The Girl Remains (Detective Corban)

by Katherine Firkin

  ‘Almost certainly.’ Leicester didn’t hesitate. ‘And I’m glad to see they’ve brought you lot in so quickly; it’s rare our town gets a visit from the big league.’

  Emmett was sure he detected a note of derision in the former sergeant’s voice. ‘What about your daughter, Scarlett? Does she still live in this area?’

  There was no hiding the man’s feelings this time – Leicester’s face fell, the lines around his mouth deepening. ‘No, and she hasn’t for a while. Truth be told, I haven’t had much contact with her since all that happened.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t just lose another family’s child that day, I also lost my own daughter.’

  ‘Why?’ Lanh’s abrupt manner was entirely inappropriate in the moment.

  Leicester simply shrugged. ‘How do you explain any of it? You’d know yourselves that these types of crimes always claim more than one victim. People change, relationships become strained. We both blamed ourselves for what happened, and my poor little Scarlett didn’t seem to ever properly come to terms with it. I suppose this place reminds her of that day. I guess I do, too.’

  Emmett looked away, his chest tightening. What a truly awful situation.

  ‘Where’s your daughter now?’ Lanh persisted with his blunt line of questioning.

  ‘She lives in Dandenong, about a half-hour from here, near her mother. I haven’t been there though. Not invited.’

  ‘Well we certainly intend on finding the person responsible,’ Emmett said, discreetly raising a hand towards his colleague to signal the end of the unnecessary interrogation.

  ‘I’d like to believe you,’ Leicester gave a shaky smile, ‘but some of the state’s best investigators have already looked over this case, and no one’s come close to solving it. You know, I probably shouldn’t tell you this but I’ve even had a crack at it myself, on more than a couple of occasions. I wasn’t meant to be anywhere near it, of course, given my own daughter was involved, but I got mates to check out the files for me and I conducted my own little investigations on the side. All the evidence points to one person, but he’s accounted for on that night. So what do you do?’

  Emmett frowned, watching the retired officer’s hands wringing in his lap. ‘That one person you’re talking about – that was the local man who was arrested, Warren Turton?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Do you still believe he’s responsible?’

  ‘Almost certainly. He lived nearby, he had a criminal record—’

  ‘And he even confessed to the crime at one point, didn’t he?’ Emmett interrupted.

  ‘Yep. But he retracted it shortly afterwards; claimed he didn’t understand what he was admitting to. And then came that bloody alibi. The case fell apart after that.’ Leicester paused, adjusting in his seat before locking eyes with Emmett. ‘I want you to keep me updated on this case – any new leads, any information, I want to know.’

  ‘Of course.’ Emmett stood up, extending a hand.

  ‘And if there’s anything I can do to help get this bastard, you only need to ask.’ Leicester’s eyes narrowed. ‘I want the prick behind bars. That’s the only way any of us will find our peace.’

  Tipping the plastic basket upside down on the kitchen table, Cindy sifted through the damp clothing. Where the heck was the other sock? She pushed Emmett’s shirts aside and sorted through her own items: singlet, tights, trackpants, jumper, jeans . . . hang on. She grabbed at the denim material and wiggled her fingers tentatively inside the front right pocket. Had she remembered to . . . No. Damn.

  She pulled out the soggy blue-and-white business card, now so crumbled that it was barely legible, and squinted at the details. Tobias Haigh’s name was just a smudge of blue, the Victoria Police logo on the top left corner almost entirely erased. All that remained was the station address and a facsimile number. She shook her head. Who even owned a fax machine these days?

  Stuff it. Abandoning the washing, she grabbed her phone, searching for the details of the Sorrento Police Station before calling the number.

  ‘Hello? Yes, I’m trying to get in touch with Constable Tobias Haigh? Oh, I see. Well if he could phone me when he’s back . . . Okay.’

  After leaving her details, Cindy returned to the damp clothes. She didn’t know why she’d felt compelled to call the young policeman, but it couldn’t hurt to keep in touch. And who knew? If another story broke out his way, he could turn out to be a useful contact. Not that she was confident of getting any more shifts – opportunities had been few and far between since joining the AAP, and her editor hadn’t sounded overly promising when she’d rung that morning asking for more work.

  Cindy untangled the stockings that really shouldn’t have been thrown in with the general wash, then moved to the laundry room where she looked hopelessly into the empty washing machine. How could one of Nicholas’s football socks just vanish? She headed upstairs, then pushed the door to her son’s bedroom open. There was only one explanation.

  Sure enough, a quick search of the messy room revealed the muddy sock tangled in with the Spider-man doona and some dirty underwear, along with a scrunched note from the school alerting parents to a fundraising auction.

  Cindy tugged the offending item free. She was considering stripping the bedding when the shrill ringing of her phone downstairs interrupted her.

  ‘Yes?’ She was unable to hide her breathlessness after dashing back to the kitchen.

  ‘Cindy? It’s Constable Haigh here. I was surprised not to see you at the beach today. But glad you called.’

  ‘Oh?’ She willed her vigorously thumping heart to slow down – she really did need to start getting more exercise. ‘Why were you expecting to see me at the beach again?’

  ‘For the search!’ Tobias sounded excited. ‘I thought it was a bit odd that there was no media there – would have thought all the forensic teams and sniffer dogs would have made great pictures. But what would I know?’

  Cindy froze. ‘I thought that was all over. Didn’t the police decide the remains were animal?’

  ‘Nah, apparently forensics knew last night that the bones were human. So they called us all in early to help coordinate line searches. I hadn’t done anything like that before, it was actually quite exhilarating.’

  ‘I’m so pleased for you.’ She ground her teeth. ‘And what did you end up finding? Anything useful?’

  ‘Yep! They’ve got the whole skeleton now, they reckon. The body had been jammed between rocks, up on a cliff above where you saw the bones yesterday, so it was a good effort to find it. Shame it wasn’t my team that made the discovery, but still . . .’

  ‘It sounds like a successful morning.’ Cindy dropped the muddy sock in with the clean clothes on the table and slumped on a chair. ‘And you said there was no media there?’

  ‘None at all. Bit weird really.’

  ‘Right, well is there anything left now to photograph?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. The bones have been removed, everyone’s gone. I’m not even sure if they kept the police tape up.’

  ‘Damn. Do you know if Police Media will put something out?’

  ‘No idea.’ Tobias yawned loudly before continuing. ‘But I guess they’ll be looking to do a public callout for information, so they might. And there were plenty of photos taken at the site, so there should be lots of material to use. I even took a couple of snaps myself!’

  ‘Really?’ Cindy sat up straighter. ‘You took some photos at the scene?’

  ‘Yep. Just on my phone. I’m no professional like yourself,’ he chuckled, ‘but it was certainly a day to remember. Not too many shifts have been like that one, I can tell you.’

  Cindy hesitated, brushing aside some of the clothing so she could rest an elbow on the table. ‘Tobias . . .’ she started, swallowing a lump in her throat, ‘I don’t suppose you could send me a couple of your own photos? I’d love to see what it all looked like.’

  Her question was met with a long silence. ‘Just to look at?’ the young voice eventu
ally came back. ‘Not to share with anyone?’

  ‘Just to look at,’ She tried her most reassuring tone. ‘I’m only asking because I was out there yesterday, and I’d like to know how it was all resolved.’

  Tobias paused again. ‘Okay,’ he finally said. ‘Just so long as you keep them to yourself. I’ll flick them to you in a moment.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Cindy gushed, aware of a slight nausea rising within. Was she about to betray this lovely policeman? Quite probably.

  After ending the call, she gave up on the thought of any more household chores, instead searching online for coverage of the day’s operation out at Blairgowrie. Tobias was right, there was nothing at all.

  She was just settling in for a coffee and some trashy TV when a glance at the lounge room clock told her she was late to collect Nicholas from school. Again. Bloody hell.

  Racing out the door, Cindy shoved the flyscreen shut and was pulling out her keys to lock it when a gentle buzzing came from her phone. Three new messages from Tobias.

  She clicked on the first and opened the attachment. Her breath caught.

  There, perfectly framed and staring hauntingly back at her, was a human skull.

  His feet sank into the sand as he made his way further along the track, the well-worn coastal trail quiet that evening bar the odd dog-walker or elderly couple making the most of the mild weather.

  At the bend, Warren hesitated, checking no one was watching before pushing branches of flowering yellow banksia aside and stepping into the dense scrubland. He breathed out. Self-preservation had required him to find his own spaces in this small town – the hidden bush trails and unknown clearings that allowed him rare moments of escape from his dreary daily existence.

  Moving slowly through the shrubbery, he stepped lightly, careful not to leave a defined path that others might choose to follow. He took his usual spot on the fallen tree trunk, and pulled out a book. But he couldn’t concentrate.

  No matter how hard he tried, the sound of joyous shrieks from somewhere down by the water became too much to ignore. Who was making such a disturbance?

  He gave up, tucking the novel back in his jacket and proceeding deeper into the scrub, the ground becoming increasingly unsteady as he neared the cliff’s edge.

  Propping himself on the base of a gnarled moonah tree, he peered through the bush, down to the ocean beyond. It took a while to spot the two figures, the lithe bodies clambering over spiky sandstone towards the famed Blairgowrie Jumping Rock. The male figure was first to scale the jagged peak, his sharp yelps suggesting scraped knees and hands. But once atop, he wasted no time, marching confidently to the edge and leaping fearlessly into the abyss – a seven-metre freefall into an icy rockpool below.

  Warren shivered.

  The girl was next, her climb to the top slow and cautious. Once there, she sat with her legs dangling off the rock for several minutes. It looked as though she might bail out, but suddenly she lurched forward, entering the water feet-first with a squeal that must have been heard all the way into town.

  She clambered out of the rockpool and joined her male friend on the sand, the pair laughing hysterically.

  Warren watched them from his hiding spot, breathless. It was thrilling to witness their shameless antics, the teenagers alone on the vast beach, completely unaware that their every move was being observed.

  After several more successful jumps, the energy between the figures shifted. It started with the female loosening the straps of her bright orange bikini top. That manoeuvre was met by the boy hurriedly stripping off his wet boxer shorts.

  Warren began to tremble as the teens undressed, their naked bodies soon entangled on the sand. As they tumbled about each other, their movements increasingly frantic, he gripped for a sturdy branch on the tree, all sense of balance eluding him.

  Pressing himself forward against the tree, he strained his eyes, desperate to make out more of the scene below.

  But wait, he thought, his fingernails scratching the papery bark. Why were they moving over there? He shifted on his spot, trying to gain a better vantage point.

  ‘No,’ he moaned out loud, almost losing his footing.

  The teenagers were gone, their young bodies hidden by sandstone and shadows.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The toothy grin of Cecilia May stared at him from every photo: the young woman standing diligently at a family gathering in a ruched summer frock and sandals; the cheeky teenager proudly posing in ripped jeans, a crop top and a hideous velvet hat with a giant flower. Even in the most strenuous of situations she’d seemingly never been without a smile on her face – Emmett flicked through the slide show to the next image, where a tanned and toned Cecilia beamed at him while simultaneously shooting for a goal during a field hockey game.

  ‘We are saddened to announce that our effervescent daughter, our darling bubbly girl has gone missing . . .’

  That’s how the first televised press conference on her disappearance had started, Cecilia’s two traumatised parents holding hands and leaning against a lectern for support as Angus May – her father – had struggled through a brief appeal for information.

  Emmett closed the folder on his computer and retrieved the disc he’d just watched from the DVD slot. He sighed, carefully putting the CD back in its correct place within the case file boxes. He’d come into the office early that morning, partly to get a head start on the day but more so to avoid another confrontation with Cindy.

  I can’t believe you don’t trust me. Her furious words rang in his head.

  The previous evening had gone badly, his wife accosting him on the doorstep as he’d arrived home, accusing him of everything from lying to deliberately sabotaging her career.

  ‘I knew those remains were human and yet you made me believe they weren’t. You didn’t have to tell me exactly what was going on, but why deliberately mislead me?’

  The argument had escalated to such an extent that he’d gone to bed later that night only to discover it empty – Cindy choosing to squash herself in next to Nicholas rather than suffer through the indignity of sleeping with him.

  Emmett ran his tired fingers through his hair. Perhaps she had a point, but he was angry too. No photo opportunity warranted jeopardising a police operation. She should know that.

  ‘Morning!’ Calvin Briggs slapped a hand on the office window, causing Emmett to startle. The detective poked his head through the doorway. ‘Straight back to it? Well, good for you – I heard your case is gathering steam. Yell out if you need anything.’

  ‘Cheers.’ Emmett waved a hand, before stifling a yawn. He could certainly use some of Calvin’s energy. Pushing himself up from the desk, he arched his back, feeling a satisfying crack. Time for a coffee. He headed to the staff kitchen.

  ‘Hello stranger,’ a familiar, husky voice called to him from the rows of tables at the side.

  Emmett smiled as he approached the petite brunette. ‘Bianca Tardio, I thought you’d vanished.’

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ the homicide detective smirked. ‘But after that case you and I did together last year, I got roped into the Fairview investigation. Ended up spending the last eight months travelling between here and Broome trying to catch that family’s bloody stepson out. Not a lot of good it did though – the prick will get away with it.’

  ‘Nothing concrete?’

  ‘Nothing beyond circumstantial evidence. And he’s related to the Chief Justice. That never helps.’

  ‘No,’ Emmett frowned. ‘Actually . . .’ he pulled up a seat and joined her, ‘I’m working on a job now that you might be able to help with. It’s out in Blairgowrie, on the Mornington Peninsula. I know you spent a lot of time out that way when you worked on the Portsea Murders – anything I should know about the area?’

  Bianca shrugged. ‘Not sure what I can tell you that you won’t already know. All the towns along the peninsula are fairly sleepy during the winter months, then they get overrun by tourists in the summer. There’s a big class d
ivide between communities – Portsea and Sorrento are where the rich go to play, Blairgowrie less so. And then you have Rye – a working-class area that’s surprisingly affected by petty crime.’

  ‘Really?’ Emmett couldn’t help letting his eyes drift to the coffee machine. He still hadn’t had his caffeine hit.

  ‘Yep. Lots of single parents, unemployed men, youths with too much time on their hands . . . so you get tons of burglaries and smash-and-grab type crimes. Oh, and stabbings too. Lots of stabbings.’

  ‘I’ll make sure I wear my protective vest then.’ He laughed at the brutal assessment.

  Bianca grinned. ‘So what’s the case? Something to do with those bones on the beach, I presume?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Emmett quickly filled her in on what he knew so far. ‘Anyway, I’d best leave you to it.’ He stood up and pushed his chair back in. ‘I’m speaking with Cecilia May’s parents this morning, and I want to beat the traffic.’

  He walked to the coffee machine and made himself a strong espresso.

  ‘I guess I’ll see you ’round?’ he called from the doorway.

  Bianca winked conspiratorially. ‘Maybe sooner than you think.’

  The door to the May family home was already wide open when Emmett arrived, the sound of talkback radio blaring from somewhere inside.

  ‘Hello?’ He considered the messy jumble of shoes by the doorway.

  ‘We’re in the kitchen!’ a female voice yelled.

  Shuffling through the unfamiliar hallway, Emmett followed the scent of bacon and burning toast.

  ‘Sorry,’ said an older man, vigorously scraping black char off the side of his bread, ‘had the setting too high.’

  A woman stood atop a wooden chair, flapping a tea towel at a smoke detector.

  ‘The stupid thing will go off if I don’t clear the air. And I’d hate to wake the kids.’

  ‘Kids?’ Emmett looked around in wonder. Cecilia’s parents were both well into their sixties.

  The woman hopped down to the floor, remarkably agile for her age. ‘Mitchell’s two boys,’ she smiled, before quietly adding, ‘Mitchell is Cecilia’s brother.’