The Girl Remains (Detective Corban)

by Katherine Firkin

  Leicester walked on, admiring reefs and rockpools, even stopping at one to splash his hands in the frigid water. At the bend he would turn around, head home and spend the evening watching something mindless on the telly.

  But wait. He stared at the shore ahead. What was that lump by the water?

  He stepped closer, the fading light and his equally fading eyesight not helping to make out any details. A tangle of seaweed? A stranded animal? Leicester took several steps forward, hesitating before the shape became obvious. A human body.

  Pulling out his phone, he flicked on the torch, using the light to scan over the morbid discovery. He didn’t need to look too closely to know the person was dead. The unnatural positioning of their limbs and the eerie colour of their skin was evidence enough.

  Tangled strands of hair suggested a woman. So too the small yet plumpish size.

  He bent down, rolling the body with effort. He froze. An involuntary gagging reflex rose suddenly in his throat. Her eyes were wide; terrified, staring vacantly up to the ever-darkening sky. Unmistakeable.

  Leicester stood up, trying to process what he was seeing. Daphne Innisberg. Dead.

  He gulped, his brain slowly ticking over. Warren’s only alibi, Robert Innisberg, had died the previous month, now too his wife. He looked at the lifeless body at his feet, feeling a sudden giddy rush of mirth.

  As he dialled triple zero and requested police assistance, he delivered the body a solid kick to the guts.

  ‘Yes, I have some terrible news to report.’ He used his most solemn tone, his words purposefully staccato. ‘I’m on Koonya Ocean Beach. A woman’s body appears to have been washed up. Please send urgent help.’

  What a fabulous close to the day, he grinned, hearing more calm words leaving his mouth. He was gone. She was gone. Warren would soon be back behind bars.

  It really was almost over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Lanh paced up and down the footpath, throat tight, hands clammy. It was one thing to talk about being an undercover agent from the safety of the police headquarters, quite another to actually be out in the field. Exposed.

  He fiddled with the buttons of his ugly maroon jacket, the cheapness of the acrylic material making him hot and itchy. Why had he agreed to this? He grimaced, accidentally catching a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a car window parked nearby. In his knee and elbow pads, helmet and wrist guards, he looked utterly ridiculous.

  ‘You the new guy?’ a scornful voice sneered.

  ‘G’day, mate.’ He turned around, doing his best and most awful bogan impression. Lose the plummy accent. Emmett had urged him. The man he recognised as Warren Turton looked him up and down, making no attempt whatsoever at hiding his disdain.

  ‘What’s with the get-up?’

  ‘The bike.’ Lanh pointed stupidly to where he’d left Emmett’s bicycle leaning against a fence. ‘I was told you rode everywhere, but it’s been a while and I’m a bit rusty.’

  ‘Who told you I rode?’

  ‘Uh, my supervisor? He mentioned it when he said I was shadowing you for some shifts.’

  Warren grunted, his expression still one of utter disgust. ‘Don’t know why you get paid practice. I never got that. This job’s hardly rocket science.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ Lanh chuckled, noticing every part of his skin was burning hot, ‘guess they picked me as a bit of a slow learner.’

  Warren’s lips curled.

  Following behind, the detective was grateful his new mentor didn’t bother cycling to the door of their first house, instead pushing his own evil machine with the handlebars. That was a skill he’d at least somewhat mastered.

  They stopped at the gate.

  ‘You’ve got the app?’

  ‘Yep.’ He pulled out his phone, the cheap one he’d been given as part of the operation, filled with random names in the contact folder; the photo gallery bursting with images. He’d had a quick flick through while he was waiting – apparently he enjoyed taking creepy pictures of young teens, and cats, lots of cats.

  ‘Alright, so you open up the first job, yeah?’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘And now we go in.’

  They traipsed to the edge of the property, where a gas meter was visible.

  ‘This is a good one, because it’s well away from the house, so no one’s going to come out and accuse us of snooping or anything.’

  ‘Do they often accuse you of snooping?’

  Warren scowled.

  ‘You just read this dial here, record the numbers in the app. And bang. That’s your first meter done.’

  Lanh nodded, genuinely embarrassed at how simple the task was. How on earth was he going to string this out for more than a day?

  ‘You can do the next house.’

  ‘Great.’

  Back on the footpath, he stared at Emmett’s death trap, mouth turning completely dry. A couple of confident pedals, and you’re off. Yeah right.

  ‘Go on then,’ Warren urged. ‘Lead the way.’

  With the map open on his phone, Lanh propped one foot on a pedal. Here goes.

  He was okay at first, in fact it almost seemed like he might manage. But then a car pulled out in front of him. His front wheel met the gutter. Then the fence.

  Shit.

  He rubbed his neck, aware of the sensation of tears pricking at his eyes.

  Surprisingly, his guide looked almost sorry for him, even extending a hand to hoist him up. What a nightmare. He patted his top gently, grateful at least that the hidden wire was still secure.

  ‘You can’t ride at all, can you?’ Warren’s stare seemed to laser through him.

  ‘No.’ Lanh felt a weight lift as he said it. ‘But I really need to pass this induction. I don’t have a driver’s licence, and they said I needed a vehicle to get around. Please don’t report this back to anyone. I need this job. You won’t understand, but no one hires blokes like me.’ He’d gone off script, and it was a gamble. But the look on Warren’s face suggested he’d finally triggered something beyond contempt.

  ‘Whatever,’ the former teacher shrugged. ‘But you’ll have to learn quickly. It’ll take us all day to complete the route if you’re going to insist on having a massive stack every couple of houses.’

  Good advice, dickhead. Lanh grabbed his handlebars and began running, deciding it was safest to jog with the bike until he got his confidence back.

  As he built up a sweat, his legs sore and arms tired, an overwhelming sense of hopelessness swamped him. The worst part of the experience wasn’t being chastised by a sex predator, or even the looks of absolute bewilderment on the faces of passing motorists. No, the worst part, he thought, prodding at his top again as they mercifully stopped at a red light, was knowing that on the other end of the microphone, his colleagues would be listening to every second of this humiliating ordeal – and loving it.

  The thing she hated most about open houses were the nosy neighbours. They were relentless; appearing at every showing without fail, poking and peering and asking inane questions despite having zero intention of purchasing anything. And why did they always show up right at the end of the allotted time? Scarlett gritted her teeth, struggling to be anything more than terse towards the two women who were now tottering through the first property of the day at an unbearably slow pace that would no doubt make her late for her next appointment.

  ‘The kitchen’s been done, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Mm.’ The other ran a finger over the counter, as though inspecting for dust. ‘Not sure I like the eggplant colour there though. I would have gone for something brighter.’

  ‘Anything I can help with?’ She forced herself to trudge after them, silently willing them forward.

  ‘And those window fixtures look new.’ The women ignored her completely, chatting between themselves as though the purpose of the event was purely for their entertainment.

  Scarlett gave up, letting them finish the tour of the house on their own. In the hallway, she strai
ghtened out her brochures, the stack of information papers still depressingly high. The real estate market was booming, and with Melbourne continuing its urban sprawl, her little pocket in the south-east was hot property. So why weren’t her sales growing?

  She opened the front door, planning on collecting the banner from out the front. Instead she almost collided with a young couple. ‘Oh,’ she backed away, ‘sorry.’

  ‘We’re not too late?’ The woman smiled hopefully, dragging her partner forward as Scarlett stepped aside. ‘Just wanted a quick look.’

  ‘Sure,’ Scarlett sighed, closing the door with a thump.

  Thursdays were her busiest weekdays and her schedule was packed back-to-back. But unlike the women inside, her new arrivals appeared to be exactly the target market for this property, so perhaps there was hope . . . She felt her phone buzzing in her pocket. Shit. Was she late for her next appointment already? She strained a glance through the hallway to the clock at the far wall. Not yet. Still fifteen minutes to get there. The owner needed to chill out.

  Down the hallway and into the master bedroom, Scarlett found the young couple, apparently already in terse conversation over which way their bed would best fit.

  ‘You wouldn’t put it right in the middle, that’s just stupid,’ the man rolled his eyes.

  ‘Why?’ The woman was pouting, one hip jutting out sharply. ‘I hate sleeping against a wall . . .’

  ‘Isn’t this room divine?’ Scarlett tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. ‘Such a generous space, and I especially love the walk-in robe. The outlook onto the front yard is lovely too, don’t you think?’

  The man shrugged. ‘But people can see right in.’

  Well, then get some more money and buy a property that’s not on a main road.

  Scarlett trotted after them into the second bedroom. More of an oversized cupboard, really, with no natural light and just a single bed crammed in a corner. ‘So cosy,’ she cooed, before either of her visitors could complain. ‘You can imagine a young child just loving this room, can’t you?’

  She noticed the glint in the woman’s eye, the cautious hint of a smile as she looked up to her boyfriend. So she was on the right track. Her phone buzzed again.

  ‘Excuse me.’ She left them to imagine the supposed delight of raising a screaming child in a shoebox. ‘Hello?’

  She’d answered without checking the caller ID. What was that odd noise?

  ‘Scar?’ The word eventually formed between croaky, gasping sobs.

  Dean?

  ‘What’s happened?’ Scarlett leant against a table in the hallway, certain the floor would give way at any moment. The police had found out something more with Cecilia. They’d done testing. They’d linked it all back . . .

  ‘It’s Mum.’ A squeak escaped from his lips, like a whistle, piercing.

  Scarlett dropped the phone from her ear, instead staring at the handset. Daphne Innisberg? She frowned, unable to follow the thought any further. Dean had always had a tumultuous relationship with his adoptive parents, a kind of toxic entanglement that meant she’d never been able to judge how one felt about the other on any given day. In their final year together, he’d been virtually estranged from them, living in the caravan park and refusing to so much as speak about them. But perhaps that had changed – his use of the term ‘mum’ certainly suggested so.

  ‘Is she okay?’ Scarlett eventually managed, knowing what a stupid question that was. If she was okay, he’d hardly be phoning in tears.

  ‘She’s dead.’

  Scarlett waited, hoping he’d offer more. But the silence became intolerable. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Dunno.’ A loud sniff. ‘They found her on Koonya Beach late last night. But I was only called in to the hospital this morning. They took her there while they waited for someone to identify her. She didn’t have anything on her – like a licence or anything, I mean. They think she . . .’

  ‘Drowned?’ Scarlett offered.

  ‘What? No. Fell.’

  The weight of his words came crashing down. ‘You mean from the rocks . . .’

  Dean sniffed again. ‘I need to see you. You’re the only one I want to see right now. Please. Can you come and meet me?’

  Scarlett felt her insides twist. No. She couldn’t. She had too much on. It wasn’t possible.

  ‘Of course I can.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The pizza was spread out across the table, napkins in a messy pile, bottles of soft drink nearly empty.

  ‘You know,’ Emmett laughed, reaching for another generous slice of the capricciosa, ‘this feels an awful lot like a kids party.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that.’ Flynn looked the happiest he’d seen him, guzzling fizzy orange drink, eyes darting across the large boardroom table, considering his next move. ‘The problem with most people is that they don’t appreciate the simple pleasures in life.’

  ‘Speaking of simple pleasures,’ Bianca grinned. ‘Play the recording again. Just one more time. Please.’

  Emmett pretended to be resistant. Did this fall under workplace bullying? Probably. He flipped his laptop back open, found the file he’d saved prominently on his desktop, and turned the volume up.

  The sound of Lanh’s breathless panting started the clip. That was quickly followed by a car horn, some very rapid utterings (‘shit, shit, shit!’), and then the general clang of a grown man meeting a fence.

  At the final yelp, Bianca completely lost it, snorting and wiping at the tears streaming down her face. ‘I just wish there was video,’ she gasped through a mouthful of pizza crust. ‘Why can’t there be video?’

  ‘Good of the monitoring guys to log that soundbite for us,’ Flynn added. ‘Can’t help but wonder if someone up there doesn’t like young Nguyen too much.’

  ‘I’m sure they were just being thorough,’ Emmett smirked.

  Like all covert operations, the wire recording they had on Lanh was being streamed to analysts in the monitoring room. Any potentially useful exchanges were logged for his team to go back and listen to whenever they liked, but there was also the option to dial in live at any time.

  ‘Actually, all jokes aside, Nguyen seems to be doing a reasonable job. Warren’s much chummier with him then he was with myself or Detective Tardio.’

  ‘Maybe he caught the news about our mysterious suspect last night?’ Bianca dabbed a napkin over her lips. ‘Still can’t believe you did that. Did you notice the news trucks sitting outside? I think the reporters genuinely think we have someone holed up in here.’

  ‘Yep. Gave them a wave on my way in this morning.’

  ‘They’ve been outside Angus and Ebony May’s place too,’ Flynn grumbled, back to his usual deadpan self. ‘Hope Cecilia’s parents can keep their mouths shut this time.’

  ‘They’ll be fine.’ Emmett pushed his plate away. ‘But while we’ve got Warren occupied, what do you all think about my other plan – to get Scarlett Reyes and Gina Harper in the same room?’

  ‘Is that even likely?’ Bianca frowned. ‘I mean, the ice queen might come back in if we asked, but from what Ambers and Nguyen were saying, we’d need to subpoena Scarlett. What grounds have we got for doing that?’

  ‘I’m sure we can convince her. Let’s give it another go. I was thinking you and I should try catching up with her after lunch.’

  ‘Alright,’ Bianca shrugged.

  ‘In other news,’ Emmett resisted the urge to clap his hands, his colleagues still distracted by pizza, ‘that woman who saw someone lurking by Dogs Head went in to the Sorrento station yesterday evening and made a statement. Brabham says she was very helpful and was able to provide a reasonably full description.’

  ‘This was the guy with the headlight and reflective gloves?’ Bianca asked.

  ‘Exactly. And given that this sighting seems credible, I’ve asked the sergeant to dedicate a few local officers to do another sweep of the area: door-knock residents again, see if we can’t find anyone else who remembers
seeing a person of that description around the area in the past few days.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Flynn nodded. ‘And calls are still coming in to the hotline. I’m staying on top of those. But if you wanted me to try and locate Scarlett for you, I can get cracking on that, I imagine she’s working, so—’

  ‘Just hold that thought.’ Emmett grabbed his phone, recognising the number of the Sorrento station. ‘Hello?’

  The sergeant sounded distracted, talking to someone else before realising the call had connected. ‘Oh, Detective, hi, sorry, lots going on and no one to do it. The usual stuff. But look, there’s something I need to flag with you . . . Might be important for your investigation, might have absolutely nothing to do with it.’

  Get on with it. Emmett pursed his lips.

  ‘The body of Daphne Innisberg was found at Koonya Ocean Beach last night. We only got a formal ID from her son this morning so I apologise for the delay in letting you know.’

  Emmett felt his stomach drop. First the only alibi of the main suspect died, now his wife was dead too? This wasn’t good.

  ‘A couple of my coppers found a car that belongs to her sister abandoned at the lower carpark there. We think she was using that to get around. Last we’ve been able to establish, she was packing up her husband’s belongings at St John’s Church in Sorrento a couple of nights ago.’

  Jesus. Emmett darted a look at his colleagues. Women always know. Bianca’s words flitted through his mind.

  ‘What gave your officers the impression the car had been abandoned?’

  ‘The headlights were on, passenger side door open. It was parked at an unusual angle too. Like someone got out in a hurry and just left it.’

  ‘I’ll head down straight away.’ Emmett’s temples throbbed. ‘You’ll keep the body where it is for now?’

  ‘Yep. The hospital staff know we don’t want her moved.’