against her throat. The sharp blade pushes against her skin. She freezes. A thick arm pins her in a strangle-hold from behind. In an instant she is trapped, held captive against a body made of steel. Pure terror shoots like fire through her veins. Her scream sticks in her throat, turns to a choked gurgle. She can’t breathe. The pressure on her windpipe is crushing. Her lungs are burning. She needs air.

  Her heart pounds violently. Instinctively her hands fly to her throat. Fingers claw and nails rip at flesh as she thrashes wildly, desperate to break the suffocating grip around her neck. Reaching behind her head she scratches at his face, stabs at his eyes.

  The hand smashing into the side of her face stops her struggling. Her knees buckle. Razor-sharp pain explodes in her head and her hands fall limply to her sides.

  For a moment everything is black and she feels herself slipping, falling into nothingness. Teetering on the edge of consciousness she hears a familiar voice cut through the ringing in her ears. At first the sound is faint, as though coming from a distance, and then it grows louder until it becomes an insistent scream in her head, pleading with her to fight, to think of their parents; they would not survive losing another child.

  Her mind is confused, her thoughts tangled. A breeze comes out of nowhere, brushes across her skin, sending goose bumps along the back of her neck. In the darkness she sees her brother’s face. He is smiling at her, his face aglow.

  She tries to process what is happening. But her mind is foggy from the blow to her temple. Is she hallucinating? How can this be? Her brother is dead.

  Alarm stabs a hole in her heart. She must be dying . . . or is she dead already?

  She is vaguely aware of a heavy hand pulling at her hair, yanking her head back, leaving her throat vulnerable, exposed. There is no pain as the blade slices her skin. She is only conscious of a warm, sticky sensation dribbling slowly down her neck.

  Her own blood . . .

  CHAPTER 1

  TUESDAY, DECEMBER 2011

  The siren screamed as the police car’s flashing lights sent pulsing streaks of red and blue across surrounding buildings as it raced past.

  Detective Lexie Rogers loved the thrill of an urgent duty dash; the rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins, sharpening her senses, setting her heart pumping in her chest. She loved the sense of buoyancy it created, as if her body was expanding, inflating to allow an infusion of energy to grow inside her.

  There was nothing like the sensation of undefined danger to ignite the pheromones and make you feel totally alive, she thought. And right now, she felt more alive than she’d felt for a very long time. A breeze whipped through the open window and played havoc with her long blonde hair. With one hand, Lexie quickly brushed stray strands behind her ear.

  She was negotiating a tight corner when suddenly, from out of nowhere, a rush of anxiety tightened her chest and knotted her shoulders. A metallic taste burnt the back of her throat. Her vision blurred and the world tilted dangerously. Exhilaration had promptly turned to fear and trepidation.

  No, not now!

  Clenching her jaw, Lexie took in a deep breath. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel. No. This would not consume her, she told herself. She refused to be a ghost, a shell of her former self, existing in the shadow of trauma and fear. Swallowing hard, she pushed the panic back down and concentrated on the road ahead.

  Coming up behind a Volvo, travelling at least fifteen kilometres under the speed limit, Lexie groaned out loud. She willed the driver to check the rear-view mirror.

  Get out of the way.

  The driver had no idea they were behind.

  ‘What are they, deaf?’ Lexie shook her head in exasperation.

  ‘What?’ Brad yelled over the deafening shriek of the siren.

  ‘Exactly,’ she shouted back.

  When Lexie had taken up her new position at Bondi Junction detectives’ office thirteen days ago, she’d considered herself extremely lucky to have been allocated Detective Sergeant Brad Sommers as a partner. After eight years as a uniform cop at Kings Cross – Sydney’s red light district that never sleeps – she liked to think her instincts about most things, especially people, were pretty accurate. And with Brad she’d sensed instantly he was the real deal. He had no hidden agendas. What you saw was what you got. She liked that. And although he looked like a cop, tall with cropped hair, and carrying a little too much weight, he proudly wore an air of command and intelligence free from arrogance.

  Lexie could only hope that, in time, some of his wisdom and self-assurance would rub off on her.

  At the first chance Lexie overtook, her brown eyes glaring at the driver as she shot past. The woman stared back, stunned. She really didn’t have a clue.

  A car in front came to a screeching halt as a line of pedestrians stopped halfway across a zebra crossing, seemingly paralysed by the police siren. Lexie slammed on the brakes, zigzagged her way around the stationary vehicle, carefully negotiated the pedestrians, then picked up speed once more. Some people panicked and froze when they heard the siren, saw the lights blinking at them. That Lexie could forgive. But drivers who were totally ignorant, oblivious and indifferent to everything going on around them made her blood boil.

  They were approaching a red light. She could see the traffic up ahead was at a standstill. The long line of cars stretched before her had nowhere to go. Veering onto the wrong side of the road, she carefully edged her way past the queue of stationary vehicles. Her eyes did a sweep of the intersection. All vehicles remained motionless to allow her to pass.

  ‘Clear this side,’ her partner called.

  Lexie double, then triple-checked it was safe before progressing slowly through the intersection.

  From the corner of her eye she saw a truck come out of nowhere. Brad yelled something, a warning, a profanity?

  ‘I know, I know,’ she screamed back, skilfully darting out of its way.

  Finally clear of the congestion, Lexie let out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and manoeuvred the car back onto the left side of the road, putting her foot down hard on the accelerator.

  ‘It’s probably a hoax, you know.’ Brad’s voice was an octave higher than normal. ‘No need to get ourselves killed over a stupid furphy.’

  Lexie glanced at him briefly as she navigated a tight corner.

  ‘You don’t know it’s a furphy; could be the real thing.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Who in their right mind would set themselves on fire?’

  ‘Someone who’s not in their right mind, I suppose,’ Lexie shot back.

  ‘Left here,’ Brad told her, reaching forward and flicking the switch to de-activate the siren. Instant silence. ‘Just there.’ He pointed to a fibro house in the middle of the street.

  Lexie slammed her foot onto the brake pedal. The car lurched, then screeched to an abrupt halt on the hot bitumen, its rear tyres billowing smoke and leaving the smell of burning rubber in its wake.

  ‘Bloody hell, woman. Next “so-called” urgent job we get, remind me to drive,’ Brad grumbled.

  ‘Nothing wrong with my driving,’ Lexie returned. ‘We made it, didn’t we?’

  Snatching the radio handset from the dashboard, she informed the operator of their location. ‘Bondi Junction 100 – going off at 20 Denison Street.’

  Not waiting for a reply, she was out the door before her partner had even unfastened his seat belt. She was ready for action, dressed in pants and a sleeveless silk blouse, hurrying through the front garden. Sydney’s summer sun was warm a
nd bright, yet Lexie hardly registered the heat. Her mind was fully focused, her instincts on red alert.

  Rushing towards the front door she felt a sense of urgency she couldn’t explain. She was aware of an eerie suburban silence; an absence of birds singing or dogs barking. All she could hear was the muffled sounds of traffic in the distance. Lexie knocked, and then jiggled the doorknob. It was locked.

  It’s too quiet. Perhaps Brad’s right? It’s a hoax.

  But she had a sinking feeling it wasn’t.

  Not waiting for Brad, Lexie moved swiftly towards the side gate and fumbled with the latch before shoving it open. She took off at a run. The pounding of her heels on the broken cement path beat in time with the thumping of her heart. As she ran she took in the air that fanned her face, trying to detect the smell of smoke, burning, anything to confirm her fears. She got nothing but the faint scent of lavender.

  The side passage stretched before her and it seemed to take an eternity before she reached the back yard. No amount of police training could have prepared her for what she encountered.

  Oh God!

  Lexie froze mid-stride as though her muscles had suddenly solidified. Her breath caught in her throat. She stared in horror at the figure standing in front of her.

  Except for a tattered belt that hung around a tiny waist, the woman was completely naked. She stood perfectly still, on rigid legs, staring back at Lexie through haunted eyes. Her arms were extended stiffly from her torso like a cardboard cutout. Her skin was charred black in parts. Pieces of burnt flesh hung off in chunks, exposing white flesh underneath. The hair on her body, including her head and groin, had been entirely burnt off. The expression on the woman’s face seemed as stunned as Lexie’s.

  Hearing heavy footsteps and asthmatic gasping coming up the path behind her, Lexie turned just in time to see the shock register on her partner’s face. Brad’s body jarred to a halt.

  ‘Shit, not a hoax,’ he wheezed.

  Lexie thought that after twenty-two years of working the streets there probably wasn’t much Brad Sommers hadn’t seen. Except maybe this.

  Brad found his voice first. It sounded to Lexie as though it came from a long way away.

  ‘We’re detectives,’ he told the woman calmly, indicating their plain clothes. ‘An ambulance is on its way to help you. It should be here any minute.’

  The woman gave a slight incline of her head.

  ‘Lexie, run inside. Get a sheet, a blanket dampened with water . . . anything to wrap around her,’ Brad instructed.

  Lexie ran through the back door and snatched a cotton sheet off the nearest bed. She then hurried to the bathroom and drenched it with cold water under the tap, before wringing it out. Her hands were trembling and she forced herself to take a deep breath.

  Handle it, Lexie . . . Breathe.

  Back outside Brad had moved closer to the woman. He was speaking to her quietly and nodded to Lexie in silent encouragement as she approached to place the wet sheet around the woman’s shoulders. At this close distance the putrid stench of burning flesh hit Lexie like a slap to the face. It filled her nose, her mouth, permeated the pores of her skin. Her stomach plunged and lurched dangerously. Clenching her lips together, she fought the urge to retch.

  When the woman looked up at her, eyes weakly grateful, Lexie suffered a moment’s guilt at her own revulsion. She forced a smile.

  ‘Are you in pain?’ Lexie asked.

  The woman made a motion to turn her head. ‘Can’t feel anything.’

  Brad and Lexie exchanged a look. Was that good or bad?

  ‘Can you tell me your name?’ Brad asked gently.

  Lexie was impressed with the compassionate way her partner was dealing with the woman. Her already high regard for him notched up a level.

  ‘Katia,’ the woman whispered in a hoarse voice. ‘Katia Johannson.’ She lifted her head to stare blankly up at Lexie. ‘I am German,’ she added, as though that explained everything.

  ‘Is there anyone we can call? Relatives or friends?’

  Katia turned her head fractionally. ‘Relatives are in Germany. No one cares.’

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Lexie found that she was whispering; she didn’t know why.

  ‘Stupid. So stupid.’ As she spoke Katia’s body remained incredibly still, her mouth was the only part of her that moved. ‘I broke up with my boyfriend and think I want to die. I don’t want to die now!’

  Breathing through her mouth to lessen the impact of burning flesh on her senses, Lexie crouched in front of the woman. She noticed that even her eyebrows and eyelashes were gone. ‘What did you do, Katia?’

  ‘I put petrol on me and rope,’ she began. Lexie followed her eyes to a petrol can in the corner of the yard. Her voice was faint, getting softer by the minute. Brad and Lexie both automatically leant forward to catch her words.

  ‘I tied rope . . . around waist . . . and lit end of rope. Watched the flames . . . come towards me.’ She paused to suck in a raspy breath. ‘I caught fire . . . and put myself out on grass,’ she told them. A strangled cry that sounded like a wounded animal vibrated through her lips as she uttered the words, ‘Very stupid.’

  Trembling, the woman’s shoulders shook and her face contorted. Strangled, tearless sobs shook her whole body and Lexie found herself looking away as a swell of emotion she hadn’t anticipated, wasn’t prepared to deal with, threatened to overwhelm her.

  She was a reluctant witness to this woman’s torment, and couldn’t help but wonder at the mental turmoil Katia must have been suffering to commit such an act. Her emotional pain must have been unbearable. Why else would anyone do this to themselves?

  Lexie glanced at Brad. She felt the need of some support from her partner in the face of all this horror. When their eyes met he shrugged his huge shoulders in a ‘What can you do’ type of gesture.

  ‘Who called triple-0, Katia?’ Brad asked.

  ‘I did. I hoped someone might stop me before I did it. But I still did it. So stupid.’

  Lexie heard the siren. Moments later two paramedics appeared. She stepped gratefully out of their way and watched with admiration as they assessed the scene and immediately got to work. Talking quietly to Katia, they laid her gently onto the stretcher, slipped an oxygen mask over her face and inserted an IV line containing clear fluid into a vein. Katia didn’t resist.

  The senior officer, a well-built woman who looked to be in her early forties, gave Brad a cursory glance. ‘I’m Rachel Adams. My partner’s Ben Stevens. So what have we got?’

  Brad wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand as he explained what they’d encountered on arrival.

  ‘All we know is that her name is Katia Johannson. She’s German. She told us she poured petrol on herself and set herself alight.’

  An involuntary shiver raced across Lexie’s back as he said the words.

  ‘She broke up with her boyfriend and wanted to die.’

  The paramedics nodded their heads, indicating they were listening as they went about their work.

  ‘Unusual for you guys to be first on the scene; it’s usually the uniform guys we see,’ Rachel remarked.

  ‘We were around the corner, on our way to another job, when the three beeps came over the radio. Both general duties cars were tied up,’ Brad explained.

  The portable radio in Brad’s hand crackled. He moved away, talking into it quietly. Returning a minute later, he told Lexie in a low voice that they were to remain here until the supervisor arrived to assess the scene.

  Lexie nodded automatically, though her eyes remained focused on Katia who, although still conscious – only just – was not responding to anything the paramedics said. She was staring, her pupils fixed on something, or nothing, in front of her. It seemed to Lexie she was slipping away, lost within her own tragic little world and beyond caring what happened to her.

  Lexie turned to Brad and said quietly, ‘Should we call crime scene?’

  ‘That’s up to the supervisor
. I’m sure he will, though we’re not hanging around here for hours. We have other things to do. When one of the car crew is free, they can come down and take over.’

  ‘There’s a piece of rope tied around her waist. We need to get rid of that,’ Rachel told them while she was already cutting through it.

  They moved closer. The younger paramedic, Ben, shook his head in astonishment as Rachel showed him the rope. Lexie moved closer. What she had believed to be a belt was in fact the rope Katia had used to set herself alight.

  Ben was now placing a fresh cotton sheet over Katia while his partner inserted tubes and attached monitors.

  ‘Let’s load and go,’ Rachel said.

  Securing Katia onto the stretcher, both seeming to know instinctively what the other wanted without words, they carefully manoeuvred the wheels across the uneven pathway along the side of the house. Brad held the gate open while Lexie trailed behind feeling useless.

  They loaded Katia into the back of the ambulance, Ben sitting alongside her. Rachel slammed the rear doors shut.

  ‘Will she be all right?’ Lexie asked softly.

  Rachel stared at Lexie as if seeing her for the first time. A sympathetic expression crossed her broad face as she shook her head. Grabbing her arm, Rachel steered her away from the back of the ambulance.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do to help her now except make her comfortable,’ she explained quietly. ‘This woman has burns to about ninety-eight per cent of her body. We’ll give her more morphine on the way to the hospital to ease any pain, but apart from that . . .’ She shrugged her large shoulders as her voice trailed off.

  Lexie didn’t move. Her big brown eyes grew even larger as she stared back at the paramedic in astonishment. ‘But I was just talking to her!’

  She couldn’t believe it. Clearly Katia was badly burnt but surely they could do something?

  ‘She was standing up and walking.’

  ‘I know,’ Rachel continued. ‘But as I said, her body was in shock, that’s what kept her going. That’s what happens with badly burnt victims. Now her body is starting to shut down and there’s absolutely nothing that can be done about it, I’m afraid.’