Free Fetish by Tara Moss Page B

She tipped the driver and dragged herself out of the taxi, still brooding over Tony’s flippant comment. She was too tired to think straight. Whether it was jet lag or the hour, she was running out of battery strength like an old toy winding down.
    She noted the ugly odour of stale smoke hanging in her hair as she opened the door from the street and stepped inside. Wearily, she stomped up the steps, intent on the thought of her warm bed.
    Wait—I didn’t leave the lights on.
    Makedde backed up, nearly tripping over her feet, then froze flush against the wall. Someone was in her flat. She could hear movement. Silently, she covered her mouth, as if it would somehow silence her breath. She listened.
    Someone was in there.
    Killer.
    Who? It didn’t take long to decide that she didn’t want to meet her intruder alone and she tip-toed back down the creaking stairs as quietly as she could manage. What if the intruder heard her? What would he do to her? Did he expect that she’d be out this time of the night, or did he want her to be at home, sleeping?
    She started to run.
    Makedde burst out onto the street and ran full tilt towards the public phone booth. When she reached it she decided it was too close, and she kept on running.
    At the far north end of Bondi Beach, Mak nervously dialled Detective Flynn’s mobile number. She didn’t feel like explaining her life story to some triple “0” operator, or perhaps she enjoyed having an excuse to wake Flynn up in the wee hours. Either way, after two rings his phone was answered. For a moment there was no voice, then a coarse, sleep-fuggy sound filtered through the line.
    “Flynn.”
    “Detective Flynn, I’m sorry to wake you,” or not , “ I have an emergency. Uh, the detectives didn’t come back to search some more, did they?”
    “What? No.” He paused. “This is Makedde, right?”
    “Yes. I didn’t think they’d come back at such a weird hour,” she said stupidly. “Someone has broken into my flat. They’re in there right now.”
    He suddenly sounded more awake. “Where are you? Are you OK?”
    “Yes. I didn’t go inside. The lights were on when I came home a few minutes ago. I ran to a phone in the street.”
    “You did the right thing. Tell me where you are and I’ll have someone there in a few minutes.”
    Mak explained her location and hung up. She slid down the booth wall and sat on the cold, concrete floor. Her dark stockings had a long gash up the thigh. Smoky grit seemed wedged under her fingernails and embedded in her skin.
    Within minutes a police cruiser pulled up. The driver was a sharp looking female cop with short blonde hair and thin lips. Her partner was a beefy young officer with a face like a meat lover’s pizza. He looked like he would be quite tall and foreboding when he stood up, which made Mak feel safe under the circumstances. She climbed into the back and the officers asked her what happened. Briefly, she explained the situation and mentioned her involvement in the Gerber murder case.
    Makedde scanned the road. The streets were deserted, as one would expect after 2 a.m. on a Monday night in the middle of winter. She nestled deep into the back seat as they drove towards her building, and when they got close she saw that the lights were still on.
    “Which flat is yours?” the male officer asked.
    “The only one with the lights on. Number six.”
    “Could we have your keys, Miss?”
    Makedde handed them over, and the officers locked the car and walked across the street while Mak sunk herself as deeply as she could into the seat. She rested her nose against the window and stared out, watching the two uniformed cops enter her building. The lit window revealed no figures, and she could hear no sounds of struggle. Eventually, the street door opened and the female officer stepped out. She came up to the car while Makedde got out.
    “There’s no one in the flat, Miss. It may have been rifled through, though. It’s hard to