The Shadow Maker Read Free

abruptly ended within a matter of weeks. Now it was virtually a cold case.
    There was one odd similarity - the offender’s car had been identified as a black Mazda MX-5. But with nothing in the way of MO to link this new attack to the Scalper, and with no other obvious candidate in the database, the probability was that a new offender had struck, and the existence of any DNA on file would be down to sheer luck. Without it he would be difficult to trace, unless the victim could provide some lead to his identity. That seemed unlikely given the initial report from the patrol car officers. All they got from the victim, apart from uncontrollable hysterics, was that she had no idea who he was. Perhaps she would come up with something when she was questioned more closely.
    As she sat there pondering, one of the squad’s hard men heaved into view, Detective Sergeant Derek Higgs. He came over and leant on her desk.
    ‘Strickland’s given me the job of hitting the town tonight and interviewing street pussy,’ said Higgs. ‘So whatever you can find out from the blind hooker, anything about this prick, will be greatly appreciated.’
    ‘Okay,’ nodded Rita, though she didn’t really need to be told how to do her work.
    Higgs was an old-school cop - blunt, opinionated and the most streetwise in the squad, with a reputation for taking shortcuts to get results. He was jowly, sharp-eyed and a chain-smoker, and his clothes bore a permanent aroma of stale tobacco. Although he shared the same rank as Rita, he was fifteen years her senior, and while her cerebral methods and rapid rise baffled him, there was no animosity between them.
    ‘It won’t be easy,’ he added. ‘Her recall could be completely fucked. So take it slowly.’
    ‘Thanks for the advice,’ she said.
    ‘No sweat. I’m off for a beer.’
    Emma Schultz lay in a hospital bed propped up by pillows, her ribs strapped, a wad of bandage and surgical tape covering her eye sockets.
    She was conscious now, but heavily sedated, which was just as well.
    Her mother sat beside the bed, gripping Emma’s hand, tears streaming down her cheeks. Along with being traumatised by the attack on her daughter, she had been shocked to learn that Emma was a prostitute.
    Emma’s arrest sheet and medical record revealed charges for shoplifting and drug possession, and she’d been hospitalised before with beatings.
    Yet until today, the mother had been none the wiser. Behind the tears, there was a pleading look in her eyes as she watched Rita questioning her daughter about her movements the previous evening
    - when she’d left home, how she’d travelled into the city, where she went - a portable mini-disc recorder rolling across the answers.
    ‘You must be completely honest with me, Emma,’ Rita said gently.
    ‘It doesn’t matter what you did, but I need to know everything if we’re to catch this man.’
    ‘I scored some crack in Chinatown,’ said the girl in a slow monotone, her voice thick from the medication.
    ‘And what did you do next?’
    ‘I went down an alley and sat in a doorway.’
    ‘Is that where you took the drug?’
    The girl nodded. ‘I heated and inhaled it.’
    ‘What time was this?’
    ‘About ten-thirty.’
    ‘Good. Every detail helps.’
    Rita worked on maintaining professional detachment as she went through her list of questions. Strickland remained silent. The last thing Emma Schultz needed to hear was a male voice. Reminding herself to breathe calmly, Rita paused between each question.
    ‘Where did you go from there?’
    ‘I took a slow walk around the block, but there was no action on the street.’ Emma squeezed her mother’s hand. ‘So I went to a club that’s usually good for business.’
    ‘Which one?’
    ‘A Greek joint - Plato’s Cave.’
    Rita raised her eyebrows at Strickland but he shook his head, as if warning her not to get distracted. Just the mention of the nightclub sent a chill through her. Only six months ago she’d arrested