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“What are you doing, Katia?” Johnny said, taking a step toward her.
The woman was wreathed in sweat, her eyes black and wild, hair stuck to her exquisite face.
“This isn’t you, Katia.”
“Get back I said. NOW!”
“Katia.” Johnny stopped and crouched down a few feet in front of her. Across the room a woman began to sob.
“This is a young kid,” he said, flicked his eyes toward the terrified girl. “Just like your sister … Just like Anais.”
“You don’t know anything about Anais,” she spat.
Johnny had his hands up. “I know she suffered. You said so yourself.”
Katia screamed suddenly. “Shut up! I don’t want to hear it.” She went to move her hand to cut the girl’s face to shreds. Johnny dived forward, grabbed the Russian woman’s hand with his left and smashed his right fist into her gut.
She lost grip on the bottle, the girl slumped to one side and Katia groaned but kept on her feet, stumbling backwards. Jo
hnny rushed forward, smacked her across the face, hard. She flew across the room like a swatted insect, slammed into a cabinet of glass shelves bringing the whole lot down on top of her, shards cascading all around her still body.
Chapter 132
THE COPS WERE called and Micky Stevens’ twenty-seventh birthday party came to an inglorious close. Katia was taken into custody. Micky went with Graham Parker in the ambulance to St Vincent’s Hospital.
It wasn’t until 3.30 that Darlene pulled away in her Beetle to take Johnny to the station in the CBD. He had five minutes to catch the first morning train home.
“Fantastic work tonight, Johnny,” Darlene said as they walked toward the ticket machine. “We make a great team,” and she pecked him on the cheek.
He blushed.
“You’re doing it again, dude!” Darlene laughed.
He turned and went for the stairs down to the platform, raising his hand as a wave goodbye, his back to her, a big smile on his face.
Darlene strode to her VW parked just outside the station and sat behind the wheel staring silently at the tall, shadowy towers, the leafy, deserted avenue ahead running toward the bridge. She hadn’t felt so alive for a long time. Sleep was absolutely out of the question.
Chapter 133
EVERYTHING IN THE lab was as Darlene had left it over four hours earlier. On the central counter lay the collection of singed papers and piles of crispy, black remnants from Julie O’Connor’s scrapbook. A few feet above it hung the microscope.
She slipped on her lab coat, took her glasses from the right pocket and stared into the eyepiece, pulling over the last page she’d viewed earlier, the words “WHORE NUMBER FIVE”. The name wiped by fire, the entire page brown.
“Superficial burn though,” Darlene noted to herself, “which makes it all the more frustrating. If only …” Her mind was racing. She could try solvents. “No … too dangerous,” she said to herself. “Might destroy the thing entirely. Ultraviolet?” she whispered. “What about ultraviolet?”
She pulled up a chair and sat down, hand to chin. Sighed heavily. “No … wouldn’t work … wrong sort of disruption of the paper fibers.”
All these processes involved “peeling away” the upper layer of flame damage, she thought. If she could do that she could see what was underneath. But no, there was no way …
She froze. “Yes!” Pushing back the chair, she got to her feet, suddenly feeling a little giddy. “Easy girl …! But you are a genius, Darlene Cooper.” She smiled as she strode across the room to the store cupboard. “You are a bloody genius!”
Chapter 134
IT WAS CALLED a “Saser” and two months earlier, when Darlene was giving Craig a wish-list of equipment for the lab, she’d almost crossed it off. She was thanking all that was holy she had kept the Saser on the list. Even with a price tag of ten grand, tonight it could prove to be worth every cent.
For that money, the machine didn’t look much. It wasn’t even very large, just a couple of shiny buttons on the front. It looked just like a small photocopier.
Appearances were deceptive. The Saser was an amazing invention, and there were maybe only half a dozen in the world.
