Dollhouse

By M.T. Ellis

The fifteen-year-old daughter of Detective Rose has been accused of murdering her best friend. Rose doesn't know if her daughter is telling the truth when she says she didn't do it.

Meanwhile, Brisbane's elite are being abducted and murdered. Detective Rose suspects a hoarder named Lillian is the culprit, only to find Lillian isn't all that she seems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.T. Ellis
• Release date: Oct 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9780648043829

M.T. Ellis

M.T. Ellis is a Brisbane-based author. She got kicked out of high school in year 11 for non-attendance. She then went on to attempt a Business Management degree at University but dropped out half-way through. Despite these failures, she managed to get a job and is currently driving boats for a living. Her dogs, Opal, Zeus and Matilda, occupy a lot of her time. She would write books about their adventures if she thought people were even half as interested in them as she is. Dollhouse, the second novel in her Detective Allira Rose series will be out on October 1, 2018.

Book preview

Detective Allira Rose sat in the back row of the courtroom, watching her daughter, Harper, who sat with her back to the public gallery. Her red hair lay in loose, natural curls down her back. When she turned to whisper something to her solicitor, Rose could see that she looked much older than her fifteen years. Harper’s curls shone brightly under the harsh fluorescent lights as her head moved. Rose couldn’t get past the hair. It looked too healthy — much too healthy for the stress she should be under.

Her face is a little gaunt, Rose thought. She must be suffering. She immediately felt guilty for thinking like this. For trying to figure out just by looking at her if her daughter was capable of murder, judging whether her body condition and movements were the gestures of a guilty person. Was her body healthy because she had committed the crime but had no remorse? Or did Harper have no physical signs of stress or regret because she was innocent and believed that the magistrate would believe her and set her free?

Facts, Rose told herself. Listen to the facts.

All rise.

Rose saw the depositions clerk standing at the door, and everyone stood up. She felt dizzy as she got to her feet and steadied herself by holding the back of the chair in front of her. She watched Harper standing there, as still as ice. Her daughter was staring at the coat of arms on the wall ahead of her while the clerk opened the door and the magistrate walked in. His beady eyes looked out at the room over his half-moon reading glasses as he sat down. You may all take a seat.

Reporters flicked open their notepads, and sticky-beaked onlookers muttered to each other as everyone in the room sat down. Rose was furious at the shamelessness of these people. They were only here so they’d have something to gossip about to their friends. We are here for the committal hearing of Crown v Harper Quinn. His voice boomed throughout the hollow room. We will start with the prosecution’s address. Go ahead, Mr O’Ryan.

A pretentious-looking man in police dress uniform with white hair and tiny red capillaries on his cheeks got to his feet. Glen O’Ryan removed his cap from atop the neat pile of documents he had in front of him and placed it carefully near the edge of the table. He turned over pieces of paper until he found the correct one, then moved the documents to the lectern on the table next to him. The magistrate stifled a yawn, already bored with the prosecutor’s power game.

Good morning, Your Honour. I put it to the court that Harper Christina Quinn purposely strangled her friend, Gwyneth Marjorie Hilton, to death on the evening of March 27, 2018. He took a deep breath. Ms Hilton was found to have died from strangulation. We have evidence to show that Harper was at the scene of the crime. We have witnesses who saw them together at the park approximately one hour before the murder. We have the time of death versus her call to triple zero.

Rose found that she was holding her breath. She looked over to her husband, Ethan. He was sitting forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, with his sweaty hands fidgeting below his chin.

Harper’s defence lawyer was a young and confident man. He stood six foot and was in his thirties. He stood up and thanked the prosecution for their case. Your Honour, the court will see, through the evidence we put forward, that Harper was just present during an unfortunate accident and did not carry out a murder. Since there is no evidence that Harper murdered her dear friend Gwyneth, my client and I would like you to throw out this case.

Oh, I think you are going to have to be a little more compelling than that if you want me to throw out this case, Mr Harrod. Magistrate Albert Lang stretched back in his chair, looking bored.

Harrod smiled and took a deep breath. Your Honour, I put it to the court that Ms Hilton was accidentally killed after twisting herself in the swing she was playing on. Her T-shirt simply got tangled in the chain and accidentally choked her. Harper tried to assist — she even called an ambulance — but unfortunately it was too late. Mitchell Harrod looked solemn. He ran his hands through his brown short back and sides as he looked around the room. He asked no one in particular, Would a murderer call an ambulance for her victim?

If they wanted to make it look like an accident, O’Ryan called from his seat.

Wait your turn, Mr O’Ryan.

Thank you, Your Honour. Harrod gave a smug look to O’Ryan and continued on. There is no case for murder here. He took his seat.

Harper Christina Quinn. The magistrate spoke in a deep voice as Harper stood up. I find that there is sufficient evidence to commit you to stand trial, so I am formally charging you with murder. How do you plead?

Reporters wrote furiously in their notepads at this development. Harrod whispered in Harper’s ear. She said in a quiet monotone, Not guilty.

Magistrate Lang nodded and said, Mr O’Ryan, will you be opposing bail?

Yes, Your Honour. He stood up confidently. I’m going to go ahead and throw out the usual reasons for opposing bail — this is a serious crime, and Ms Quinn is facing life in prison, which makes her a flight risk; there is a family history of mental health conditions; her parents work a lot, so there is not enough supervision. He took an exaggerated breath. Plus, her mother is a police officer, and who knows how much help she’d be willing to give her child to escape the consequences of this cri—

I’m going to stop you right there, Mr O’Ryan, the magistrate said, the vein on his forehead bulging. I will not allow you to insinuate that a police officer would break the law, without proof, in my court.

Apologies, Your Honour.

Rose could see that he wasn’t sorry and was clearly trying to be dramatic. She swallowed the rage-filled bile that was rising to her throat.

I’m putting forward those reasons for opposing bail, but, more importantly, what I haven’t put to the court yet is that Harper has the blood of a murderer running through her veins.

Rose stiffened. She knew where this was going.

The magistrate rolled his eyes. Does she now?

She certainly does. O’Ryan was pacing now, getting right into character. Let me tell you a story of a serial killer called Azrael.

Objection! Harper’s lawyer shot up from his chair. Your Honour, he pleaded.

Let him speak, Magistrate Lang said. He turned to the prosecutor. Be careful where you go with this, Mr O’Ryan.

Yes, Your Honour. I only want to tell the court a little background information that is freely available on the Internet that will help you make your decision about bail.

Well, hurry up, he said, obviously annoyed by the drama.

Sixteen years ago, a man named Lester Jones started calling himself Azrael, the Angel of Death. He then went around abducting and murdering women. When he was captured by police, the investigating officer tried to interview him, and he bit her ear off.

Rose subconsciously touched her ear and felt the lump of scar tissue where the lobe used to be.

You can see the final product of that assault if you look to the back of the courtroom at Detective Allira Rose’s right ear. Rose pulled her hair over her ear, regretting that she had it cut into a bob instead of the long curls she used to have. She’s sitting next to Harper’s father, Ethan. Rose felt heat radiating from her husband. Ethan went rigid in his chair.

Objection. Irrelevant.

Sustained. The courtroom was abuzz with commotion. People gasped and looked over in horror. Rose was surprised at everyone’s reaction, considering the media had been camped outside her house since Gwyneth died. She’d had to take a week off work while her superior officers discussed whether it was appropriate for her to be on active duty, considering her adopted daughter was on trial for murder. When she returned to work and was called into a meeting, Rose blew up at them. Of course it’s fucking appropriate for me to be here. We have murders to investigate, and you dickheads don’t have enough detectives. She took a deep breath. I’m going to go back to my desk now, and I will continue to do my job. And that was that. They knew she was right. They needed her because they were always short-staffed and under-budgeted.

Her superintendent had returned later that day and given her a formal letter stating she was not to look up anything about her daughter’s case. He informed Rose that they would be bringing in detectives from another jurisdiction to work Harper’s case to ensure there was no conflict of interest. Rose had scrunched up the letter and thrown it in her desk drawer. She knew that it was the right thing to do, but it hurt because she wanted to work out the truth about her daughter herself. Instead, here she was listening to the case as it unfolded in the courtroom for the first time, like everyone else. Her stomach was in knots. She felt deeply for Gwyneth’s family and felt regret weighing her down like a stone. She should at least know her child well enough to be able to say for sure that she didn’t kill her friend.

Apologies, Your Honour. I’ll get to the point, O’Ryan said, his smug grin still etched into his face. This ‘Azrael’ character went on to abduct a woman by the name of Grace Wallace — Ethan Quinn’s girlfriend at the time. He kept her in captivity for eight months and raped her repeatedly, resulting in a pregnancy. That pregnancy was Harper Quinn.

Rose looked at Harper. She didn’t flinch. She had barely moved this whole time. Rose hoped that the magistrate could see a tear or a downward glance from her daughter, but she knew the expression that was on Harper’s face without seeing it. It was one of contempt.

That monster is actually Harper’s biological father and the reason why Harper is most definitely a psychopath and a killer.

Your Honour, this is outrageous, Harper’s lawyer called out as he threw himself out of his chair. His face had turned mottled red.

The people in the courtroom started to mutter as they turned to look at Rose.

Ethan whispered loudly in her ear, That’s bullshit. He can’t say that. She could feel his hot breath in her ear. What if he says that in front of a jury?

She turned and gave him an angry look. Shh, let her defence lawyer have his say. He’ll sort it out.

That’s incorrect. Harrod spoke slowly as he tried to regain his composure. Psychopathy is not always genetic.

Well, that may be so, O’Ryan said. But I can definitely name some cases that do have related offenders. Take Ivan Milat, for example. We all know he was the one who killed all of those backpackers in the Belanglo State Forest. Guess where his nephew, Matthew, took his victim? You’d be correct if you said the Belanglo State Forest. That kid, at nineteen, hacked his victim to death. He was only a few years older than the defendant in this case.

The people in the public gallery started talking excitedly among themselves, no longer bothering to keep quiet.

Smug prick, Rose said under her breath.

Order. The magistrate smashed his gavel on the bench in front of him.

I don’t need to go on, O’Ryan said. He looked around the room at the commotion. I’ve obviously made my point.

Harrod shook his head, unable to believe that the prosecution would stoop so low as to compare a teenage girl to monsters like the Milats.

Nothing further, Your Honour, the prosecutor said as he sat down and neatened his pile of paperwork.

Harrod stood up and moved to the lectern. I obviously find the prosecution’s reasons for opposing bail abhorrent. Her adoptive parents are both here to support her — as they have been from the day she was born. Yes, her biological mother was kidnapped by Lester Jones, otherwise known as Azrael. Yes, her mother was held hostage and raped resulting in a pregnancy. However, this does not make Harper a killer. While one parent is a convicted murderer, the other is a victim. Her biological mother, Grace, was a woman who was perfectly capable of empathy and love. The love surrounding Harper continued even after her mother died in childbirth. Grace’s fiancé, Ethan, happily took on the duties of raising Harper. Ethan later fell in love with the detective who worked on the case, and together they raised Harper in a healthy and stable home.

Rose felt sick. She was sure Ethan didn’t love her anymore. He hadn’t been able to look her in the eye since Harper’s arrest. She could tell that he had started to resent her because she hadn’t been able to tell him that she truly believed Harper was innocent.

The prosecutor is correct in saying that her adopted mother is a police officer. A good detective and, in my opinion, perfectly capable of holding her daughter to any bail conditions the court deems appropriate. Ms Quinn’s parents are willing to put up their family home as bond, which shows their confidence in her innocence and her ability to adhere to all bail conditions.

Thank you, Mr Harrod, Magistrate Lang said quietly as he looked around the room. Please stand, Ms Quinn.

Rose watched Harper get to her feet. There was no stumble, no slowness. She stood quickly and confidently and looked at the magistrate.

Harper Christina Quinn, due to the serious nature of the charges against you, I have no other option but to remand you in custody until your case can be heard in the Supreme Court.

Rose heard Ethan gasp. She was also sure she just saw him wipe away a tear.

Now, with all of this talk about mental health and psychopathic tendencies, the magistrate looked over his glasses at the prosecutor, I’m going to order a mental health assessment be carried out on Ms Quinn prior to the commencement of the trial.

Harper didn’t move. Rose felt the blood drain from her face. Her hands and feet started to tingle as it dawned on her that Harper wouldn’t be coming home tonight. She fell into Ethan. They stood there in each other’s arms — the most affection the couple had shown one another in weeks — as they watched Harper shackled and marched out of the courtroom. She didn’t look back.

*

Rose and Ethan followed the defence lawyer out of the courthouse door and into the sea of reporters. They stood still and waited for the commotion to die down, then Harrod started talking. I am disappointed in Magistrate Lang’s decision to deny my client bail. Ms Quinn looks forward to presenting the facts in the Supreme Court and proving her innocence.

Excuse me. Reporters pushed each other out of the way to get their chance to ask a question.

Detective Rose, how does it feel to have your daughter accused of murder when it’s your job to catch murderers?

Before she could respond, another louder journalist asked, Shouldn’t you have known that your daughter was capable of murder, Detective Rose?

Allegedly capable of murder, Harrod snapped. Innocent until proven guilty. You, of all people, should know that, Mr McMullen. Harper’s parents will not be answering any questions today. Thank you for your time. He turned away from the cameras and microphones.

Don’t worry about him, the lawyer mumbled as he ushered Ethan and Rose away from the pack. He’s always around here trolling people as they come out of court.

*

You could have said something back there, Ethan barked at Rose after the lawyer had walked away. You should have told them she was innocent and her family supports her.

Why do I always have to do everything? Rose stared into his watery blue eyes. She could feel rage burning her skin, as if the dark colour of it was absorbing all the sunlight and was about to boil her blood. I’m the one always taking her to this appointment and that appointment, school counsellors, psychologists, psychiatrists. Shouldn’t you be answering the reporters’ questions, Ethan? She is, after all, your daughter too. Why aren’t they questioning whether you have done enough as her father to prevent this or whether you know what your daughter is capable of? Rose muttered, trying to keep out of earshot of the reporters. It was a low blow, and she knew it. She turned to apologise, but Ethan had already walked off through the crowd.

Her phone started ringing. She answered it as she walked to the underground carpark.

You better get down here. We’ve found a body, she heard Todd say.

Chapter Two

Lillian awoke from her nap with her head pounding. It was past four in the afternoon, and her mouth was dry. She looked around for something to drink but didn’t trust any of the bottles that were lying around the place, after finding one too many used cigarette butts. She remembered where she was when the stench of rotting garbage stuck in the back of her throat and made her gag. The smell didn’t usually get to her, but after the amount of bourbon she drank last night, the smell of bacon and eggs would probably make her vomit. The fumes of decayed rubbish usually only affected her when she first arrived home, and even then it wasn’t too bad most of the time. She figured her senses had started to shield her from what her life had become.

On the outside she was a functional member of society, probably even considered a high achiever, but behind closed doors she was a shambles. Lillian slept on an old mattress with sheets that were stiff with sweat. She bought them in black, thinking that she wouldn’t be able to see the dirt she knew would become embedded between the fibres. Instead, there was a human-sized ring of white salt and powdered skin cells. She tried not to think about it as she climbed over the pile of dirty clothes and takeaway containers to get to the bathroom.

She moved a hairbrush that was covered in strands of dirty blonde hair to a pile of old makeup pots and dirty cotton balls on the side of the sink. She filled her hands with cool water and rubbed her face. Her head had started to clear. She gulped water from her hands and looked around for something to wear. Pink