The Girl Remains (Detective Corban)

by Katherine Firkin

  ‘Why are you like this all of a sudden?’ Scarlett snapped, more aggressive than she’d intended. ‘You think you’re so grown-up all the time. Just because you’ve turned sixteen and we haven’t.’

  ‘I don’t think it suits me anymore. You don’t have to be mean about it.’

  The next few minutes passed in silent tension: Cecilia quietly fixing her make-up, Gypsy huddled under a blanket, and Scarlett staring determinedly into the mirror, liberally applying her blue eye gel. She hated arguing with Gypsy, who’d been a friend from way back, but recently it felt like they were drifting apart. Gypsy never wanted to dress up or muck around like she used to, and she rarely came to parties. At least she still loved their spells . . .

  ‘You better not bail on us tomorrow night,’ she finally spat, relieved to see her friend’s face soften.

  ‘Of course I won’t. It was my idea, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come out just for a little bit with us now?’ Scarlett trotted over, placing a hand on Gypsy’s knee as she sat down next to her. ‘It’s going to be so much fun. Dean said there’ll be heaps of free alcohol, and his friends are really cute . . .’

  ‘Nah, I want to get better for tomorrow.’

  ‘Alright.’ She conceded defeat, but not before swiping at her friend’s face with her glittered finger; the trail of blue gel streaked down one cheek. ‘Hah! Got you!’

  Cecilia giggled nervously, clearly worried the girls would start arguing again. But Gypsy just shook her head, crossing her arms the way her mum did when she was unimpressed.

  Scarlett was aware of a sinking feeling. Was she losing her best friend? It certainly felt like it.

  ‘I can’t promise we’ll be quiet when we get back.’ She forced herself to remain upbeat.

  ‘No.’ Cecilia spun around in a circle, the hem of her velvet dress lifting and swirling like a hula hoop. ‘Because we’ll be druuuuuuunk!’

  ‘That’s right!’ Scarlett leapt to her feet, spinning around in a circle too.

  In a giddy haze the girls danced out into the night. If either had bothered to look back, they would have seen Gypsy rise from her position on the floor, toss the box of tissues aside, and wipe away the red make-up that she’d dabbled around the tip of her nose.

  ‘A full search of Warren Turton’s property was done back in 1998 and again in 2001.’ Bianca tapped on her laptop, grimacing as she attempted another sip of her drink. ‘So if he was hiding the body anywhere around his house, it would have been found.’

  ‘Even if it was buried?’

  ‘The dogs would have got to it.’

  ‘Where else would he keep the evidence?’ Emmett murmured, poking at the corner of his eye where something was irritating him.

  ‘The Point Nepean National Park seems the obvious answer,’ Bianca shrugged, ‘given his car was found burnt out there.’

  ‘But would fertiliser be common in a national park? And why not just burn the body too?’

  ‘Probably thought that was too obvious. And DNA remnants might have been traced. I told you, this guy’s not an idiot.’

  ‘I still think it’s worth giving his whole house another do-over. I’ve lodged the warrant.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Bianca stuck out her tongue, finally giving up on her drink and pushing it towards Emmett.

  He took the mug and peered into its murky depths, sniffing exaggeratedly. ‘I reckon you should send this over to forensics for testing. Not sure what it is, but it ain’t coffee.’

  ‘No kidding.’ Bianca grabbed her coat. ‘So where exactly are we headed?’

  Emmett drew his notepad in closer, checking the details he’d scribbled. ‘A delightful two bedder on Valley Drive, in Rye.’

  ‘Well as long as its delightful . . . Do we know if he’s home?’

  ‘I spoke with his wife an hour or so ago. She said he’s usually finished up by 3.’

  ‘Of course. Tradie hours.’

  Emmett rolled his eyes dramatically. ‘Is there any profession you don’t have an issue with?’

  Bianca paused, tilting her head. ‘Never met a candlestick maker I didn’t like.’

  ‘Right.’

  He grabbed his bag and notes, then followed his colleague through the open plan workspace.

  ‘Heading out?’ The eager face of Tobias Haigh bobbed up from over a desk.

  ‘Yep, shouldn’t be too long.’

  ‘Anything I can help with?’

  Emmett sighed, willing himself to be patient with the overenthusiastic young officer. ‘We’re off to speak with Dean Innisberg. He’s the son of Robert and Daphne Innisberg – prominent figures within the church community ’round here. As I’m sure you’ll know, Robert was the man who provided the alibi for our main suspect in the Cecilia May case.’

  ‘I’d be happy to tag along.’ Tobias’s eyes grew wider.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, but thanks for the offer.’

  ‘Actually,’ Bianca’s husky voice drew him to attention, ‘there’s something you could do for me.’ She unzipped a jacket pocket, retrieving her wallet. ‘Go and find us some better coffee, would you? I can stomach instant if I have to, but not that tasteless home-brand junk. We’ll probably be working out of here a bit over the next few weeks, so stock up on something better for the office. My shout.’

  Emmett bit his tongue as he headed for the door, unable to look at the despondent face of the junior officer, the twenty dollar bill hanging limply from his fingers.

  ‘That was mean.’ He hopped into the passenger side, letting Bianca drive.

  ‘His mistake for offering. Anyway,’ she revved the engine and reversed out of the carpark, ‘tell me more about this Dean bloke – he’s the only son of Robert and Daphne?’

  ‘Yes, adopted as an infant. Grew up within the congregation at Sorrento and dropped out of school at fifteen to take up an apprenticeship. Seems he was better with his hands than his head.’

  ‘Now who’s being judgemental . . .’

  ‘Hang on.’ Emmett swivelled in his chair. ‘He’s a tradie, good with his hands.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘What did Daphne say about Robert needing help with his bookcase?’

  ‘Oh, I see where you’re going with this.’ Bianca adjusted a side mirror. ‘You’re wondering why Robert would have called a weedy loner guy for help to fix his shelf, when his fit young son is a tradie.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  His colleague shrugged. ‘It was twenty years ago – would Dean have even been qualified back then? Or maybe they just weren’t close? Or he wasn’t around at the time?’

  ‘Or the bookshelf never broke.’

  ‘That too.’ She grinned, abruptly braking as a school bus pulled out from the kerb. ‘It was always a bit of a ridiculous story, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Mm.’ Emmett instinctively gripped the edge of his seat as the car lurched forward, lights and sirens on. ‘Was that really necessary?’

  ‘Bus was annoying me.’

  Jesus.

  Further along the foreshore and well away from the school traffic, Bianca finally slowed down, even having the good grace to stop at a pedestrian crossing, before taking a sharp right and following a road away from the beach. ‘Should be the next one along.’ She pointed to an uninspiring single-storey house.

  Emmett was grateful to get out of the car.

  A beat-up ute sat in the driveway of the modest dwelling, shovel handles and other gardening paraphernalia poking out from under the covered back tray.

  ‘Ms Innisberg?’

  A bleary-eyed woman opened the door, cotton hand towel slung over one shoulder, the shape of a baby huddled to her chest, hidden underneath swaddling and cloth.

  ‘How old?’ Emmett leant in, immediately hit by a waft of talcum powder. That brings back memories.

  ‘Four months.’ The woman attempted to smile, but only managed a yawn. ‘You’re after Dean?’

  ‘Yes, is he around?’

  ‘In the show
er. Got back a few minutes ago. Come in, though, he won’t be long.’

  They followed her inside, the humble walls hiding a surprisingly modern interior with polished floorboards and a sparkling new kitchen.

  ‘All Dean’s work,’ the woman smiled, noticing Emmett’s gaze. ‘He’s great with all that stuff.’

  ‘My colleague was telling me he’s a tradesman?’ Bianca prompted.

  ‘Yep – started off as a brickie, but over the years he’s ventured into all areas. Had his own business for a while but now he just does odd jobs for mates. There’s plenty of work going around, and recently he’s been focusing on garden landscaping, which he loves.’

  Emmett took the woman’s lead and sat at a table.

  ‘We were sorry to hear of your father-in-law’s passing. Were Dean and Robert close?’

  ‘Not really . . .’ She stopped, the sound of clunky footsteps making their way towards them.

  ‘Lou?’ a gruff voice called.

  ‘We’re in the lounge. There’s a couple of detectives here to see you. Say they want to talk about your father and that missing girl they found.’

  Silence.

  ‘Dean?’

  The footsteps resumed. A figure appeared in the doorway.

  ‘What’s any of that got to do with me?’

  Emmett stood up, extending a hand. The man was older than he’d expected, probably aged in his late thirties.

  ‘I’m sure you heard that the remains of Cecilia May were found the other day – the girl who went missing back in 1998? Your father was a key witness in the case, so we’re tying up loose ends in the investigation.’

  ‘Not my father,’ Dean grumbled, softly.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I said, he’s not my father.’

  A squawk from somewhere inside the many layers of cloth had Dean’s wife standing back up, jiggling the heavy blob at her chest. ‘I’m going to try and get him down for an hour. I’ll leave you to it.’

  Emmett nodded, waiting until she’d left the room. ‘I take it you weren’t close to your adoptive dad, then?’

  Dean’s lips set in an unsettling smirk. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Were you aware that he provided an alibi for a man by the name of Warren Turton?’

  ‘Of course I was aware. Haven’t been living under a rock.’

  ‘Okay. And how old would you have been back then, in ’98?’

  Confusion scrunched up Dean’s face; Emmett noticed that the fingers dangling at his side started twitching. Counting. ‘Dunno.’ He eventually scratched his head. ‘Seventeen?’

  ‘So old enough to understand the gravity of the situation?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You knew that a teenage girl had gone missing, and that a friend of Robert was being connected to the incident?’

  ‘I’m not a fucking idiot.’

  ‘Mr Innisberg,’ Bianca leapt in, her tone unusually light. ‘Did you know Warren yourself? Did he spend much time with your father, at the church or around your home?’

  An odd noise passed Dean’s lips. Eyes narrowing. ‘I told you, he’s not my father. Don’t call him that.’

  ‘Okay, but both Robert and Warren attended regular reading events at the church, where you were living, didn’t they? Were you involved in any of those?’

  ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

  The detectives waited, saying nothing. Emmett watched the thighs across from him bouncing up and down, the hands now squeezing tight together.

  ‘You cops are unbelievable, you know that?’ Dean eventually blurted, leaping from the chair. ‘Are we done or what?’

  ‘Sit down, Mr Innisberg.’ The lightness in Bianca’s voice was entirely erased. ‘We’re trying to understand how your father came to provide the alibi for Warren Turton. This is important. The man was a convicted sex offender.’

  ‘The man was a fucking poofter – that’s what he was.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Dean slumped back down in the chair, legs splayed unattractively to the sides. ‘Fucking faggots, the pair of them. Alright?’

  Emmett darted a look at his colleague, but Bianca remained her usual unreadable self.

  ‘You’re suggesting there was a more intimate relationship between your father and Warren?’ he asked, gently.

  Dean glared at him, arms crossed at his chest. ‘I don’t know what they were doing together but it wasn’t right. Okay? It was sick.’ He stood back up again, this time marching to the doorway. ‘You got what you came for, so get out.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘I thought it was women that were supposed to have daddy issues,’ Bianca muttered, once they’d returned to the safety of their small meeting room, tucked away in the rear of the Sorrento station.

  ‘What a revolting man.’ Emmett rubbed his forehead, overwhelming fatigue settling in as he clambered into a chair. ‘I feel like I need a shower.’

  ‘You do realise homophobia’s not contagious?’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Let’s hope that’s also true for being wildly offensive and not all that bright.’

  ‘At least he’s good with his hands.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emmett chuckled feebly. ‘Supposedly.’

  The drive back to the station had been spent mostly in silence, his racing worries interrupted by the occasional odd clucking noise coming from Bianca’s lips, a tic she seemed to have whenever deep in thought.

  ‘There could be some truth to what he’s saying, though,’ she continued, taking a notepad from her jacket and flipping aggressively to a blank page. ‘Robert and Warren could have been more than friends. That would explain the ridiculous alibi, and the fact that police monitoring Warren weren’t aware of their relationship. What did Leicester say about that again?’

  ‘He said the alibi caught them all by surprise, that the pair’s connection must have been kept under wraps.’

  ‘That’s right. And given Robert was married, and was working as the Reverend at a traditional church, he would have had plenty of reasons to keep any romantic relationship secret.’

  ‘Hm.’ Emmett let his head rest briefly in his palm, elbow propped on the table. Were Warren Turton and Robert Innisberg lovers? And if so, what difference did it make to their investigation? ‘I guess an intimate relationship could potentially discredit the alibi,’ he murmured, more to himself than his colleague. ‘I wonder if Daphne knew what was going on.’

  ‘She must have.’ Bianca spoke with surprising authority.

  ‘Oh, you know that for a fact, do you?’

  ‘Of course she would have known. Women always know.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But I tell you what I can’t work out,’ the detective twisted her mouth. ‘Why did Warren kill Cecilia? We all presumed it was a sex attack – an escalation of his prior offending. But if he’s gay . . .’

  ‘He would hardly be out stalking teenage girls.’ Emmett finished the thought for her.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Emmett pulled his phone from his pocket, just as a tap at the door sounded. ‘You know what I forgot to do? Make sure Nguyen followed up with the student Warren assaulted back in the nineties—’

  ‘Hope I’m not interrupting.’ Tobias Haigh marched in, balancing an odd UFO-like device in his hands. ‘Boss said you needed the conference bridge set up?’

  Emmett stared at the weird intercom system. ‘You better not be expecting us to operate that thing.’

  ‘Nah, it’s really simple.’ The young officer placed it prominently between the detectives. ‘I’ve got it all ready for you. All you need to do is tell your meeting participants to dial this number,’ he handed a sticky note to Emmett, ‘and then you hit this button when it’s time for your call to start.’

  ‘Seems excessive; can’t we just use a phone?’

  ‘I promise it’ll work great. Plus, the microphones are really good.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Tobias hovered in front of them.

  ‘So
mething else?’ Emmett asked.

  He beamed, ducking out of the doorway and returning with two large mugs of coffee. ‘Gold label.’ He presented them like trophies. ‘Didn’t know if you needed sugar or milk?’

  ‘Just black is perfect.’ Bianca smiled, winking discreetly as Tobias left the room. ‘See?’ she whispered. ‘Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.’

  It was a little late for coffee, but both detectives gladly sipped the drinks, pens scribbling on paper as they considered their bizarre interaction with Dean Innisberg.

  ‘We should probably dial in now, shouldn’t we?’ Bianca asked, looking up from her page.

  Emmett glared at the intimidating machine, checking the sticky note and stabbing at the buttons. To his surprise, it worked just as Tobias said it would.

  ‘How are we all going?’ He leant in, trying to decipher the general cacophony of voices. He could make out Lanh and Calvin, but who else could he hear breathing?

  A painful metallic screech came from the speakers. ‘Hello? Am I on?’ Bryce.

  ‘Loud and clear,’ the sycophantic Lanh bleated.

  ‘Alright, let’s get started,’ the superintendent barked. ‘A quick update from everyone on where we’re at, and then I want you all to hear from Briggs. He’s been speaking with a couple of former investigators who worked on this case, and he has some ideas on ways to move forward.’

  They went around the group, Emmett and Bianca covering off the day’s activities and their plans to get a search done on Warren’s property.

  ‘Ambers?’

  ‘I’ve gone through a list of schoolfriends that Cecilia was known to associate with regularly in the months prior to her death. No new breakthroughs from anyone there. I’ve reconfirmed most of the alibis of people close to her, too. And I’m keeping a watch on calls coming in following the appeal this morning.’

  ‘Good. Nguyen?’

  ‘I finally heard back from the victim in the historical child-grooming case this afternoon, the schoolkid Warren Turton assaulted.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He spoke surprisingly fondly about his former teacher. He said—’

  ‘Hang on,’ Emmett interrupted, two hands on the table as he craned forward. ‘This Jessie kid was a boy?’