Chapter 6-1
2034 Words
Sam Rose had never met Ann Curtis, but was attracted to her the first day he saw her. As the newly appointed Vice Chancellor at Darwin University, a reporter from a local television station was interviewing her, and instantly Sam, a confirmed bachelor, was smitten. She was beautiful. He was at home, and although not a fan of the inane, mindless drivel that seemed to occupy the majority of television programming these days, his TV was on and running in the background as he busied himself tidying up around the house.
Ann Curtis arrived in Darwin six months ago to assume her current position at the university. When the reporter inquired about her background, she announced that she was single. Where beautiful women were concerned, particularly beautiful, single women, Sam had a reputation of being quick off the mark. Even so, until now, he never found an excuse to meet her, and she occupied his thoughts as he drove to the university. Perhaps he should have telephoned and made an appointment. Maybe she wouldn’t be there. What if she was in the middle of a lecture? Would she be annoyed that he arrived unannounced?
He was greeted by a secretary with a look she obviously spent years culturing and reserved especially for those who arrived without an appointment.
“Professor Curtis is attending a meeting at the moment. Do you have an appointment?” she asked sarcastically, knowing full well he didn’t.
Sam held her eyes. “No I’m afraid I don’t, but it’s important.”
“What is it you do?” she scowled. Her tone suggested his unannounced arrival was a gross intrusion upon her, and her boss’s, otherwise busy schedule. She picked up the telephone.
Sam dropped a business card onto her desk. “I’m a private investigator.”
The revelation brought about a searing look of scorn that conveyed a distinct dislike for those employed in the “gumshoe” business.
“gumshoe”“Hmmph,” she snuffed.
He waited while she announced his presence to someone on the other end of the line, and felt a hollow sense of victory when she hung up the phone and informed him with obvious disdain that he could wait in the Professor’s office.
The office was huge, easily at least twice the size of his own. As he waited, he walked slowly around the room perusing more awards, certificates, and degrees adorning the walls than he had ever seen in any one place in his entire life. Professor Curtis was no dummy, he decided.
Sensing her presence rather than hearing her, he turned to see Ann Curtis standing in the doorway. Despite the comfortable temperature, the room felt instantly several degrees warmer.
Professor Curtis closed the door behind her, and drifted into the room on a soft, gentle wave of perfume. She was even more beautiful in person. Sam felt his breath catch, and hoped she would not notice.
Ann Curtis was not the sort of woman to use her looks to her advantage. If anything, her classic beauty was a source of mild inconvenience to her in that everywhere she went people always looked twice; women as well as men. Some, like the man currently standing in her office, looked more than twice. As she watched Sam, she saw the same look in his eyes that she saw in most men’s eyes when they were close to her. She tried to ignore it, as she long ago disciplined herself to do, but in this case, she found his attention strangely mysterious, perhaps even exciting.
For a few moments that seemed like a few hours to Sam, the two stood a couple of metres apart, just looking at each other. Sam fought the urge to allow his eyes to wander over her tall, slim body. They locked eyes, and Ann Curtis held his gaze with just a hint of knowing in the half smile that formed on her lips. When finally, she spoke, her voice had a huskiness Sam found mildly erotic.
“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” she said with a slight lifting of her eyebrows.
Suddenly, Sam’s tongue was on vacation. He couldn’t speak. Silently he cursed his awkwardness. Finally, he cleared his throat noisily and spoke, much too loudly at first.
“Ah… I don’t think… I mean… no, we haven’t met before.” He stepped forward and offered his hand, hoping it wouldn’t be hot, wet, and clammy. If it was, she gave no indication. She clasped his hand and held it gently. Her fingers felt cool and strong.
“I’m Sam Rose,” he said with more control.
“You’re right,” she smiled, “we haven’t met, but I do know who you are. Your reputation precedes you, Mister Rose.” Her hand lingered in his. “I’m Ann Curtis.” She stepped around him and moved across the big room to a chair behind an expansive, heavy, ornate, oak desk. Sam watched approvingly as she moved with grace and style on long, slender legs.
“Please, sit down, Mister Rose.” She gestured to a vacant chair opposite her. “It is ‘Mister’ Rose these days isn’t it? I understand you are no longer with the police force.”
‘Mister’“Thank you,” Sam said, taking the seat. “I left the force twelve months ago. I’m now a private investigator.”
“How fascinating. I don’t believe I’ve ever met a real, live, private investigator. What was it about the police force that convinced you to change careers?”
Sam looked into her emerald green eyes, looking for a sign that his reputation truly did precede him. Was she just fishing? Did she know about him and Russell Foley? He suspected that she probably did. Why wouldn’t she know? The whole police force knew. If truth be known, there probably wasn’t a living soul in Darwin, even the whole bloody Territory who didn’t know.
“Twenty years is a long time in the same job,” he shrugged. “I felt it was time for a change.”
“And has the change proved worthwhile?”
“Yes it has, so far. I’m enjoying the freedom of the independence it provides.”
“Good,” Ann smiled. “And are you here today as a private investigator?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Sam answered. “I apologise for not making an appointment. I’m afraid I might have got off to a bad start with your secretary. She seemed a little annoyed with me.”
“Apology accepted, and please don’t worry about Margaret. She’s extremely efficient, but perhaps a trifle too rigid in her observance of university policy. But, about your visit, I’m intrigued. What on earth would a private investigator want with me?”
Sam wanted a lot of things with Ann Curtis but, for the moment, opted to keep those thoughts to himself, at least until he got to know her better, which he hoped would be in the very near future. “Information,” he said.
“Information?”
“Well, more a case of your thoughts and ideas really,” he explained.
“Now I am curious. About what?”
amSam shifted in his seat. “About the recent murders.”
“Goodness yes,” Ann said. “What a terrible business. I saw Roland Henderson just last week at a Law Society dinner. I had drinks with him and his wife. The poor woman must be devastated.”
“It’s tragic,” Sam agreed. “I was hoping you might be able to provide some information that would be helpful to me.”
“I’ll do whatever I can, of course,” she offered. “But I don’t understand. Are you working with the police?”
“No, I’m working independently of the police. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific than that, but confidentiality prevents me from disclosing who I’m working for.”
“I see,” Ann said. “I must admit though, given my interest in the workings of the criminal mind, I find all this intrigue fascinating.”
“It’s your interest in the criminal mind that brings me here, Professor Curtis.”
“Oh please,” she said, “let’s dispense with the formalities. Call me Ann.”
“Okay, Ann,” Sam smiled. “And Mister Rose is my father’s name. I’m Sam.”
“Terrific.” Ann tossed her head back in a way that had the thick, soft mane of burgundy hair bouncing lightly on her shoulders. Sam was suddenly aware of a quickening of his pulse. If Ann noticed his awkwardness, she chose to ignore it.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“I was hoping you might be able to provide an insight into the character of the person responsible for the murders. His personality, his background, how old he might be. That type of thing.”
“You mean, like a profile?”
“Exactly,” Sam nodded.
“I’m getting the impression you believe the same man is responsible for each of the killings.”
“I can’t speak for the police,” Sam said, “I’m not privilege to their investigation, but I think it could be the same person, yes.”
“So, you want to know if he was an abused child devoid of parental affection, I suppose you mean?”
“Something like that, I guess,” Sam shrugged.
“Well, you can forget any thoughts of childhood molestation,” she began. “From the little I know of the murders, I don’t think the person responsible is motivated by any long standing obsession with s****l revenge.”
“Can you be certain of that?” Sam urged.
“Not without specific details of each murder. However, given the information available, I’m reasonably satisfied that lust is not his motivation.”
“Is it a man?”
“Oh yes, almost certainly,” Ann responded. “We know from early press reports the killer used a knife. Knives are not the weapon of choice for women. They almost never use them to commit murder; unless it is in the heat of the moment, or in self-defence where a knife is the closest available weapon. Again, without knowing specifics, I’m guessing these murders were pre-meditated. History suggests that in cases of pre-meditated murder, a man is far more likely to use a knife than a woman. The concept of plunging a knife into someone is a bit too grizzly for a woman.”
“Is he a serial killer?” Sam asked.
“That depends, possibly, yes.”
“Depends on what?”
Ann shifted slightly in her chair and brushed at a lock of hair that had fallen across her eye. “It depends on whether or not the policeman victim… what was his name?”
“Richter, Carl Richter,” Sam prompted.
“Yes Richter. It depends on whether he was murdered by the same person who murdered the two judges.”
“Why?”
“Because, generally speaking, two murders would not be sufficient to categorise a person as a serial killer. Three or more however, all in a similar manner, and with a time lapse between each, tends to indicate differently.”
“What’s your feeling?” Sam asked.
“Well, keeping in mind I know no more than most people about the facts of the killings, my instincts tell me the same man is responsible for all three deaths.”
“Is he likely to kill again?”
Ann clasped her hands in front of her. “If he hasn"t finished what he started, yes he will,” she nodded. “If he’s motivated by an agenda, he will continue until he’s completed what he set out to do. If, on the other hand, there is no agenda, and the killings are purely random, he may continue until he is caught, or until a voice somewhere in his head tells him he’s finished. In this case however, I suspect he has an agenda.”
- Writer
