The Girl Remains (Detective Corban)

by Katherine Firkin

  She was too late.

  ‘I wasn’t completely honest with you.’ The words spilled from his lips, his watery gaze on her, pupils wide. ‘About the night you and Cecilia came to that party.’

  A clamp tightened itself around Scarlett’s chest. Please don’t do this. Please stop talking.

  ‘The thing is, Scar,’ he tried to smile, a pathetic gesture that only served to increase the tension, ‘I was off my head. You know how we all were that night. And I don’t know why I did it, but it was like a joke or something. She was with Mike, sitting on his lap and being all prissy, as she was, and it started out like a gag – I just kind of reached over and kissed her. But then all the guys were laughing and egging me on, and she was complaining and pushing me away . . . So I kind of, I don’t know, it was like I got possessed or something.’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Scarlett felt rage growing. ‘Stop it now. You don’t know what you’re saying. This isn’t true.’

  ‘It is true, Scar.’ Dean leant over and grabbed her shoulders, pinching her skin. ‘I dragged her off behind that shed by the fence where you vomited. You remember?’

  Scarlett shook her head, a weird buzzing starting at the back of her eyes. No.

  ‘And I . . . She was crying. I don’t even know why I did it. All the guys were laughing. She wouldn’t stop crying.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ Scarlett heard her voice, unusually screechy. She took both her hands and pushed at Dean’s chest, enough to get him off her.

  ‘She told your dad.’ He shook his head, his back now pressed against the passenger side door, the space between them seeming endless. ‘That’s why he told me I had to stay away from you. It wasn’t the drugs. It was Cecilia.’

  Scarlett watched the last of the colour in Dean’s face evaporate.

  ‘I was the reason she was so angry with you that night. I was the reason she ran away. It was me, Scar.’ Dean bit his upper lip, ‘I attacked her.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The party was wild – jelly in the pool and mixers in the coolers.

  Scarlett was spinning, figuratively and literally.

  ‘I’ve never seen someone dance like that.’ A girl clapped, watching her twirl on the spot.

  She’d been going like that for hours, on her own in the garden, leaps and pirouettes, spins and poses, her dress swooshing high above her knees as her unknown ballet talents surfaced.

  And the energy she felt – the energy!

  It was a buzz she couldn’t describe, a rush of colour and music, the beats urging her on, the electricity in her body like nothing before.

  She was only forced to stop when she needed to pee, her bursting bladder making itself painfully known. But where? The toilet was taken, the stragglers out the front suggesting an intolerable wait. She’d wet herself by then.

  The bushes? Why not? She giggled, moving over to the gardens in a haze. A wonderful, swirly haze.

  But who was that?

  Cecilia’s blurry body came rushing towards her. She was holding her hands out, shaking, crying. What were those funny noises coming from her throat? What was happening?

  ‘Get me away from him. Please. Get him away.’

  Scarlett looked at her friend, her perfect braids were all messed up, the sparkly butterfly clips hanging limply from strands of unruly hair.

  She was hysterical. Sobbing and pleading.

  The next shape to emerge was Dean, shirt untucked, wide grin on his face. He was flanked by several friends, all sharing smug expressions.

  ‘She’s not as good as you, Scar.’ He smacked her on the bum. ‘Okay. But not as good.’

  Was the whole garden spinning now? Scarlett felt the sudden need to vomit. Did she need to pee or throw up? She couldn’t tell.

  And why was Cecilia grabbing at her hand? ‘We have to leave. I want to go home.’ She was still crying; loud, awkward gulps.

  Scarlett shook her away, wobbling off to the garden beds.

  She had to pee. Or vomit. Or maybe both.

  ‘Did you want some gum? Or I’ve got mints somewhere too . . .’

  ‘Really?’ Warren stopped abruptly and turned to his trainee. ‘What is wrong with you? You’re like a walking vending machine.’

  The man’s expression fell. ‘I was only offering.’

  ‘Yeah, well, don’t. From now on, we have our lunch break separately.’

  He moved away, down the sandy track to where a ledge of sandstone was poking out. Flat like a shelf. Sitting on its edge, he angled his back to the annoying trainee, his face copping the full force of the wind that was sweeping in from the south. Sniffing, he wiped at his eyes. Why the hell had he insisted they eat on the back beach? It was hardly a pleasant afternoon for it.

  He scowled, looking out over the endless blue expanse, where waves were growing in size with every crash at the shore; building and swirling. There was danger in the ocean today, he noticed, zooming in on a patch of flat water sitting quietly amid the chaos. A rip. Warren smiled, despite himself. There was something enormously satisfying about having watched the ocean for all these years, learning its language. It was a clever beast, luring you in with its sparkling exterior; keeping its most dangerous secrets below the surface.

  ‘Hey!’ A gust of wind caught the waxed paper that he’d been resting his sandwich on, flicking it up into the air like a feather before it tumbled and twisted through the sky.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ a snivelling voice called.

  He turned to find his co-worker scurrying across the sands, hands held high like he was trying to hail a cab. What a weirdo.

  Still, he smirked, as the wind teased the man, leading him over the grassy dunes and towards the shore, he wasn’t the blockhead he’d been expecting, and he also wasn’t some young upstart like so many other meter readers: the annoying uni students only there for a quick buck, trying to get some extra pocket money between courses and exams. So who was this guy he’d been lumped with? Warren watched the man trudge back up the dunes, having finally been beaten by the wind, the wax paper lost somewhere over the rocks.

  ‘Don’t know what you were so bothered about. Here,’ he ripped the top of his beef jerky packet open, ‘have some.’

  His protégé leant in, squinting at the label before shaking his head vigorously. ‘Can’t. Not eating meat today.’

  Today? Warren scoffed. One of those vegetarian-when-it-suits-me types.

  ‘So, what’s your story?’ he asked, ripping at a large chunk of the salty meat snack with his teeth. ‘How’d you end up here?’

  The man seemed reluctant to talk, looking away into the distance. ‘This is my first job in a while,’ he finally said, scratching vigorously at his left forearm. Like a drug addict. ‘Haven’t had much luck finding work these past few months, and before that I was out of action for a while.’

  Out of action. What an odd expression. Warren frowned, unable to decide if he cared enough to bother asking anything further. He was beaten to it.

  ‘What about you?’ The young man’s eyes widened. ‘How’d you end up doing this for a career?’

  It was a reasonable enough question, probably asked with nothing more than polite interest, but it annoyed him. ‘None of your fucking business,’ he spat with more venom than intended.

  Again, the man’s face fell. They sat in silence, staring out at the choppy waters until the wind and painful sprays of sand that it carried became too much.

  As he mounted his bike, Warren kept his eyes forward, not bothering to check that his odd partner was following along. He had no desire to converse with the man, and certainly no interest in sharing anything personal. By mid–next week he’d be gone, a blip in the rear-view mirror.

  But still, the question had stirred up painful memories.

  How did I end up here?

  His feet fell into a comfortable rhythm, the pedals circling with ease.

  Because my life turned to shit.

  The tide was out, exposing the beach’s best
features – rocks and rockpools, islands of sandstone and rushing waterfalls.

  In the distance, Tobias was skipping ahead, clambering through jagged caves and waving wildly for her to hurry. Pippa forced herself to smile, but she still felt delicate and sore. When she’d suggested meeting up, she’d been hoping for a coffee somewhere, not a seaside expedition.

  ‘Isn’t this cool?’ he gushed once she finally caught him, standing proudly at the entrance to a rocky tunnel. ‘Brave enough?’

  ‘Fine.’ She clambered through the gap, making it out the other side just in time to beat the next wave. At least this was a distraction from wallowing in loneliness, she decided, hopping over a pool of water and finding higher ground, her fingertips clinging to the unstable rock at her side.

  The squawk from behind told her Tobias had left his run too late. She turned to find the water crashing through the tunnel, submerging everything in its path.

  ‘Oh no,’ she laughed, watching the sodden figure eventually emerge; trousers clinging to his legs and shirt see-through.

  ‘Might have misjudged that a little.’ He ran his fingers through his saturated hair, skin glistening with moisture.

  ‘Maybe time for a break then?’ she suggested, hopefully.

  ‘Right you are.’ Tobias scooped her up abruptly, one arm cradled around her waist and another under her knees.

  He marched her out across the sand and then through the shallows of the ocean.

  ‘Please don’t drop me,’ she whimpered, hating that she sounded like such a sad sack.

  He continued on, the water now sitting well past his knees. ‘Okay. I’ll be nice.’ He placed her down on a shelf of stone, their own little island out in the depths.

  They sat for a while, Tobias kicking his feet in the water like flippers, Pippa resting her palms behind her and staring at the sky, wondering how best to get him talking.

  ‘So, what’s happening with that big investigation you were working on? Any developments?’

  Tobias shrugged. ‘Not really . . . You know, it’s weird, but I actually feel a bit envious of those detectives from Melbourne.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’d love to do what they do – it seems so exciting, knowing all the secrets, setting up undercover operations and recording secret conversations.’

  ‘Undercover operations?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tobias chuckled. ‘I shouldn’t really tell you, but I listened in to one of their meetings the other day. They’ve got one of their detectives following the main suspect around, trying to see if they can trick this guy Warren into talking.’

  ‘That’s clever,’ Pippa murmured, mind racing. ‘What are they hoping he’ll say?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Tobias shrugged. ‘Something incriminating, I guess.’

  ‘Maybe they’re hoping he’ll lead them to something?’ Pippa tried. ‘Like a piece of evidence he’s hidden?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tobias chuckled. ‘Sure.’

  ‘I wonder what that could be?’ She tilted her head, as though the thought had only just occurred to her. ‘If he killed that girl, there must be physical evidence he’s disposed of? What might he hide?’

  The policeman frowned. ‘God, I dunno. He’s already moved the body around, so it’s not like there’s much left, I wouldn’t have thought . . .’

  ‘Moved the body around?’ Pippa flinched. That hadn’t been reported in any of the news articles she’d read. She pictured the disturbed soil in Warren’s backyard. Were the cops really that thick?

  ‘Yeah,’ Tobias scrunched his face. ‘They reckon the bones were only recently moved to that spot on the cliff, but they don’t know where the body was kept before that. I think they were hoping Warren might let something slip. And in the meantime they’ve had us out door-knocking for witnesses.’

  ‘What about the survivors? Have they tried interviewing them again?’

  ‘I think so, but since they don’t live ’round here I’m not exactly sure.’

  Oh yeah. Pippa felt her chest squeeze. She remembered him saying that.

  ‘But the sergeant’s still nearby,’ Tobias continued. ‘That’s Scarlett’s dad, Leicester Reyes. I actually got to meet him the other day when he popped in to the station. He’s still in the exact same house where they were all staying. Bit spooky after everything that happened, don’t you think?’

  An icy spray struck her face. Pippa felt a chill race through her body. She hadn’t even thought to check whether the father was still around. ‘He’s living at the house on Koonya Avenue?’

  ‘Sure is.’

  A glimmer of hope. She sat up stiffly.

  If Warren wasn’t going to help her, maybe this other man would?

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The clatter of plates and crockery from the kitchen downstairs was impossible to sleep through, and Emmett rolled onto his side, grabbing a spare pillow and pressing it over the top of his head. What time was it? He wiggled further down under the blankets, a heavy fog settling over him again.

  ‘Wakey, wakey!’ The door crashed open. ‘Dad?’

  Emmett pushed the second pillow away, propping himself up just enough to see the top of Nicholas’s fluffy head. His nose twitched. Something smells good . . .

  ‘We made you breakfast!’ The plate was plonked onto his chest, the toast stacked high with bacon, dripping in oil.

  He eyed the greasy food. ‘Wow. You’ve been busy.’

  ‘Mum said I could eat up here before she takes me to school.’

  ‘That’s very nice of you both.’ He sat up straighter, patting the mattress beside him. ‘Come up and have some with me.’

  His son jumped onto the bed with force, causing bread and bacon to bounce from the plate. ‘Doesn’t matter.’ Nicholas crawled around collecting the debris.

  Emmett laughed, accepting whatever scraps of food he was given.

  ‘Coffee?’ Cindy appeared around the doorway, two large mugs in her hands.

  ‘Why the special treatment?’

  She placed his cup on the bedside table nearest him. ‘No reason.’ She kissed him on the forehead. ‘You’ve been working hard, and I’ve got the day off. Nicholas and I were both up early anyway.’

  ‘Oh. No shift today?’ Emmett asked cautiously, taking his coffee. Although he would have preferred that his wife was covering a different news story, there was no doubt she was happier working than not.

  ‘No, but I don’t mind too much,’ Cindy shrugged. ‘Now that you lot have someone in custody, everyone’s camped out in West Melbourne waiting for news. There’s no reason for me to sit there with them. It was good while it lasted, though.’ She reached forward and snuck a piece of bacon while Nicholas was distracted. ‘Kind of exciting to be involved in such a big story. And I did like the change of scenery. Hopefully something else comes up.’

  ‘You know,’ Emmett started, hesitating as he considered how to best phrase his words, ‘obviously I can’t tell you exactly what’s going on with the investigation, but between you and me, I wouldn’t expect much to come out of this new suspect.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The lead doesn’t seem to be going very far. That’s all I can really tell you.’

  ‘Okay.’ Cindy’s eyes sparkled, sensing weakness. ‘So, hypothetically speaking, if I was to, say, station myself back outside Warren Turton’s place, would that be a good move?’

  Emmett laughed, taking another sip of his coffee. ‘You know I can’t tell you that, and I also can’t predict the future.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t be a bad move?’

  He shuffled slightly closer to his wife, who was perched on the edge of the bed. ‘I don’t think you’ll miss much by having the day off today, but if you can get yourself a shift soon after that, you’d definitely do better to be in Blairgowrie, rather than outside the West Melbourne headquarters.’

  Cindy beamed. ‘Got it.’

  Emmett nodded, nervous. ‘And you need to be discreet. We shouldn’t know that you’re there.’


  ‘No problemo,’ Cindy winked, sending crumbs flying from his plate and onto the sheets as she leapt up. ‘And if you send me a text saying we need more bacon, I’ll know that’s code meaning it’s time to hightail it straight to that creep’s house.’

  Emmett laughed, accidently inhaling a mouthful of his toast. ‘I did not agree to that,’ he finally managed, half-choking. ‘Nicholas, I need you to back me up here. I would like it on the record that I did not promise anything of that nature.’

  She’d taken several strong painkiller tablets, but the ache behind her eyes had only grown, radiating to her temples and pulsing down her neck. Scarlett gripped the steering wheel tighter, teeth clenched, nostrils flared.

  Fucking hell.

  She honked at a passing motorist. ‘Move.’

  It had hit her that morning, when she’d woken with a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, the realisation gnawing and twisting until she couldn’t take it anymore. All these years, she’d been wrong.

  At an intersection, she flipped her sun visor, making the mistake of catching her reflection in the small vanity mirror, the bags under her eyes almost purple, her skin puffy. She shrugged. If it hadn’t been for the bottle of vodka she’d chugged on the lounge room floor the previous evening, she’d probably never have slept at all.

  Bloody Dean. His words circled in her head, interrupted by his pathetic, sniffly stutters.

  Oh, boohoo. She’d wanted to scream, as they’d sat staring at the ocean. How badly she’d wanted to just smack him across the face and kick him out of her car. You’re a fucking pervert who should be behind bars.

  Instead, she’d silently driven him back to his pathetic home in Rye, murmuring some inane platitude as he’d got out, then watching him walk to his front door – the man she’d been so besotted with not looking back as he’d moved a pram aside and left her life for good, going back to his wife and baby.

  Fuck. Scarlett smacked her steering wheel hard as she aggressively changed lanes without looking. The screech of tyres behind her suggested at least one person was put out by her recklessness.