by Mark Bailey
‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain, Gavin Lang, speaking. We are currently flying at 39,000 feet. We …’
Her thoughts interrupted, Milly finished her drink and went to the toilet; she was bursting. She returned to her seat and, losing track of her thoughts completely, closed her eyes. She dreamed of home, of seeing her friend Dannii again, of the important thing Aunt Christy had to give her ... and then there was total silence and peace. When she woke, they were on their final approach into Dubai.
I’ve really got to go to the toilet, thought Milly.
She asked Nelson for time to inject some insulin for her diabetes and was the last passenger to leave business class on the A380 flight from London.
Chapter 5.
The Emirates flight from Dubai to Perth was scheduled to depart at 2.45 Thursday morning Dubai time, but was running twenty-five minutes late. After a comfortable wait in the Emirates first class lounge, Milly found herself seated in business class on the Emirates 777-300ER. Prior to takeoff, the pilot assured passengers they would make up the lost time on the scheduled ten-hours and fifty -minute flight due to favorable flying conditions. The crew planned to see them disembark right on schedule.
As the aircraft flew to Perth, Milly pulled out her document folder to look at some other paperwork, placing her new employment contract at the bottom of her small paper pile. Since that last meeting with Theo, she hankered even more now for a career change. She decided she was bored with Watford and sick of Theo. She had done some research, tinkering around the edges of an investigative role, looking at options. Cold cases held her interest and Stopford had kindled that interest by revealing his own desire for a career change. She could leave Watford Therapy tomorrow; she wasn’t beholden to Theo. But she felt duty-bound to Rosie. Her new contract established her job description, clarifying her role under U.K. employment law. There was no other legal contract, nothing enforceable at law, nothing binding her to Watford Therapy. She believed she might see out another twelve months in her current role, unless Theo pushed her into leaving earlier by his treatment of her.
She began reading printed information she had downloaded from Wikipedia – an article entitled ‘The Doe Network.’ As described by Wikipedia: ‘The Doe Network is a non-profit organization of volunteers who work with law enforcement to connect missing person cases with Jane/John Doe cases. The network is based in Tennessee, but there are volunteers who work for the organization across the world.’
‘Excuse me, Dr. McTaggart, would you like something to drink?’ interrupted Amirah, her new flight attendant. Milly looked at the flight attendant in her Emirates uniform, with its iconic light mushroom coloring dotted with red. Outwardly, she was classic Middle Eastern female fare — beautiful, with her caramel colored skin and her meek and mild manner not wishing to disturb or intrude. Her job belied her modest nature; she needed to intrude, to be of service.
‘Yes, I’d like a strong black coffee, with no sugar, thank you, Amirah.’ Normally, she took sugar in her coffee, but she denied herself this small pleasure now, considering the sugar her body had railed against during the previous flight’s Bacardi and Coke bender. Managing diabetes required discipline as life required small pleasures, both sometimes manipulated with insulin and abstinence.
She read on. The Doe Network was founded by Jennifer Marra in 1998 and comprised Internet sleuths chatting online, mainly about cold cases. Their website portrayed actual photos of missing persons or artistic renderings, some taken from facial reconstructions of human remains. The profiles on the Doe website provided as much information as possible on the body or remains including discovery details, a physical description, and identifiers including dental, D.N.A., and fingerprint information. Other information included clothing and personal details, and legal entities such as local police and other investigating agencies and their contact email address and phone number.
Milly had printed off the case of a Sean Lewis Cutler from Wayne, New Jersey in the U.S.A. A paralegal by the name of Carol Cielecki had pieced together information she had read on the Internet including details of a dog wandering home, bringing with it a human skull and returning later with a lower jaw bone and femur. Forensic pathologists examining the remains established the owner of the thigh bone to be handicapped. A man by the name of Patrick Harkness, who had posted the original details of a missing Sean Cutler online had left a contact email address. Harkness happened to be Cutler’s first cousin.
Carol Cielecki married up these details from a listing of unidentified skeletal remains with a link to the Vermont Police where a skull, jawbone, and femur from a person believed to be handicapped had been found. Put simply, she brought together two sets of information sitting on a website to solve the case of a missing John Doe. She contacted Harkness, and they took their information to investigators. There were two sides to the case. First, there were the unidentified remains and second the manner of Cutler’s fate, which is still a mystery. The Doe Network had done its part, though, not least for the Cutler family, thought Milly.
Milly had downloaded and printed out information on cold cases and rewards offered in the U.K. There was the case of a coronary care nurse, who was stabbed and murdered at her flat in Middleton. A £50,000 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of her killer was on offer. God knows how her family coped, thought Milly, but somehow, somewhere, there would be someone who knew something. There would be a clue, just one clue that could solve the crime, like two bits of seemingly unrelated information sitting on a website somewhere that needed discovery — to be married up, as in the case of Sean Cutler.
Computers in personal carry-on baggage can be rather inconvenient, especially when changing planes with connecting flights. The U.S. had recently changed their regulations governing computers and other electronic devices in hand luggage flying into the States. Although she wasn’t flying to the U.S., the U.K. was getting in on the act too. Milly had decided to leave her computer in Watford. She could check her email on another computer if Rosie or Theo needed her for work. She had also decided to print copies of articles she might like to read on her flight home, rather than read them on her computer, so she could make written notes. She had included her Kindle in her personal onboard luggage, hoping it wouldn’t draw much attention, and began reading a copy of The Skeleton Crew, by Deborah Halber; her own notes could wait. She got to Chapter 3, ‘It’s the Ethernet, my dear Watson’, when, just as she was feeling drowsy, she stumbled across Halber’s take on the Sean Cutler case.
It was a fascinating read. She read on, her sleepiness waning. In her research on the Doe Network, Carol Cielecki had originally set out to solve the mystery of her missing ex-husband, Todd Smith. Helping solve the Sean Cutler case had been a by-product of that research. Smith was an adventurous type who was probably never suited to married life or the responsibilities of fatherhood. The marriage ended soon after their daughter was born, but a friendly relationship ensued. The last time Cielecki saw Smith was in 1989. His then-girlfriend had called her telling her she hadn’t seen him for a few days. Cielecki told her not to worry, that eventually, he would turn up; he often went missing for days at a time.
Smith never returned. Cielecki had searched the Doe Network looking for a match for him; she assumed he was dead and wanted closure for their daughter. In her search, there were unidentified remains and other information, but nothing seemed to line up. There were too many discrepancies — discrepancies in information, with some matches in height and age, eye color, and other physical features. In 2008, nineteen years after Smith had gone missing, a forensic technician in Volusia County, Florida, was working her way through the Doe Network’s listing of missing men when she spotted information describing a man who stood over six feet tall with curly hair. Checking photos and by a series of events, including a fingerprint taken from Smith’s car that only confused things, police would later match dental records with the body they had, and identify it as Todd Smith. Milly marveled at t
he solving of these two cases. Each was remarkable in its simplicity. A simple quirk picked up by someone, a clue that others had missed, an unremarkable find that would change the lives of other people, helping them find their loved ones at last.
She looked at her watch; it was 2:45 a.m. back in Watford. She turned her Kindle down and drifted off to sleep. When she woke, it was 5:30 a.m. — still U.K. time. She was starving.
After eating, and drinking another strong coffee, Milly turned back to her notes. Currently, there was no licensing requirement in the U.K. for a private investigator or a private detective. Legally, anyone in the U.K. could set up an agency and begin working immediately. There were plans afoot by the government to license investigators and hand over regulation of the industry to the Security Industry Authority. Parliament needed to legislate, to enact laws first, but lawmakers never moved quickly. Milly had seen advertisements on the Internet where students could undertake a training course for around £150. She wondered then if Stopford’s training in the U.K. police force would automatically qualify him as a licensed P.I. when laws were enacted.
Milly’s attention turned then to her own qualifications. She was a member of the B.P.S. or British Psychological Society, so could enroll in any course that took her fancy. She was interested in criminal profiling; however, she knew that forensic psychology and criminal profiling were two distinct training and career paths. Her background was in mental health and mental health training. While most criminal profilers had qualifications in psychology, they also had a formal background in criminal justice and law enforcement. She had no intention of further extensive study. She wondered if she could undertake some light training in criminal justice or law enforcement like an Australian T.A.F.E. course or an equivalent N.V.Q. course in the U.K.? Then she dismissed the thought of further training as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, thinking it would be a cold day in hell when she returned to further study.
She closed the document folder, only having read half of the printed information. She thought again of Stopford; they would be a good fit together at work. He was like a mongrel dog, a veritable Jack Russell full of energy and bluster, nipping at ankles, pulling trouser legs until he got his way. In a sense a P.I. needed some of that in their personality. They didn’t have a badge to stand behind — they needed bluff, to conjure up, to trick information out of others. Windsor saw that in his personality —prone to brilliance but full of human frailty and weakness. He was too easily distracted, too willing to chase a bit of skirt or, as P.C. Stone put it, never get between Stopford and a big set of tits. Milly was more circumspect, more risk averse. Theirs would be a unity of opposites if they could agree to work together. She giggled to herself when she imagined flashing her own 38DDs at Stopford, asking him to sit like a good dog if he wanted another peek. There’s a good boy, she thought, as she patted him on the head.
Her thoughts continued. There was information available in infinite magnitude on the Internet with sites such as the Doe Network and missing persons’ information just seconds away with a Google search. There were the twenty-four-hour news cycles and the educated assumptions that could be made using criminal profiling. One of the most important assets would be that small, unremarkable thing, that little quirk that everyone missed — that clue — those two seemingly unrelated statements or pieces of information. One just had to look in the right place, like Carol Cielecki did in the case of Sean Cutler.
After reading more on her Kindle and falling in and out of light sleep, Milly looked at her watch; it was 11.30 a.m. UK time in Watford. She looked at her monitor; it was 6:30 p.m. A.W.S.T. or Perth time. She put her watch forward seven hours, realizing they were only an hour and five minutes from landing in Perth.
She thought of the events of the past sixteen months since she’d left Australia, especially of finding her identical twin sister, albeit dead. She cringed when she thought of her own near life-ending catastrophes with her drug binges and sexual escapades, followed by her new regime of abstinence and celibacy. There were her fights with Theo and new friendships with Rosie and Tess. Then the dissatisfaction with her job — or was that just Theo getting to her, she wondered. She thought of small things like the difference in the exchange rate when she arrived in the U.K. to now, due to Brexit. She thought, too, of the potential for a five-year jail sentence at home in Australia for dealing and trafficking in cocaine if things went badly wrong. She quickly dismissed that thought.
The Emirates plane landed from the northeast and taxied into Terminal 1. The time was 19:50, just fifteen minutes later than their scheduled arrival. Milly said goodbye and thanked Amirah, not wanting to point her out or make a fuss. Amirah stood resolute, but modest, not wishing to intrude or impose, in her Emirates uniform, with her red hat, white scarf and signature red lipstick enhancing her dark skin and dark brown eyes. She nodded politely to Milly, wishing her a pleasant evening. As Milly disembarked, stepping onto Australian soil for the first time in sixteen months, she could not know that when next she boarded a plane, the whole future course of her life would have changed.
Chapter 6.
As she walked from her Emirates flight, Milly thought of something her mother had said long ago: it doesn’t matter where you go, it’s always good to come home. Mia made the comment on returning from her one and only trip back to Scotland to visit family after she and Milly had emigrated to Australia. Milly was young; she had stayed with Aunt Christy, so she didn’t miss school. She had been confused by the comment — was Mom referring to Scotland or Australia, she wondered. She felt good now, though, having returned home. Mom must have meant Australia, she decided.
She walked through the Australian Border Force customs point, through the Arrivals SmartGate where she could self-process using her ePassport, which matched with a face recognition chip in her passport. She was glad of the technology; it didn’t require any match-up with fingerprints or explanation of her adermatoglyphia. It also avoided the long process of being manually checked through the Customs’ lane. She had read once where a woman of Swiss descent had trouble entering the U.S. because regulations governing the entry of all non-residents required they be fingerprinted and she didn’t have any fingerprints. Mia also had adermatoglyphia so she would use an ePassport when traveling overseas, but Aunt Christy wasn’t similarly afflicted so was content to wander through for manual checking when she traveled to another country. It gave her a chance to chat, to unintentionally extend the line and prolong the wait for other passengers, all of them in a hurry after their long flight. It would also increase the demand for ePassports for those waiting in line behind her when next they traveled overseas, thought Milly, smiling.
Heading on through customs, through the ‘Nothing to Declare’ aisle and after having her bags checked, she looked at her beeping phone. ‘Where are you?’ glared up at her from D.K. on her message bank. It was Dannii King, her best friend, or as Dannii described Milly — her ‘besty’.
‘I’ll meet you out front in the Pedestrian Plaza in five,’ replied Milly, pushing send on her iPhone, the response confirming her arrival in Perth. As she looked up, Milly thought she spotted someone; she stopped dead in her tracks. She slipped her phone back into her bag, using that fleeting moment between subconscious and conscious recognition. ‘It can’t be,’ she whispered silently to herself, as she stared at Sim Charles and a beautiful blonde girl as they sauntered along in her general direction, laughing and giggling with one another. Her phone dropped to the floor, missing her bag completely. They looked happy together when something distracted Sim, and he turned his gaze slightly, staring straight at Milly. As she bent down to rescue her phone, placing it back in her bag, Sim gave her a wave in recognition, dragging along with him the beautiful female form of what’s her name, thought Milly — that’s right, Naomi, she remembered.
‘Hello, Milly, what are you doing here?’ asked Sim in his slight but distinguishable Scottish accent. ‘This is my partner, Naomi Harris.’
‘Hi
, Sim and nice to meet you, Naomi. Well, in answer to your question, I live here, Sim … at least when I’m not working away in the U.K. I’m visiting, taking some time off … on holidays, mate,’ she replied. She emphasized the last bit of the sentence in her Australian drawl, establishing that she was on home soil, that she held the upper hand over these two itinerant tourists who would undoubtedly be up to no good if she knew Sim Charles well enough. She smiled, getting over her initial shock in meeting them, taking control of her emotions — well, most of them.
‘Aye, I see,’ replied Sim in a sullen murmur, like he’d just been scolded and put back in his place. He looked down at Milly from his 1.95-meter frame, as Naomi clasped her hands around the left elbow of his folded arms, giving Milly that ‘he’s mine and you can’t have him’ look.
Milly could feel the knocking, the ‘don’t forget me’ inquiry from down below as her little friend knocked on the door. She looked at Naomi in that fleeting nanosecond as her desires carried her away. She couldn’t quite decide which of the two she would take to bed if she were pressed for a decision — to make a choice. Both of them demanded her friend, as the knocking grew louder, nagging Milly for attention. She shifted on her feet; she was feeling uncomfortable.
‘What are you doing in Australia?’ asked Milly, her voice quavering slightly; she was less in control now.
