My Island Homicide Read Online Free Page A

Let me know the appointment time.’
    I turned to the molester file and my sense of the macabre was piqued. Two days earlier, on Tuesday morning, the molester of Millman Hill had attacked a nurse, Kelly Keenan, who had been exercising after her night shift. Jack had taken a statement from the woman while she was being treated in hospital for cuts, bruises and two crushed knuckles on her right hand. I identified similar threads woven through the five other incidents: all victims were professional European women, all were sexually assaulted, there had been moderate violence and money and/or mobiles and iPods stolen, all incidents occurred on or around Millman Hill.
    I figured this guy had done his homework. From each of the victim’s statements, it was clear the two nurses had been on short-term contracts and the remaining three had not been on the island for longer than two months. None of the women would have recognised him.
    Kelly stated that she had been a champion light-weight boxer in her teens and had gone on to coach for a few years. When the offender reached for her, she laid into his face, but since she was out of practice and terrified, she ran like hell when he grabbed his jaw and she didn’t look back.
    This was not good. I’d have to talk to Jack about another Crime Stoppers article. Shay emailed to let me know Mr Ramu would attend at midday.
    I pulled another folder from the pile and just as I focused on the first page, a tubby red-headed woman, mid-thirties, marched into my office. She put two white paper bags on my desk and sat down.
    â€˜Go on, open them,’ she said. She had red spots on her face, like hives, that rose from the constellation of freckles. ‘They’re good.’ I eyed her and her name tag, Detective Sergeant Jenny Hallard.
    I pulled a bag towards me and opened it with the skill of a bomb disposal expert. ‘It’s a cake,’ I said.
    Jenny’s green eyes twinkled. ‘It’s not just a cake. It’s a cream lamington. The best from Shiba’s Kiosk at the hospital. Does great kebabs, too.’ Jenny pulled the other paper bag towards her. She caught me looking at the red lumps on the backs of her hands. ‘Oh, I was drilled by mozzies and sandflies on my days off. My fella, Fred, he’s a crayfisherman and took me camping.’
    â€˜I’ll have it for lunch,’ I said. ‘I’d better do some work.’
    I was starting to think I’d never get on top of the pile of folders. However, over the next hour as I went through Mick Buckrell’s aged admin files and tossed anything older than two years, I was confident I’d soon get things under control.
    Mark rang my mobile again. I pressed the end call button. For a barrister, he wasn’t very bright, calling my mobile from an unblocked number. Three months after I busted him horizontally dictating correspondence to his assistant in our bed, I considered a reconciliation. We met in neutral places to ‘start again’. He was so handsome with the unusual combination of olive skin, blonde hair and dark, dark eyes. And I found myself drawn to the renewed attention he paid me. Then he suggested a weekend trip to Magnetic Island. He was trying so hard to win me back and I relished this modicum of power over him. I agreed, foolishly thinking we could reignite the passion from early in our relationship. As luck would have it I read in The Cairns Post about a two-day yoga intensive starting the next day, the day we were due to leave, and I had an epiphany. Why was I going back to his toxic bullshit when I could be doing something good for myself instead? I enrolled, then emailed Mark telling him I wasn’t going to Magnetic Island and turned off my phone. Late on Sunday, when I switched my phone back on, I discovered Mark had left 16 messages. I immediately deleted them all.
    Shay was at my door. ‘Mr Ramu’s here. He’s really upset about his