The Girl Remains (Detective Corban)

by Katherine Firkin

  ‘Right. Speaking of your car, we’ve actually confirmed another witness who remembers seeing Cecilia May with you, in your white sedan, around the time she disappeared. Why don’t you just tell us what you did to her?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Really?’ Emmett darted a glance at Bianca. Ready for the kill. ‘How do you explain her clothing being found in your house, then?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re not a fan of dressing up in children’s clothing by any chance, are you, Mr Turton? Not something you do for kicks?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Or maybe you collect little clothes to dress your cat, perhaps?’

  Warren was doing a good job of looking confused. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

  Bianca shifted in her seat. ‘I believe my colleague is referring to the sparkly floral youth-sized sock that was found in your washing hamper. It’s an item that belongs to Cecilia May.’

  His face drained of colour. ‘Why would I keep Cecilia’s sock at home?’

  ‘That’s something we’re hoping you can tell us.’ Bianca’s tone softened. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier on everyone if you finally started telling us the truth? You see, the thing is, Mr Turton, I know you think you’re pretty smart, and you’ve managed to dodge investigators before, but this isn’t circumstantial evidence anymore; this isn’t stuff that you can talk your way out of or where you can get some phony alibi to cover for you – this is real.’

  ‘Phony alibi?’ Warren’s nostrils flared.

  ‘We know about the relationship between you and Robert Innisberg,’ Emmett explained. ‘And we also know that you weren’t really together fixing a bookshelf on the night Cecilia May disappeared, were you? But you were in love. That’s why he agreed to cover for you, isn’t it?’

  Warren opened his mouth, and then quickly closed it.

  ‘It must have been hard, for both of you, having to keep it secret. But there’s a bigger secret that’s been tormenting you for all these years, isn’t there? Mr Turton?’

  He noticed the man had begun to sway, ever so slightly, from side to side.

  ‘So why don’t you tell us what happened? Had Cecilia seen you and Robert together? Had she threatened to tell someone? Why did you have to silence her?’

  The swaying became more obvious now, Warren’s eyes blinking rapidly.

  ‘Mr Turton? Are you okay?’

  Again, the mouth opened and closed, but this time Warren’s face rearranged itself into a hardened, cold stare.

  Then a hand smashed on the table between them.

  ‘I didn’t fucking kill her, alright?’ A deep vein throbbed on his forehead. ‘This needs to stop. You shouldn’t be in here with me. You should be out there finding the real killer. This whole thing needs to fucking stop.’

  The front door to Warren’s house had been left ajar, and Pippa had slipped inside, the evil immediately apparent from the moment she entered. She hadn’t intended on actually going in but she’d been unable to stop, her feet moving their way down the hallway as though being guided by some external force.

  She’d hoped for some kind of premonition, some inner feeling that this creepy house held the answers she was looking for – that the connection between Warren and herself would make itself known. Instead, she was overcome by dizziness, having to pause about halfway down the hall, placing a hand on the wall to steady herself as a terrible loss of balance overcame her.

  It was too familiar, that was the problem.

  The hallway was thin and narrow, like the one back home. Her footsteps reverberated on the wooden floor, just as they had on that awful day. She should turn around and leave. But the memories were rushing back.

  ‘Mum? Dad?’ She called out so casually when she’d entered. Still not questioning why the front door had been left open like that, why the scent of stale smoke had been heavy in the air.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. But we were having fun. Don’t be mad.’

  No response. Were they really angry? And why was there a cigarette butt on the floor? Her parents abhorred smoking.

  ‘Something really funny happened in class today; you know that professor I told you about?’

  Was that the back door slamming closed? Why were her parents going out to the yard at this time of night?

  Pippa ignored the squeak of a floorboard as her feet continued their journey forward, bracing herself for what she was about to face.

  And when you rounded the hallway, what did you find?

  The detective’s words played in her mind as she turned into a kitchen – smaller than theirs had been, tidier too. But she could see them there, sitting side-by-side on the wicker chairs, hands tied with white string behind their backs, her brain taking a moment to register the unnatural open gash on her dad’s neck.

  ‘Hello?’ The voice came from outside, jolting her back to the present.

  She wasn’t at her family home; she was in the paedophile’s house. And now she was no longer alone. Who had followed her in?

  Pippa scanned the kitchen bench, eyes landing on a rolling pin. She grabbed it in her left hand, clasping it behind her back.

  ‘Hello?’ The male voice was louder.

  Her fingers squeezed the wooden implement as the figure emerged.

  ‘Pippa? Is that you?’

  Oh.

  He appeared before her, the look on Tobias’s face one of confusion, and also fear.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  She swallowed a lump, willing her face to form a pleasant expression.

  The policeman frowned, shuffling forward. ‘What’s going on? Why are you here?’

  ‘I saw the place was empty, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a look around.’

  ‘Wouldn’t hurt?’ Tobias’s cheeks reddened. ‘Pippa, you’re trespassing.’

  ‘Alright.’ She raised her free hand. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘No. Wait.’ He stepped closer again, eyes narrowing, arms crossed at his chest. ‘You need to tell me what’s going on. I’ve done some research, Pippa. I know what happened to you.’

  The shooting pain in her chest was immediate. Her smile faded. An image of him propped up on the edge of the bed appeared in her mind. Holding her ID.

  ‘You looked me up?’

  ‘Yes, when I got to the station this afternoon. My shift didn’t start ’til two, but I went in early, as soon as you left my place. Something didn’t feel right. And it wasn’t that hard; there were plenty of articles about it on the UK websites.’ He hesitated, his lips twitching, wanting to say more. ‘Pippa, I read about your parents. I know what happened.’

  For a moment, she considered bluffing, but then an icy cold set over her. ‘You don’t know anything.’

  ‘I do.’ He stepped forward another inch. ‘I know that your parents were killed during a burglary-gone-wrong, and I know you were the one who came home to find them.’

  Pippa licked her lips. Burglary-gone-wrong. This was the term all the papers had used, as though something had gone just a little awry; as though having your neck slit open while being tied to a chair was something that often happened when things ‘went wrong’.

  ‘He was a monster,’ Pippa murmured, noticing the tremors in her hands. ‘He had a history of violence, but he never got more than a slap on the wrist from anyone. The police never even managed to find him.’

  Tobias’s face was solemn. ‘It’s not always that simple.’

  ‘Not always simple? Like with this case?’ A scoff escaped from somewhere deep in her throat, the harshness of the sound causing the policeman to flinch. ‘When there’s been a paedophile literally living in front of your noses, and it still took the police twenty years to do something about it?’

  ‘What’s this all about?’ Tobias’s eyes darted to the doorway. Was he scared of her? ‘Why are you so interested in this particular investigation?’

  A cloud must have drifted across the moon, because the light from the windo
w faded, a comforting darkness settling over them.

  ‘Warren Turton was hiding a bag with gloves and a headlight by the coast. I saw him checking on it, and I stole it. I thought it might be useful to you.’ She took a chance.

  A mistake.

  ‘Hang on. What?’ Tobias had a hand raised in front of him, like he might grab hold of her at any moment. ‘Okay, Pippa, this has gone too far.’

  She shifted backwards.

  ‘I don’t even know what you’re talking about anymore, but this needs to stop. You’ll have to come back to the station with me and tell the detectives what you know.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Pippa’s fingers squeezed the rolling pin. The shakes were becoming more violent. Why did they always strike at the worst of times? ‘You don’t understand. I’m so close, now. I just need to go and talk to Leicester Reyes.’

  ‘The former sergeant? What the heck are you even talking about? Why? This is crazy. I don’t know why you’re here or what you’re doing, but something weird is going on . . .’

  He reached for his radio mic, clipped at his belt. ‘Will you come with me to the station or not?’

  ‘Fine.’ Pippa’s lips trembled, watching his head turn to lead the way out.

  She swung as hard as she could.

  Shit.

  The impact was immediate, his body toppling face-forward to the ground.

  A tiny yelp suggested he wasn’t out cold. She bent down and touched his head, her fingers finding warm, sticky liquid.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Dodging the body, she ran down the hallway, the sound of her own heavy breathing pounding in her ears. Outside, she slowed to a brisk walk and checked no one was watching as she hurried down the hill, towards the vacant house that had become her home. There, she changed clothes and hid in the dark, trying unsuccessfully to slow her heart.

  She’d really fucked up this time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  ‘I don’t think we needed the large chips.’ Bianca opened up the butcher’s paper parcel and surveyed the greasy contents. ‘Okay if I put sauce on?’

  Emmett could feel his arteries clogging just by looking at the stack of fried goodness. When was the last time he’d had fish and chips? He couldn’t remember. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever been so happy to see food in my entire life.’

  Bianca laughed. ‘It seemed only right, given where we are – shame we can’t actually go and sit on the beach to eat it, though.’

  ‘We could . . .’ Emmett leant forward in his seat, assessing the area. They were parked near the Sorrento foreshore, the passing cars from the road behind providing almost enough light to see the sand. ‘Wanna do it?’

  His colleague grinned, flinging her door open and nursing the bundle of takeaway to her chest. ‘It’s chilly, though,’ she laughed, scampering into the darkness.

  Emmett joined her in perching on the edge of a raised concrete platform, its path leading out to the pier.

  ‘This is better than sitting cramped in the car.’ He waited for her to unroll the package between them before helping himself to a large piece of flake. ‘And our friend can enjoy some extra time alone in the cells.’

  ‘Wish he’d hurry up and confess,’ Bianca muttered. ‘He’s doing himself no favours. Or us.’

  ‘No,’ Emmett sighed.

  It had been a long night, Warren’s interview progressing at a sluggish pace. After looking like he might crack, the former teacher had instead shut down, refusing to speak as the interrogation dragged on.

  ‘So, you have no idea how Cecilia’s clothing came to be in your possession?’

  Nothing.

  ‘And you can’t explain why you were seen driving her around at the time of her disappearance?’

  Still no response.

  ‘And you’ve got no recollection of being at Dogs Head, where the remains were found?’

  ‘Mr Turton, do you see why your story of innocence is becoming increasingly difficult to believe?’

  They’d eventually decided to call it a night, booking accommodation nearby and giving Warren time to consider his position from the comfort of a station cell. But the thought of returning to the interview room and facing the smug man first thing the next morning was far from appealing.

  ‘Maybe we need to keep pushing him on his relationship with Robert?’ Emmett licked his fingertips. ‘You saw the way he reacted when we first mentioned it. I don’t think he ever imagined anyone knew about that.’

  Bianca frowned. ‘We still haven’t been able to establish whether they were actually together on the night Cecilia disappeared, or whether the whole story is a lie.’

  ‘Does it matter? Either way we know they were involved in something more intimate, something that Robert wanted hidden from his wife. That immediately casts doubt on the alibi, and increases the chance that . . .’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ She held up her hands, as though under arrest herself. ‘You don’t need to convince me. Save your grandstanding for the interview room.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Emmett felt himself blush. Why did she have that effect on him? ‘Anyway,’ he made a point of lowering his voice, ‘he’s a lot more resistant than I expected. Mind you, he’s escaped conviction for over two decades, so we were probably naïve to think he’d go down without a fight. How much longer do you give him before he cracks?’

  Bianca tried to stifle a yawn. ‘I’m more worried about us cracking, quite frankly.’

  Emmett shrugged, rubbing his eyes. ‘I think I’m beyond that point.’

  After the initial pigging out, they slowed down, casually picking at the remaining bits and pieces.

  ‘I’ve never understood potato cakes.’ Bianca held up the floppy fried disc, bending it unattractively in half. ‘They’re gross and tasteless, really, aren’t they?’

  ‘Why did you order them, then?’ Emmett pinched it from her grip.

  ‘Said I didn’t understand them, not that I didn’t like them.’ She attempted to steal it back, ending up with a limp scrap of batter hanging between her fingertips.

  ‘That reminds me of when you made poor Tobias Haigh go and buy you coffee; the way the note just kind of dangled from his hand . . .’ Emmett stopped. The memory of the young constable had reignited angry thoughts about Cindy.

  His feelings must have been obvious, because Bianca’s face softened. ‘You want to talk about it?’ She pushed the remnants of food back and shuffled in closer to him. The light of passing cars caused a halo around her head.

  ‘It’s always been hard, balancing the job with my home life,’ Emmett started, amazed by how much emotion was being triggered. ‘And Cindy’s great. But lately it’s like . . . I don’t know how we’re supposed to co-exist with this job she’s taken up. I tried keeping her at arm’s length – that didn’t work. Then I tried helping her, and you saw how well that turned out. And now to discover that she actively went behind my back . . . I just don’t even know how to take it.’

  Bianca placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘It sounds like you need to have a proper conversation with her about all this.’

  Emmett was acutely aware of her touch. The warmth that came through her hand. An electricity.

  ‘I’ve tried to discuss it, but I’m not sure she understands the impossible position she’s put me in.’

  ‘Well, I understand,’ Bianca smiled.

  Perhaps it was the stress of the long day, the darkness, or the romance of the beach, but Emmett couldn’t help himself; he leant in and planted a kiss on her lips.

  For a second it was perfect, the waves lapping at the shore, the icy breeze, just the two of them.

  Then his colleague leapt to her feet.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ Bianca wiped aggressively at her mouth with the back of her hand, a look of absolute disgust on her face.

  Emmett felt as though his stomach had dropped through the ground. ‘Um . . .’

  She shook her head, still madly wiping at her mouth. ‘You need help, you know that? Like, se
rious help.’

  ‘Sorry, I . . .’ Emmett stood up. What the hell had he been thinking? What had he just done? ‘I’m so sorry, that was totally out of line. I don’t know what came over me.’

  Bianca raised a warning hand. ‘Stop.’ Her voice was stern, but not altogether unfriendly. ‘Just stop.’

  He waited, like a schoolkid standing outside the principal’s office, entirely unsure what to do or say next.

  Surprisingly, his colleague smiled, stepping closer and grabbing his two hands in her own.

  ‘Okay, you want some advice? Then here it is. If you want your wife to understand your job more, you need to include her more. If you want to have a better work-life balance, then prioritise it. And if you want a happy marriage . . .’ Emmett pressed his lips together, waiting for the blunt words he knew were about to hit him. ‘Then, for god’s sake, don’t go around kissing other women. And if you have to do that, then at the very least please don’t make it me.’

  She laughed, squeezing his hands in hers, messy brunette waves dancing around her face as she chuckled. He breathed out.

  Bianca was attractive – beautiful, even – in her own, scary kind of way. But she was also one hundred per cent right. And thank goodness for that.

  ‘Sorry. Again,’ he murmured sheepishly as they headed back to the car.

  She got into the driver’s seat, revving the engine unnecessarily.

  ‘Also,’ she added, reversing far too quickly out of the car space. ‘You might want to consider some mouthwash. Or at least toothpaste. Not sure how long it’s been since you brushed your teeth. But . . .’ she grinned, enjoying every moment of torment, ‘a diet of coffee and fish and chips?’ She shook her head. ‘Not the best.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Scarlett woke early, disturbed by the unfamiliar sounds of birds calling outside, the heavy fragrance of tea-tree drifting through the gap in the window, and the relentless, gnawing worries that were chewing her up inside, telling her that something wasn’t quite right.

  She sat up, almost knocking her head on the base of the bunk above her. Thirty-seven years old and sleeping in the spare room at my dad’s place. I wasn’t expecting that. She swung her legs over the edge and crouched forward.