By Richard SHEARS
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Extra resources for Bloodstain. The Vanishing of Peter Falconio
Okay Joanne,’ he heard one of the officers say to her. ‘Do it. ’ With her eyes still shut, she ran her hands over Malouf’s hair and down over his face, feeling his shoulders and his clothes. Malouf was terrified. What the hell was going on? Then the police took her to his van. She was asked to run her hands over the front seats and around the interior of the cab. His whole world was in there. Shit. After feeling around the back of the vehicle, where he had tools, a bed roll, sleeping bag, a dog leash, old newspapers and a collection of bits and pieces that an odds-and-ends man like him thought might be useful for something sometime, she was led back inside.
A physical mess, too, with all that tape around her neck and hands. Maybe she’d been raped. These things happened out here in the middle of nowhere. The truckies helped her into the cab and Adams used a knife to cut away the tape. Then he used a pair of wire cutters to snip through what he saw were plastic zip ties binding her wrists. The ties had been shaped into a crude pair of handcuffs and tied so tight that they were biting into her flesh. As soon as she was free, the woman dropped her head onto Adams’ shoulder, trembling.
He knew that Dudley, Old Joe and the others, scouring the ground on the highway, would be working just like him, dissecting every small detail and checking boot marks so they could eliminate evidence left by the police. They would all be listening, too, for a tell-tale hum—the flies that always swarmed around a carcass within hours of death. He looked up. If there was a body anywhere around here birds of prey would be circling too. But there were no eagles or crows. It seemed to Ronald that the missing man wasn’t anywhere around this area.