CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Justice
Back in the familiar comfort of her study in Surry Hills, Persephone started to pull together the final parts of her deadly plan. She was careful not to write anything on her computer and as she surveyed the bits of butcher’s paper that were papering her walls, she started to feel a bit more confident that she could successfully pull this off.
Once she was certain she had all the details committed to memory, she strode over to the wall covered with her scrawled action lists, tore them all down, threw them in the bath and went to find something to set them on fire. This was harder than it sounded as she was not a smoker and wasn’t really into scented candles, and her small gas barbecue had an electric starter. In a fit of pique – couldn’t anything just be straightforward - she grabbed her keys and wallet and stormed out of the apartment to go and buy some matches at the corner store. On her way there she passed by the café where Vinh was busy waving a cloth at some tables in a half-hearted attempt to clean up the spilt coffee and croissant crumbs left by his careless customers.
“Hey Poppy,” he called out, “you look like you need a cuppa. Mai, get Poppy a pot of that Chinese herbal crap you reckon is soothing!”
Persephone was about to refuse when she realised that a soothing cup of tea was probably just what she needed right now.
“Thanks Vinh - that would be great.”
She plonked herself down at one of the tables, where it appeared that Vinh’s washcloth had actually made contact with the surface, and took a deep breath. As she sipped at the hot beverage she calmed down and started to get some perspective on the situation.
Craig was a murderer. She couldn’t prove it, and in any case, by the time the Police got off their fat arses and pursued this case, Craig would spot it and be long gone, along with his millions. If she didn’t stop him then he would certainly kill again – he had proved that he was going to tidy up all his loose ends with Aaron’s killing in Melbourne. She was well equipped not only to carry out the deed, but to get away with it afterwards as she had spent a long time carefully covering all traces of her activity in securing the instruments of Craig’s imminent demise. All that was needed was for Persephone to take the first step.
Calmly and deliberately she finished her tea, put a $10 note on the table and strolled back to her apartment. Arriving back, she realised that she had forgotten the matches, so she returned to the café where a very pleased Vinh was quite happy to give her a book from a large bowl he had on the counter. She then returned home and burned all her notes and documents from Japan in the laundry sink.
Settling back in her ergonomic chair in her office, she called Isaac. “We need to talk. How about I come round to yours?”
“Sure babe”, was the eager response, “I will put the chardonnay on ice.”
“Don’t do that Isaac, this is strictly a working session. I’ll talk about it when I get there.”
Persephone pulled a brush through her curls, applied a spot of mascara and some red lipstick for courage, and headed out the door. On the slow drive over to the city, surrounded by sweaty cursing tradies in their utes, young mums talking on the phone to their friends completely oblivious while their kids escaped from the child safety restraints, mad taxi drivers aggressively cutting their way through the gridlocked traffic to their next fare, she contemplated her next steps. Oh well, at least it would be a temporary escape from the interminable traffic jam that was a standing feature of Sydney life.
“Die, stupid bitch!” she yelled from the comfort of her air-conditioned car, “No you can’t text and cut me off at the same time!” as she hit her horn.
A startled 30-something blonde driving a black convertible Mercedes slammed on her brakes millimetres from Persephone’s front wing. Pulling into the visitor spot at Isaac’s apartment car park, she decided that maybe chardonnay might not be such a bad idea. At the very least it would help reduce the stress for her drive back home.
Upstairs, leaning back in her chair admiring the harbour view from Isaac’s study, clutching a large ice-cold glass of white wine (Isaac had totally ignored Persephone’s instructions as he was well aware that she was going to change her mind), she took a deep breath.
“I need a live feed on the location of Craig’s surfboards. Can you put some sort of app on my phone?”
As Isaac fiddled with her phone she finished her wine and went to pour herself another glass. “Do you want my password, Isaac?” she yelled out from the kitchen. Isaac rolled his eyes.
“Are you for real, Persephone? Who do you think you are dealing with?”
Mildly embarrassed at her idiotic question, she wandered back into the study where Isaac was just finishing tidying up her home screen and installing some more software so that he could track her without her knowing.
Showing her the phone screen with a map and a blue dot currently in The Gold Coast area, Isaac ran through how to use the app. It was a pretty quick lesson – look at where the blue dot is on the map and go there. Persephone promised to delete the app from her phone once she didn’t need it any more. Stopping off on the way to pick up her surfboard from the garage at home, she began the long drive towards Southern Queensland.
Driving north long the Pacific Highway was a great break for Persephone from the inner city. For hundreds of kilometres, the great stretches of eucalypt forest occasionally gave way to glimpses of the bluest ocean. Diligently following the frequent signs erected by the Nanny State, she made sure to take a bit of a break every 2 hours and used the time to walk around a bit rehearsing her plan for killing Craig. After 6 hours or so, Persephone decided that she would stop for the night. She pulled into a deluxe motel near the Sikh temple in Woolgoolga, and paid for her room in cash.
The room at the motel was really special. When Persephone checked in, a suspicious receptionist told her that there were no rooms with double beds available, and in any case, this was strictly a decent place and no after hours entertaining was to be conducted in the room. Persephone would find the single bed quite adequate for her needs. Persephone couldn’t remember the last time she had to sleep in a single bed, but was so tired after her long drive she acquiesced and dragged herself off to the end of the low cinder block building. The room was quite long from front to back and very narrow across. The single bed proved to be made up of at least three mattresses that over the years had collapsed and had been supplemented rather than replaced by the next one. Persephone discovered this as she tried to sit on the edge of the bed and immediately disappeared into its lumpy depths, her knees ending up at her shoulders as she jack-knifed to the bottom set of springs.
The bed itself was up against the wall, which had a brown padded headboard that on closer inspection, appeared to at one stage have been cream, but was now the colour of the weary heads of the travellers who had stayed in this palace. Across the room, and about a metre from the end of the bed, a small television was screwed onto the wall. A menu on the bedside table detailed a range of meals that could be ordered for serving in the room. This appeared not to be so much about the motel being classy enough to have room service but more to do with the blackened shell of a dining room that she had noticed next to reception when she checked in. As Persephone was far too tired to go out for dinner, she phoned reception.
“What?” was the friendly answer after an interminably large number of rings.
“Could I please have some dinner sent to my room?” Persephone nervously requested.
“Only thing still on is soup.” Followed by an expectant silence
“That will be lovely. What sort of soup do you have?”
“Dunno.” The phone was abruptly cut off.
After about 20 minutes, there was a knock on the door. Persephone answered it to find the surly receptionist carrying a tray with a very large bowl of steaming hot soup and a spoon. Persephone considered for a second asking for a bread roll, but quickly thought the better of it. She thanked her and took the bow
l inside. As there were no table or chairs in the room, she decided to get undressed and have dinner in bed watching TV. She took all her clothes off and gingerly climbed into the bed, reached down and picked up the tray with the still hot soup, placed it in her lap and, being too tired and hungry to care, lent back against the grimy headboard.
This was when she discovered that the bed was on well-oiled castors. The bed shot across the room stopping suddenly as it hit the far wall under the television a metre away. With the support of the headrest removed, Persephone fell backwards, her head hitting the floor. By some miracle, the bowl of hot soup was still in her lap, steaming gently away. She laid there for a few seconds, contemplating her options. Really, this was ridiculous. She couldn’t move without spilling the soup and she really didn’t want scalding liquid all over her bare legs. It was very uncomfortable lying with her head on the floor and her body on the bed. The TV was blaring away with some inane quiz show, so she resigned herself to waiting until the soup cooled down. The quiz show helped pass the time, and she distracted herself alternating between shouting the answers at the screen that was just out of sight and muttering about how stupid quiz show participants seem to be. I mean, who on earth thinks that a person who speaks concisely using very few words is ascerbic? They even had laconic as an option! Haven’t these people finished high school?
As the final poorly educated contestant failed to pick the element with the lowest atomic number and was sent away with a paltry $1,000, Persephone realised that the soup was now cold enough to risk moving. She was grateful for the hours that she had spent building up her core muscles at Pilates classes and slowly returned to a vertical sitting position, spilling soup into the tray, but avoiding the garish yellow bedclothes. The smell of Heinz tinned tomato soup was already filling the room with its slightly acrid smell, ruining her appetite. Still at least she wasn’t going to have to smell it all night on the sheets. She got up, put the tray outside her door, climbed back into the bed and immediately fell asleep.
The morning dawned with a beautiful clear blue sky and a strong easterly breeze. Perfect weather, as she looked up the surf forecast for the Gold Coast and Northern NSW, so hopefully Craig would hit the beach today. Persephone checked her phone, and Craig’s surfboard was still at his home, so she reckoned she had plenty of time for breakfast and a leisurely drive up the coast, planning on getting to Surfers Paradise (or wherever Craig picked) by lunchtime. Tripping over her tray from the previous night, Persephone made her escape from the motel, having paid in cash the night before and got on the road. She found a local retro pop radio station and passed the next few hours belting out 70s and 80s hits through her open window to the other motorists and occasional wildlife as she drove past.
After a few hours, she could no longer ignore the growling noises coming from her stomach so she pulled over at the next town, found a café and ordered a burger with the lot. She checked the app on her phone. Sure enough, Craig was on the move south – it was looking like he was heading in her direction so she decided to wait a while in the aptly named Sleepy Hollow while she watched to see his final destination. After an hour, he stopped in a place called Cabarita Beach. This was only just up the road, so she set off to check it out as a suitable place to do the deed.
Persephone drove north for about half an hour and found herself a car park at the unimaginatively named The Beach Resort, which was on the beachfront at Cabarita. It looked like a spectacular spot with a great break running off the point to the southern end. According to her phone, Craig’s surfboard was also in the same car park, so she put on a large hat and sunglasses and tried to spot his car. After a couple of minutes, she actually spotted Craig unloading his surfboard from the back of a very new and shiny blue ute. Careful not to get too close, she mentally noted the registration number and decided to take a closer look at the beach. She walked past the resort buildings and took the path through the trees to the surf beach.
There, laid out on the stunning white sand, were at least a thousand people. The surf was full of swimmers, kids on body boards, windsurfers and board surfers. She was frustrated and disappointed. Persephone liked an audience at times, but this was clearly not the place to be trying to kill Craig and go unnoticed. She returned to her car. Then suddenly she froze. She could scarcely believe her luck. There he was! Fortunately she was unrecognisable in a big hat, baggy top and wraparound sunglasses. He passed her without even noticing.
She decided to wait for another day when he went to surf at a more remote beach.
The Cabarita Beach Resort looked like a nice place to stay the night, and they were not at all put off when she offered to pay cash for her room. Retiring to the Beach Bar, Persephone tried out their selection of cocktails, finally settling on her favourite T10 martini after downing an adventurous but unrewarding selection of every more sickly sweet fruity concoctions.
After a very pleasant seafood extravaganza for dinner, watching Craig’s return to Queensland on her phone, Persephone retired to her modern bed in the air-conditioned room with cable television and a nicely firm mattress and slept like a baby. The following morning she leapt out of bed and went for an early swim. No point in not making the most of this trip, she rationalised. The water was glorious and the swim went a long way towards improving her mild hangover. Back in her room, towelling off after a quick shower, she checked the phone again. Craig was on the move!
This time, he was heading north, so she decided to follow him. By lunchtime, he had reached Noosa, on of the most popular resorts on the Sunshine Coast. It would be full of holidaymakers from Sydney who would be able to recognise Persephone.
She was relieved that as she passed through Brisbane, heavy rain and high winds swirled around the car. She turned on the radio for the surf report and found that the beach was recommended for only the most experienced surfers. Craig was of course one of those, so she counted on her trip not being a waste of time. She really wanted to get this over with as she still had a score to settle with her English rapist and dealing with Craig was starting to get in the way.
When she arrived in a grey, deserted Noosa, she checked the phone app. Craig was already in the surf at the southern end of the beach. As she reached it, she saw he was the only person on the water at this end. The rest were well to the north on a sand bar, avoiding the rocks in the ever increasing swell from the east. Persephone looked nervously as the crashing, churning waves. The surf was a bit stronger than she like. But she had to give this a go.
She donned her swimsuit and lycra vest, into the pocket of which she put the syringe with the deadly tetrodotoxin, took her surfboard out of her car, took a deep breath to steady her nerves and entered the water. She could see Craig on his own out the back of the shore break, so after a couple of short runs in to get her courage up, she swam out and joined him. She was a bit puffed when she got near to him and he didn’t immediately recognise the soaking wet red-faced woman as the poised confident consultant from his Élan days.
“Hey babe,” was his greeting, “you sure you really want to be out here? This is not really safe for chicks right here.”
Persephone spluttered. Now she was really pissed off with him. What a nerve! Just as a larger wave came through and knocked her off the board. Clambering back on and now red-faced with embarrassment, she decided to go with it.
“You’re probably right – reckon I might have bitten off a bit more than I can chew.”
Craig smiled condescendingly. “Certainly looks like it.” He paused and with a puzzled expression on his face said, “Hey, don’t I know you?”
Persephone, having recovered her breath and now feeling in control of herself if not yet of the situation, answered him.
“I don’t think so, what’s your name?”
“Craig Sellars – I’m sure I know you from somewhere. Who are you?”
Steeling herself for the final act, her body still sore from the rape in Japan,
Persephone paddled closer, speaking in a voice a bit too low to be heard over the surf crashing on the rocks just in front of them. Craig moved closer to her so that he could hear and as he came up beside her, she leaned over and whilst appearing to fall, grabbed his leg. Craig was a bit startled that this strange woman was laying hands on him, but not unhappy, at least until he felt a sharp sting in his thigh.
“My name is Persephone Stone, Craig. Not sure if you remember, but I was the person who made sure that you got your redundancy at Élan so that you could be well out of the way before I made my move.”
Craig was puzzled, and as he looked down to see a small dribble of blood leaking from his leg, he leapt back, furious at her.
“What the fuck have you done, you stupid bitch?”
He was starting to show the signs of the poison – he was rubbing his leg and even in the surf, Persephone could see that he was starting to sweat profusely. She now felt safe that he had absorbed a deadly dose and the symptoms were coming on even more rapidly than she thought would happen. There really was no way he was going to survive this, she realised. Better let him know why.
“My friends and I were very upset that you couldn’t just take your money and run. Killing Brad and then Aaron was an evil thing to do and we don’t like evil people.”
She paused for effect and to gather her breath. She had to shout over the wind and waves. “You should know that what you’re feeling in your fingers and face will soon take over your whole body. I’ve just injected you with puffer fish poison. You may even suffocate before you drown.”
Craig gazed at her in horror. Terrified, he lurched forwards to upset her board and grab her but his arms were already gone.
“And your money? I’ve got the lot, and I’m really going to enjoy spending it. You’ll be a long time dead.”
Persephone smiled. The surf noise was getting louder and they were drifting perilously close to the rocky shelves. She looked around. The other surfers were a long way up the beach, seemingly oblivious to the drama being played out a few hundred metres away. Craig made some gurgling noises, vomited and then fell off his board face down into the ocean. He was still tethered by his leg strap, and the wind and waves were pushing the board onto the rocks, where Craig would be battered and cut, maybe even obscuring the needle mark. The poison would metabolise and in any case, there were plenty of blue ringed octopus around to blame it on.
A large wave was heading towards her, so Persephone decided to finish with a flourish. She caught it and rode it all the way to the deserted beach. Quickly grabbing her board, she walked to her car, packed it away and drove out of town.
She felt remarkably calm. Once she was back in northern NSW, she phoned Isaac. “You can transfer the money now, thanks.”
Isaac said nothing and Persephone hung up. She decided to do the rest of the trip without stopping, except for fuel, and arrived back in Sydney at 3 in the morning. She went immediately to bed and when her radio alarm woke her at 6, there was no mention on the news of a surfing death in Queensland. She was initially surprised, but realised that this probably happened a bit when the surf was up and Craig’s death would not have impacted anyone as he had no living family. The following day she logged onto a Sunshine Coast news site and found a short article naming Craig and a quote from the local surf lifesaving organisation warning of the dangers of surfing on closed beaches in bad weather. That was the last thing she ever saw or heard of Craig from that day on.
The other thing that surprised her was her feelings about killing him. She had spent so much time agonising about whether she could do this, if it was the right thing to do, and what it was going to turn her into, but she didn’t feel any different. Perhaps, she mused to herself, she was actually a true psychopath. Killing Craig had just felt like squashing a bug, she had even felt some satisfaction in not only removing him from the world, but also making sure he knew why before he left it. Perhaps she needed therapy? She laughed to herself – might have a bit of a problem finding a therapist who could help her and still keep their mouth shut. She resigned herself to talking to her glass of chardonnay. Then the next one and the one after.