by T. J. Beach
“Well, it’s me, and boy have I got good news for you! Austin Gould wants to meet with you. This is a great opportunity to get some real muscle behind your search. I’ll take you around to his office.”
Wendy sighed.
Not at all the reaction Debbie expected. “Is that okay?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Don’t you want to meet Austin Gould?”
“No. Not really. I don’t want to see any of those men.” Wendy folded her hands in her lap.
“Even if he’s Keith’s father?” Debbie blurted it out without thinking. Her dismay at Wendy’s indifference got the better of her.
Wendy bit her lip. “Especially if he thinks he might be Keith’s dad. Bloody hell, eh? It’s too late though, I’ve found Keith.”
“Where? Where is he?” Debbie sank onto the second bed in the room, confused.
Wendy sorted through the contents of her handbag, found her phone and handed it to Debbie, showing a one-sided SMS conversation. “I don’t know exactly where Keith is, but he sent me a text.”
A long chain of blue bubbles wrenched Debbie’s heart:
Please call me
I’m really worried. Please, please call me.
I just want to know you’re okay.
Are you okay? Please reply. I’m crying all the time.
Why are you doing this to me? I’m so sorry. I love you. Just tell me you’re alive. Please.
Then a single grey bubble.
I’m fine sorry mum I need my space please go home I’ll call u when I’m ready I love you too
More blue bubbles.
Call me please
Where are you?
I’ll go home. I promise, but please let me see you
“I had a wee bit of a cry — a heck of a cry, actually.” Wendy picked up an empty tissue box and waved it ruefully. “I ended up on loo roll. But I’m better now. Keith’s okay. I’m going home. The motel manager got me a ride on the Bunbury hospital shuttle. I’ll get the train from Bunbury.”
Debbie clung to the phone, unwilling to admit the search had become pointless just as it hit pay dirt. She scrolled back to Keith’s reply and noted the time stamp, ten past six the previous day — just over fourteen hours before. She read it again, but apart from the lousy punctuation, couldn’t find anything worthy of comment. Wendy would take solace in the last four words: ‘I love you too’.
“I was going to ring as soon as I finished packing. I don’t want to put you to any more trouble.”
“No problem.” Debbie handed the phone back. “Not much for commas and full stops, is he?”
“He must have been in a hurry. He’s usually great at that stuff.”
“Sorry we didn’t find him for you.”
“You moved mountains. You’ve been wonderful. Please send your bill to Auckland.” She winced. “It might take us a little while to get the money together, but I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done.”
“That’ll be fine.” Debbie would send a token invoice, but only if Kim asked questions. She didn’t have the heart to make things any more difficult for Wendy financially. She had a feeling Wendy faced more disappointment from her son.
If Lachlan refused to see his mother after Debbie’d flown seven hours to find him … well, Lachlan was a different kid, and she was a different mum.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THEY HUDDLED AROUND Glenn’s laptop on the counter of the shop turned political headquarters — Austin, Glenn, Sophia and Detective Sergeant Stu Reilly. Hollins hovered behind, sneaking peeks at the images playing on the screen.
The action was decipherable on a decent-sized screen despite being shot by a camera the size of a five-cent piece, relying on street lights for illumination.
“Do you think you’ll catch them?”Austin asked.
“We’ll give it a damn good try,” Stu said. “I can’t see any facial features. We’ll get the experts in Perth to enhance the images as much as they can. It’s not CSI, so it won’t magically transform into a mug shot, but we’ve got their build, the way they move, their clothes and so on. We’ll pass it on to the media. We’ve had suspects recognised with less.”
“Good,” Austin said.
“That would also spread the word that you’ve fitted cameras, which should discourage any more unwanted paint jobs,” Reilly said.
“It’s a lot of trouble for a bit of graffiti,” Glenn said.
Stu squared his shoulders. “We take this very seriously, Mr Braithwaite.”
“Well, you didn’t make an awful lot of progress after the first incident.”
“This is a continuing investigation. My team has been busier than you might think.”
Glenn’s lips quirked into a doubtful half smile.
“We’ve conducted a number of interviews.”
“Have you spoken to the Greens and Labor?”
“We’re very well aware of the political implications. There’s a group of usual suspects for this sort of activity — vandalism and political protests.”
“Extremists,” Glenn said. “Antifa, student groups.”
“I don’t think Antifa is all that well represented in Bell’s Landing, but rest assured we are considering all avenues, and we’re as concerned about election-related crimes as you are.”
Hollins’ phone trilled its message tone. He turned away and opened Debbie’s text.
Keith contacted Wendy. She’s going home.
Hollins texted back.
Wow. What happened? Where is he?
Debbie replied.
I’ll give you the details later. Sophia will be happy.
He sent back an emoji.
