The Girl Remains (Detective Corban)

by Katherine Firkin

  Can’t see. Can’t breathe.

  ‘Say it. Say it, you filthy dog. You’re scum.’

  ‘I’m . . . I . . . sss-cum.’ Warren just got the words out, slumping to the ground as the man delivered a solid kick to the guts.

  ‘You stay the fuck away from me. Understand?’

  He wasn’t sure if he managed a nod, but eventually he was alone, a quiet buzzing in his ears. Crawling on all fours, Warren made it back to the front of the house, where he used a windowsill to help pry himself upright.

  Wheezing, he stumbled back across the front yard, dizzy and nauseous.

  At the corner of the property he retrieved his bike; gripped the handlebars and walked cautiously along the footpath in the direction of his next job. He swallowed a clump of mucus, tasting blood.

  It had been a long time since he’d seen him. But Dean Innisberg certainly hadn’t got any friendlier.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The lights were on downstairs, so too the TV, the screen flickering beyond the blue fence and dirty windows. Emmett stayed in his car, letting himself rest back in the seat. What time was it? He couldn’t find the energy to sit up and check. Doesn’t matter.

  He would have missed Nicholas by then anyway, his funny son firmly ensconced in the Spider-man blanket, right thumb cradled by plump, drooling lips. Cindy would be busy watching her favourite cooking program – laughing at the mishaps of contestants and offering a multitude of suggestions on ways they could have done better. He smiled. His wife was wonderful at many things, but she was a terrible cook. Why she felt qualified to offer advice on the subject was beyond him.

  Yawning, he wiggled his neck against the headrest and closed his eyes. He could sleep out here, it wasn’t all that uncomfortable . . . Get up. The stern voice forced him into action. He grabbed his bag from the seat beside him and slumped out of the car.

  ‘You’re late!’ Cindy sat up as he entered, remote poised towards the television, almost prepared to interrupt her show.

  ‘It’s been quite the day.’ Emmett dropped his things by the door and went to peck her on the forehead. ‘The monster is in bed?’

  ‘Yes,’ she laughed. ‘Apparently the costume went down very well with his friends, so he’s happy. Though supposedly it’s Out of Space week next. That can be your problem. I’m not sure I have it in me to come up with another outfit.’

  ‘Just shove a giant polyester ball on his head and tell him he’s a planet,’ Emmett chuckled, moving away from the couch. ‘Wine?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Returning to the living room, he plonked himself down next to his wife, stretching his legs out on the coffee table and balancing a plate of leftovers on his lap.

  ‘Not the best day, I take it?’ Cindy poured the bottle he’d brought over and nestled in closer.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve heard – those bones were confirmed as that missing girl. I’ve got teams out door-knocking this evening, a public appeal set up for tomorrow, pending warrants all over the place . . . And meanwhile, of course, the press is having a field day.’

  ‘You can’t really blame them. It’s a pretty extraordinary story . . .’

  ‘I’ll tell you what is extraordinary, the victim’s parents went to the media without consulting us. Don’t you think they’d have known better? I mean, they’ve been harassed by reporters for over two decades, why would they think doing a big “tell-all” now would help their cause?’

  Cindy’s mouth twisted. ‘Actually . . . it was an AAP interview that Angus and Ebony May did today. And I was there for it, at their house, in Oakleigh.’

  ‘What?’ Emmett tried to go on, but instead ended up choking on corn, yellow kernels spluttering across his lap, down between the couch’s cushions.

  His wife patted him heartily on the back. ‘Don’t get mad. I had no choice. I didn’t set it up. And I could hardly refuse an exclusive.’

  Emmett swallowed the remnants of food caught in his throat. He rubbed his chest.

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ he eventually managed, swivelling in his spot to face Cindy. ‘You were the photographer at the job? And you didn’t think to let me know? Not even a text?’

  His wife stayed oddly quiet.

  ‘Do you realise what that interview’s done to our investigation? Not to mention my reputation? I nearly had the case taken off me – had to go in and explain myself to Bryce like a goddamn child. Supposedly it’s my job to keep the witnesses in check. Can’t even keep my own—’

  ‘Careful what you say next.’ Cindy’s eyes flashed.

  A tension built in his temples. Emmett rubbed his forehead, feeling his nostrils flare as he inhaled. ‘Sorry. I know your work means a lot to you, and I want you to build your photography career. I do. But . . .’ He watched her face twitch, knowing he was close to stepping on a landmine. ‘This puts me in a terrible position. If anyone finds out you’re involved in this story, it looks like I’m feeding you information. Surely you can see that?’

  ‘Because I couldn’t possibly be capable of working things out for myself?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  Cindy reached forward, deliberately adjusting her body away from him and reaching for her wine. ‘It’s a two-way street,’ she said stiffly, bringing the glass to her lips and turning up the volume on the TV. ‘You weren’t prepared to tell me about the bones, so I wasn’t prepared to tell you about Cecilia’s parents. We either help each other or we don’t. It’s up to you.’

  The policeman’s room was small and messy, and Pippa stared at the bookshelf, pretending to be consumed by the unimpressive collection of spy novels, while Tobias hurriedly shoved dirty jocks and socks into the cupboard. Being a junior cop clearly didn’t pay all that well.

  ‘How many housemates do you share with?’

  ‘Two. Sorry, I thought they’d be out tonight, Leith was supposed to be at his girlfriend’s in Melbourne, but they’ve had a tiff. And Ryan usually works late on Mondays.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she smiled. ‘I was happy you asked me over. And I’m fine in here.’

  In truth, Pippa had been surprised by his invitation, almost forgetting that they’d exchanged numbers during their meeting at the pub.

  ‘Me too,’ Tobias grinned, firmly closing his wardrobe and turning to face her.

  They were an awkward distance apart, almost close enough to touch, but not quite. Pippa darted another glance about the room.

  ‘Wanna watch a movie or something?’ Tobias retrieved a laptop from his work bag and flopped down on the edge of his bed.

  She joined him, noticing that he’d tried to angle the device away from her.

  ‘Nice photo,’ she smirked at the screensaver – an image of him and some mates dressed in superhero costumes.

  ‘That was a while ago.’ His cheeks were flushed. ‘Do you want action? Comedy? Don’t think I have any of those romcoms that girls like . . .’

  ‘Got anything scary?’ Pippa whispered, leaning in closer.

  He turned, his eyes locking with hers. ‘You smell nice,’ he mumbled, then quickly stared back at his screen. ‘I’m not exactly the chainsaw massacre type . . .’

  ‘You pick. Anything will do.’

  When he’d finally selected the film, they shuffled back on the bed, leaning against the wall to face the laptop that was now propped up on a pillow.

  ‘I’ll turn the light off.’ Tobias leapt up suddenly, bumping her left leg as he did so.

  ‘Ow!’

  The policeman looked crestfallen.

  ‘Oh relax, would you? It wasn’t you. I’m not that delicate,’ Pippa laughed. ‘I had a bit of a splat today. Went out exploring on those rocks near Koonya Ocean Beach and ended up slipping. Pretty dumb, really.’ She tried rolling up the leg of her jeans to show him the cut, but the material was too tight.

  ‘You were out on the cliff?’ Tobias bobbed back down to his knees on the edge of the mattress.

  ‘Yeah . . .’

  ‘Well, you know how you
asked me at the pub if I was working any interesting cases?’

  ‘Mm.’ Pippa remembered his evasiveness.

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you at the time, but we actually made a gruesome find on those rocks the other day. The bones of a missing girl. She disappeared in the late nineties. Now, suddenly, out of the blue, her remains have turned up. Crazy, hey?’

  ‘Really?’ Pippa pushed the laptop away and grabbed at his left arm, pulling him in to her. ‘Forget the light, and the movie. Come and sit back down with me. You have such an amazing job. I want to hear more about it.’

  Tobias beamed, squashing himself back in against the wall, his left bicep deliberately tensed. As he rambled about his job, the new investigation and his role in helping to find the bones, Pippa nodded, doing her best not to interrupt.

  ‘Do you think they’ll find the person responsible?’ she eventually asked.

  ‘They already know who did it,’ Tobias said, confidently. ‘But they need to get more evidence against him. That’s where I was earlier tonight – out door-knocking to help the cold case team find someone who saw this man at the scene.’

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Not yet, but we think it’s only a matter of time before a witness comes forward. Everyone ’round here knows him.’

  ‘He still lives nearby?’

  ‘Warren Turton? Yep. He’s on Koonya Avenue, the same street where the girls were staying.’

  Pippa flinched. ‘And are they still nearby too?’

  ‘The survivors? Dunno. Doubt it.’

  ‘It’s so cool you’re working on such a big case,’ she gushed, releasing the grip on his arm and then leaning into his shoulder. ‘You should ask your boss if you can get more involved, I bet it’d be good for your career.’

  ‘Yeah. I gotta be careful though.’ Tobias tentatively placed a hand on her lower back, fingertips nervously tracing small circles. ‘I actually screwed up the other day. Sent some pictures I took to this woman who works in the news. She said she just wanted to look at them, but then they got published all over the place. Luckily, no one knows they were mine. Won’t be going near her again though.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ Pippa murmured, nestling in closer and letting her lips brush the base of his neck. ‘You have to be so careful who you trust.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  They’d decided to hold the appeal mid-morning, in the Koonya Ocean Beach carpark, near where Cecilia was last seen. As they waited for the media to arrive, Emmett walked around the small set-up, shaking hands with volunteers and staff. An information tent was erected prominently, filled with images of the grinning teenager. To the left, an SES truck was stationed, the bright orange uniforms of its team standing out against the otherwise blue, brown and green backdrop.

  ‘Tea to get you going?’ A friendly man offered a plastic cup filled with a murky substance.

  Emmett shook his head firmly. They’d stopped twice for coffee on the drive down, and he was certain his bladder wouldn’t take the pressure of any more liquid. He eyed the blanket of tea-tree shrub. Would anyone notice if I ducked off over—

  ‘DSC Corban?’ A young policeman was standing close, left arm extended. ‘I wanted to introduce myself. Constable Tobias Haigh.’ The man’s eyes were wide. ‘It’s such an honour to work with you and your team.’

  An honour? Emmett looked at the earnest face of the junior officer. ‘It’s good to have your help,’ he smiled, shaking hands. ‘You’re stationed at Sorrento?’

  ‘Yep. I was involved in the search for the bones near Dogs Head the other day, and we were door-knocking residents yesterday arvo too—’

  ‘We appreciate it.’ Emmett cut him off, noticing the trio of white four-wheel drives arriving.

  A tall woman with platinum blonde waves was first to emerge. ‘It’s so windy,’ she gasped dramatically, well aware that all eyes were upon her.

  ‘Cracking view!’ A skinny, pin-headed man popped out of the neighbouring car.

  Emmett bristled. Why were TV reporters so gaudy and vain? It was obviously a prerequisite for the job.

  ‘Cecilia’s parents are good to go, whenever you’re ready,’ Bianca murmured, as he joined her at the front of the action.

  ‘Alright then, we’ll just give the pariahs a bit more time to set up.’

  His colleague chuckled. ‘I’d forgotten how much you hate the media.’

  ‘I don’t hate them,’ Emmett muttered, watching the platinum blonde do an unconvincing job of offering to help carry a tripod. ‘It’s more disdain. A gentle, reasonable disdain.’

  ‘Isn’t your wife one of them now?’

  The question was left hanging, as Angus and Ebony May trotted over, a police counsellor at their side.

  ‘Detective Corban.’ Angus reached forward, enclosing Emmett’s hands within his own. ‘We’re so grateful for everything you’ve done. And we think this will make a real difference.’

  ‘It’s very brave of you to come forward again.’ Emmett found himself completely detached from his own words. The police have done their best, but it’s not enough . . . Did Cecilia’s father not consider the implications of his outburst? ‘I imagine it’s very difficult for you to be back here.’

  ‘It is,’ Ebony answered on his behalf. ‘We used to love the coast, and specifically this area, but now . . .’ she looked out over the rolling shrubbery and down to the ocean below, ‘all I see is danger, do you know what I mean? The riptides, the rocks, the cliffs . . .’ A small squeaking noise escaped her lips.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Angus pulled her in, pressing her forehead against his chest. ‘Our baby’s at peace. She’s at peace. You have to believe that.’

  The momentary intimacy was not missed by the TV cameras, which Emmett noticed were now pointed directly at them, little red lights flashing bright.

  ‘Will you be okay?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re fine.’ Ebony straightened up, putting on that same stoic expression he’d seen at their first meeting.

  With the press now well and truly ready, Emmett reluctantly took his place at the lectern. ‘Thank you all for coming.’ He began his prepared statement, slapped together hurriedly that morning. ‘As many of you have been reporting, we have confirmed the remains of missing teenager Cecilia Lee May. Her death is being treated as a homicide.’

  Several cameras flashed.

  ‘The teenager was last seen by two schoolfriends near this lookout on the evening of 22 September 1998. She was wearing denim jeans, white runners, and a pink-and-white jumper.’ He paused, forcing himself to maintain visual contact with the police media assistant who was standing between reporters, serving as an eyeline. ‘This is obviously an incredibly distressing time for her family and loved ones, who have been without answers for the past two decades. While this development will bring some closure to them, none of us have given up hope that the person or persons responsible will be brought to justice.’

  A gust of wind rattled the microphones, and the canvas flaps on the information tent waved madly. Emmett waited until it passed.

  ‘That is why we are here today.’ He looked around at the eager faces of the media, ready, waiting, for their chance to leap in. ‘Someone out there knows what happened to Cecilia. It’s only a matter of time before we find you. Now is the moment to come forward.’

  ‘Has the discovery of the bones led to any new suspects?’ an unnaturally white-toothed man barked.

  ‘We’ll be taking questions at the end.’ Emmett shifted back from the microphones. ‘First, I’d like to introduce Cecilia’s parents, who will say a few words about their daughter.’

  ‘Thank you, Detective.’ Angus stepped forward, his left hand keeping a firm grip on his wife, his right one noticeably shaking as it dangled helplessly at his side. ‘Every day since that fateful night, over twenty years ago, we have prayed for our beautiful daughter’s safe return. This has been the hardest news any parent can receive. Our hearts are broken, our lives are left with a void that will never be
filled. The pain we are experiencing is unimaginable . . .’

  Emmett watched the faces of the journalists, a combination of either salacious intrigue or faux concern. Isn’t your wife one of them now? He tugged at his shirt cuffs, noticing Bianca brush up closer beside him.

  ‘Ambers says the electronic surveillance has been fitted.’ She managed to whisper the words, while barely moving her lips, her eyes staying respectfully on the parents at the lectern.

  Emmett hesitated before responding, scanning the crowd and making sure no one was watching their conversation. Thankfully, the attention was completely on Angus May, who had his head bowed, attempting to regain composure. ‘Just the one vehicle?’

  ‘They’ve tagged the bicycle. There’s no indication he owns other property.’

  ‘And the telecommunications warrant?’

  ‘Nothing yet. But it can’t be far off.’

  ‘Good,’ Emmett muttered, just as Cecilia’s father finished up.

  He strode back to the firing line and smiled brightly. How fast could he get rid of these clowns? ‘Now, any questions?’

  The Sorrento Police Station was housed in an odd grey building near the foreshore, about as aesthetically pleasing as the portable classrooms slapped at the back of Nicholas’s school. They’d organised to work out of there for the rest of the day, to save the time of trekking back to Melbourne, but the smell of must and the jar of no-name instant coffee behind the reception counter made Emmett immediately question this decision.

  ‘Thanks for having us,’ he nodded to the sergeant, whom he remembered meeting at the gravesite.

  ‘Sergeant Greg Brabham.’ The man introduced himself to Bianca before addressing both detectives. ‘Seems like the public appeal went well? You have to hand it to those parents, don’t you? Such strength. They must’ve fronted the media a good dozen times before today’s event, and every time it’s been fruitless. Yet there they go, turning back up to do it all again. I’m not sure I could keep putting myself through that year after year.’