“Is Morgan okay?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head because I’ve no clue if she is or she isn’t. Her abductor hasn’t let me speak to her. He just makes references.
Ronald throws his arms down and slaps them simultaneously against his outer legs. “I’ve had enough. I’m going out to search for Morgan. I’ve barely slept a wink. I can't continue lying around while my baby is out there. My daughter needs me.” He turns sharp on his heel.
“Stop, Mr Cuttings. It won’t achieve anything.” Dyson reaches out her hand and lowers it to Ronald’s shoulder. “Take a seat. I’m calling Detective West.”
“Have you pigs found any leads yet, or is this lunatic controlling everything that’s happening? Because from where I’m sitting you haven’t the faintest idea what you’re doing, and you look like a bunch of bloody chooks with your heads cut off.” Ronald’s once sleepy appearance disappears with his outburst, his limbs now tensed. His biceps are bulging, and his face glows red.
“You’re mad about the position you’re in. We understand why you are, but this won’t help.” Maloney, the voice of reason. “Let us do our job.”
“A trained monkey could do it better. I’m going to find my daughter, and you’ll have to kill me to stop me.”
Cuffs swing from Maloney’s finger in a brief second. “Do you want to wear these?”
Ronald shakes his head as he stumbles to the couch and flops down with what I can only imagine is helplessness, the same feeling constantly plaguing me.
The clock in the kitchen reads 1:30 a.m., and as I watch the second hand circling the clock face, I listen to the call I took earlier playing through the laptop Dyson was tapping away on not long before Detective West finally showed his face. West has been sitting glued to this piece of equipment as if he’s studying the way it starts since he arrived twenty minutes after the call was taken. Six times so far, West has played the call through, and as soon as it finishes he starts it again. Most times he pauses, rewinds, and then replays it to the end. Not this time. A small segment seems to have caught his attention; I gather this because he fast forwards and then rewinds it only after this snippet plays. Why is he doing this?
“Drink?” Ronald says in passing.
“I’m good.” I shift in my seat until I meet his sad eyes.
“Kylee still hasn’t stopped crying since she came down and went back upstairs before. I don’t know what to tell her.”
“Tell her Morgan will be okay.” I pause, trying to convince myself this is the truth. “We have to believe she will be. We can’t give up on her.”
“She’s a fighter,” Ronald says as he walks away from me. There’s a long pause before I hear running water. “So, this person took the money?” he shouts from the kitchen.
It’s what I’ve told Ronald multiple times, yet he keeps asking.
“Yep. It’s what the psychopath said.” I hear my annoyance.
“He’s been in this house.”
“Yep. It seems so.”
“Shit! Who are we dealing with here?” Ronald's annoyance is now apparent.
“A fucking psychopath who when I find him will get his—”
“Ssssh,” West says.
Turning my attention to his scowling face, I drop my shoulders and mouth, “Sorry.”
“I’m going to take this glass of water up to Kylee, and I’ll come back down once I get her settled.” Ronald’s hand brushes my shoulder in passing.
“Okay,” I whisper, trying not to piss West off any further.
“I need quiet.” West grunts.
“Understood.” Ronald disappears up the stairs.
West plays the call through from the beginning once more. He suddenly jerks his head upright, and the clip stops. “Did you hear that?” West looks to Maloney and then Dyson who sit either side of him.
“What?” Maloney's eyes widen.
West presses at some buttons, and then he replays this segment again. “I even have a collection of your photos and home movies too.” The clip stops.
“There,” West says with satisfaction to his tone. “He’s not British. He’s Australian. The accent is a disguise. Listen.” He replays it again and stops after the word photos. “He did well with the accent, but to me, it’s an Australian pronunciation of this line, with an emphasis on photos … now listen to the word movies.” He plays the next part. “See.”
“Holy shit.” Maloney's chin drops.
“It’s not a device he’s using this time; it’s him.”
“I didn’t hear it until you just pointed it out,” Dyson confirms.
“We need to forward this to our vocal technicians in Brisbane to run through it, but I’m sure this is an attempt at disguising himself.” West is more than confident. His chest is puffed out, his posture sturdy and towering.
“Excellent, Astin.” Dyson smiles.
“Leroy used to do acting before he joined the force. I know he’s supposed to be heading off for holidays today, but from memory, I believe he said he’s not leaving until later this afternoon … if you wanted to get him to come listen.” Maloney pauses. “We both know the techies in Brisbane are snowed under as always. They won’t get to this job straight away.” Maloney shifts from foot to foot. “He could help us in the meantime. You know, be sure.”
“Leroy?” West hitches one eyebrow, causing the lines around his eyes to crinkle.
“Yeah. Constable Stratt.”
“Good call. Max, get him on the phone, and get him here,” West says.
“Okay,” Maloney stands from the table. He takes long strides towards Morgan’s sitting room before he turns down the hallway and is no longer in my sight.
“Why does this even matter?” I say, confused.
“Pardon?” West’s grey eyes connect with mine.
“I kept him on the line. You know where he is now. The trace.” My shoulders sit by my ears. I’m so tense.
“We don’t have a trace yet. Reid, this is a rural town; we don’t have this type of technology here. Brisbane needs to set the trace, and we’re waiting for it to be put in place. All the red tape to be cut. It can take up to seventy-two hours. However, we can now record the evidence of these calls should we need them in court.”
I slam my fist hard into the table. “We don’t have seventy-two hours. You heard the freak; you heard what he has, what he said. He's insane. Morgan will be dead by then.”
“Reid, the techies have the recording device linked to your phone; we’re getting there. These processes take more time when you live in smaller towns like this.”
“This is bullshit.” The chair I was sitting in crashes to the floor after I launch myself from it. “No! Now! You need to get it done now.”
West stares blankly at me. There’s no emotion in his eyes. “You have to trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone. Someone has been in my house, in my office, and that someone kidnapped my wife. He’s playing fucking games with us. He’s right, you know. Coppers are nothing but puppets on strings.”
Morgan
It takes three attempts to find my feet, but with the aid of a wall, I manage to stand. Swinging my head gingerly from side to side, I scan the room for any way out. I can’t see one. Left, right, up, and down—I continue to search for clues, for anything to help me find freedom. There has to be a way out of here. If he can get in, I can get out.