by Perry, Kyle
But he’d try to be sensible first. Try to be rational. That’s what Sara would do. Heaven knew it would’ve been better if she were here right now and Murphy was the one dead.
It wasn’t fair.
He tried not to think about the dense bush, how you could walk right past a body up there and not have a clue. That you could get lost without even leaving the path, walking in circles on tracks that all looked the same, until you stumbled off a cliff.
His lips trembled. He pushed them tight together. That stopped the tears from flowing. He wasn’t gonna cry any more. He was stronger than that.
The TV chattered in the background: ‘. . . to the district mayor, Meredith Phythian, who has lived in Limestone Creek her whole life. Miss Phythian, many people are convinced these disappearances can be attributed to the same person responsible for murders of 1985 – that the supposed “Hungry Man” is still alive and, now, active. Do you think the public has reason to fear?’
‘No. The worst thing we can do is panic. These girls need us to stick together and work to find them. The monster responsible for 1985 is dead. Limestone Creek has always banded together in times of hardship, be that bushfires or floods or the GFC, and this is no exception —’
There was a knock on the door.
Murphy fell out of the chair in his rush to open it.
A short woman with a lined face and a platinum blonde bob stood on the step. She wore an expensive black coat, pearl earrings, high-heeled shoes. She was out of place at the Murphys’ house. And she was crying.
Murphy frowned. ‘Nelly?’
‘Please, Murphy,’ said Nelly Mason, mother of Cierra and Madison. Her mascara was running. She held up a photo: it was a school photo of Cierra. ‘Please bring her back.’
Murphy stepped away from her. ‘What?’
‘Please, Murphy. Please.’ She followed him inside the house.
It took him a few moments to understand what she was asking. ‘Hang on – I didn’t take them!’
‘Liar,’ she shouted. She brandished the photo like a weapon. ‘I know you were in her room!’
‘Are you fucking serious, Nelly?’ Butch stepped in beside his brother.
‘Where are they?’
‘I wish I knew!’ Murphy backed away further as she tried to dodge around Butch. ‘Jasmine is missing too!’
‘Your own daughter! How could you?’
‘Alright, lady, time for you to go.’ Butch hoisted the diminutive woman up over his shoulder and marched her out of the house.
‘We know it was you, Murphy!’ she screeched, pounding her tiny fists against Butch’s back. ‘We all know!’
Butch put her down on the other side of the door, then slammed it shut.
‘Bring them back!’ She beat against the door. ‘Bring them back!’
Murphy backed into the table. ‘I didn’t take them,’ he said. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Don’t listen to her, lad,’ said Butch.
Murphy’s heart pounded as Nelly Mason kept beating at the door. ‘I have to talk to her.’
‘Stop,’ said Butch, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him into a seat. He fixed a joint up and lit it. ‘Don’t listen to her.’
Butch handed him the lit joint and Murphy put it to his mouth. The beating on the door stopped. ‘Please . . . please . . .’ Each word felt like a gunshot. He took the joint away and handed it back to Butch, without taking a drag. He wiped the sweat from his forehead.
‘You can’t let her —’ began Butch.
‘She thinks I did it,’ said Murphy. ‘Listen to her.’
Murphy returned to the couch and turned up the volume on the TV, trying to drown out Nelly’s sobs.
He knew Doble would try to pin it on him, but it never occurred to him the rest of the town would think that too . . .
He hadn’t forgotten Theodore Barclay, the school groundsman who’d been blamed for the 1985 disappearances; first they burned down his house, then he’d been chased through the streets and bashed black and blue. After he was locked up, he’d killed himself the moment he had bail. Out here, in the wilds of Tasmania, people tended to take justice into their own hands, and they usually got away with it.
All that pain out there . . . and people think I’m the cause . . .
These people had grown up with him, or seen him grow up. They were there when he lost Sara, lost his business, his house – nearly lost his mind. How could they think he’d do this? Jasmine was all he had.
But in the back of his mind . . .
It’s because I’m a drug dealer.
Exhaustion dragged at his bones, and he lurched up the corridor and into his bedroom. Maybe it’d be better if he didn’t leave the house for a while. He didn’t want to be bashed to death just yet. Not until after he’d found Jasmine.
Blessedly, he couldn’t hear Nelly Mason’s crying from his bed. Gus the Muss jumped up beside him, curling against his back, purring. Murphy absently rubbed his hands through Gus’s fur, one question rolling through his head: But why would she think that I’ve been in Cierra’s room?
CHAPTER 11
CON
Con woke to the sound of banging on his door. He leapt out of bed, reaching for his cricket bat, his teeth bared —
He froze. He remembered where he was. He dropped the bat, kicking it back under the bed. He pulled a fresh towel from the wardrobe and wrapped it around his waist, then opened the door.
Gabriella walked in, fully dressed, carrying her computer in one hand and a takeaway coffee from the Inn’s restaurant in the other. She sat on his bed, patting for him to sit down beside her, coffee on her breath. ‘You slept in. It’s nearly 8 am.’ She paused. ‘You alright?’
It had been a fitful night, full of vivid nightmares. ‘You were just trying to catch me in the nude, admit it,’ said Con, leaving a space between them, one hand on his towel. ‘What is it?’
‘Madison Mason. The sister of Cierra. Yesterday, I told you she was a YouTuber. Detective Coops reported that the school social worker said she wielded it like a weapon. Well, she’s uploaded a video this morning, and . . .’ She sipped her coffee, wiggling her eyebrows.
‘Not good?’ said Con.
‘Good intentions, I’m sure,’ she said, opening her computer. ‘But this whole damn town is about to blow up.’
‘Are you serious?’
Instead of answering, she hit play.
Madison’s red hair was artfully tousled, her face heavy with make-up, except where a purple bruise surrounded her left eye, gaudy in high-definition. She sat on a lush bed, speaking straight to the camera. Tears glistened in her eyes as she gave her account of events.
‘We fought, Jasmine and me, but the others got involved too. Even Bree Wilkins. I want to tell you what the fight was about but it’s not fair, because Jasmine isn’t here to defend herself. But it got . . . pretty bad.’ She touched the bruise around her eye. ‘Miss Ellis made me leave the group, made me go ahead and join the rest of the class. I was still so angry with her, with Jasmine, and even Georgia and Cierra. I . . . I told Jasmine I hated her, and then I walked way, and that was . . . that was the last I saw of them . . . I caught up with the main group, and it started to rain and thunder and Mr North made us hurry up. They’d called for a bus to pick us up at the Lake Nameless car park. But that’s . . . that’s when we realised Miss Ellis and the four girls hadn’t been seen . . .
‘And now . . . the people that you know and love from my channel, my best friend, Jasmine, is missing. My sister, Cierra, is missing. The woman I call my surrogate sister, Georgia, is missing. And a woman I once considered one of my best friends, Bree Wilkins . . . once Denni’s best friend . . . missing. Up in the bluffs. Time is . . .’ She put her head in her hands.
‘Please . . .’ She looked back up the camera, doe eyes imploring the viewer. ‘If anyone out there can help, please come join the search efforts. I know my sister is still out there – I know she is. I can feel it in my . . . There’s just so much gr
ound to cover . . . no matter where you are in Australia, or in the world —’
‘Look how many views she’s had already,’ said Gabriella over the top of Madison’s voice. ‘Over a million. It’s only been up for an hour! I got a call from Constable Darren Cahil, the search controller, saying there’s been carloads of people showing up at the lookout track. It’s a nightmare. They need to preserve the tracks in case there’s evidence that’s been missed, but a lot of them are going vigilante. In this weather, it’ll be a miracle if we don’t lose any searchers.’
The video had continued, showing some footage of three of the girls – Georgia, Cierra and Jasmine – from the back seat of their school bus, apparently on the first morning of the camp, Madison introducing each of them through voiceover. The music was quite stirring.
‘Why did these girls fight?’ muttered Con. ‘What was it about?’
The video cut back to Madison in her bedroom. ‘I only have a little bit of footage of Bree – we were good friends last year, but things changed after Denni . . . But we did film a project together at the start of last year, for Health. I’ll upload it tonight. Please, keep all four of them in your prayers, and if anyone is able: please please please come to Limestone Creek. Join the search . . . bring our girls home . . .
‘I know that some of you don’t believe in . . . in the Hungry Man. But, once upon a time, five girls went missing in these same mountains, and they were never heard or seen again. I can’t . . .’ Her voice broke and she needed a few seconds to calm herself. ‘I believe he’s real. I think the Hungry Man is back. Don’t let the Hungry Man take four new victims. Not only for these girls, but the girls of the past. We’ll take back the bone of the bone man. We need to stop the Hungry Man.’
And then the video was over.
After several long moments, Gabriella said, ‘Thoughts?’
‘Too many to list,’ murmured Con.
‘My vote is the Hungry Man is back.’
‘What did she mean about the bone man? Is that another name for the Hungry Man?’ Con was scrolling through Madison’s channel. ‘Damn. She really has over a million subscribers.’
‘And it was only 700 000 just yesterday. It’s only going to grow. Especially as the Hungry Man stories start to get around again. The notes from the station this morning said there were reports of some families with young girls who are packing up and leaving the area entirely.’
Con clicked on one of the videos at random and scrolled through the frames. It showed Cierra and Madison, sitting on the same bed, doing each other’s make-up. They were scantily clad in silk pyjamas.
‘They’re very pretty girls . . .’ commented Gabriella.
‘Pretty enough to take?’ wondered Con, an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach. His mind slipped back to Sydney and the Jaguar case.
I should’ve known it wouldn’t be so simple as girls lost in the bush.
The thought made him unbearably sad.
‘We’ll have a chat with Miss Madison Mason,’ said Con. ‘I’ll meet you in the lobby in fifteen.’
He opened the wardrobe and pulled out some of the clothes he’d hung there the night before – a white linen shirt, grey suit trousers, his underwear. He realised Gabriella hadn’t moved, and when he turned back he saw her watching him, a smirk on her lips and iPhone in her hand.
‘Don’t stop on my account,’ she said, her phone camera pointed his way.
‘This is sexual objectification,’ he said.
‘Yep . . .’ Her whole chest moved as she laughed and danced out of the room.
Gabriella whistled at the sight of the Masons’ house, taking her sunglasses off to get a clearer look. ‘Damn.’
The two-storey house was rendered with white and gold finishes, turrets and bay windows emerging from between jacaranda trees, the air heady with their scent and buzzing with bees. The path from the driveway to the verandah was a line of marble stepping stones set in a meticulous lawn.
‘I feel like I’m walking towards a rich person’s house. Do you think that’s the effect they were going for?’ said Gabriella in a stage whisper.
Con knocked on the door. A moment later there was a squeak of metal from the peephole opening, and then a familiar girl’s voice from just behind the door. ‘Who are you?’
Con held up his police badge for the peephole. ‘Madison? I’m Detective Badenhorst and this is Detective Pakinga. Are your parents home?’
The door unlocked with clinking chains. Madison was as she’d appeared in the video. She held a shivering grey whippet dog to her chest.
‘Dad’s up at the search,’ said Madison. ‘Mum’s at the school, with my younger brother.’
‘There’s no school today,’ said Gabriella.
‘They’ve brought in counsellors,’ said Madison, a little waspishly. ‘Especially for the kids affected. Like my little brother. Shouldn’t you know that?’
‘We’re a little focused on other things, Madison,’ said Con, smiling, but voice hard.
‘Sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude,’ she said. ‘Come in.’
She guided them to a sparkling clean and massive dining room, where they took a seat at the Tasmanian oak dining table. She placed the whippet on the ground. ‘This is Mr Bruiser. He won’t hurt you.’ As if to prove her point, the dog scampered out of the room.
‘Do you want anything? A drink? Something to eat?’
‘We just wondered if we could have a chat,’ said Gabriella. ‘Particularly about something you said in your video this morning.’
Madison’s red lips curled into a wry smile. She leaned back against the table, folding her arms across her chest. ‘You saw that? What do you want to know?’
‘We need to wait for your parents —’ started Con.
‘I don’t know when they’ll be back. And honestly, detectives, I have quite a bit to do. Can we just get to the point?’ She sighed. ‘Sorry, that was rude again. I don’t have the energy to be polite right now. Can you just ask what you want to know?’
‘So long as you understand that these are not formal questions. You don’t have to talk to us without your parents.’
Madison nodded impatiently.
‘You and Jasmine had a fight. Can you tell us what you were fighting over?’ said Gabriella.
‘No.’
Gabriella gave a weird sound that was half grunt, half indignant snort.
‘Madison, this is important,’ said Con.
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘I don’t think you understand —’
Madison interrupted him. ‘How would you feel knowing that you’d hit one of your friends, told them you hated them, and then a few hours later they were missing? I don’t want to talk about it. You said I didn’t have to answer your questions.’
‘Alright,’ said Con. ‘Just a few more casual questions. How long did it take you to catch up with the other group when Miss Ellis sent you ahead?’
‘I don’t know, fifteen minutes? I was dragging my feet – I kept trying to decide whether I should go back and apologise, or go back and punch Jasmine again.’ Tears appeared in her eyes. ‘Maybe it would’ve been better if I had. Maybe I could’ve stopped whatever happened . . .’ She wiped her nose with her knuckle.
‘Or you could’ve been caught up in it too, remember. Whatever it is,’ said Con. ‘Did you see anything, when you left the others? Anything weird on the trail, anything out of place? No matter how small.’ He thought of the bear that Georgia had thought she’d seen. ‘Or big.’
‘No. Nothing at all. Not even the sound of footsteps.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ said Gabriella.
‘It’s part of the Hungry Man legend. They say you hear his footsteps in the bush beside you, and that if you look at him . . . he takes you.’
‘Interesting,’ said Gabriella.
‘But you heard nothing, saw no one,’ said Con.
‘No one,’ agreed Madison. ‘But we know someone else was up there, right? Someone hi
t Miss Ellis. What has she been saying?’
‘Were any of the four girls acting strangely?’ said Con.
‘We were all pretty heated . . . and then Bree lost it, of course.’ She took the time to wipe her nose properly with a tissue, then realised Con and Gabriella were waiting for her to keep speaking. ‘What?’
‘Why was Bree angry?’ said Gabriella.
‘Don’t you have files on this stuff? Denni King, Miss Ellis’s niece, was Bree’s best friend. Ever since Denni died, she gets angry – really angry. They told her it’s post-traumatic stress. I don’t know how many times she’s been suspended since Denni died.’
Con and Gabriella glanced at each other.
‘You did know that, right?’ said Madison slowly.
Con shrugged, not liking how this girl kept him on the back foot. ‘We’re still reviewing information.’
It might’ve been in the files Coops sent, but he couldn’t remember reading it. Surely the social worker would have mentioned it.
‘You didn’t know about Bree’s PTS?’ Anger crept into Madison’s voice. ‘Have you done any research? It’s not a secret: Bree tells anyone who will listen.’
‘You mentioned in your video that you had footage of Bree,’ said Gabriella quickly. ‘Could we see that before you upload it?’
‘If you have to,’ she said, her voice still heated. ‘I was midway through editing it when you arrived. All I can do is these videos. You know, something that actually helps?’
‘Well, actually —’ began Con, but Gabriella kicked him. He had been thinking of the chaos her last video had caused up at the track.
They followed Madison to her bedroom: a bright and open space, tidy and clean, boasting a king-sized bed with plush birds lined up along the pillow. A large computer screen stood on a desk against the wall, video-editing software open.
Madison sat down at the desk. ‘We filmed this last year . . . a lot has changed since then.’
She played the video. Bree sat in front of a black backdrop. She wore no make-up, her blonde hair was scruffy and loose around her face, and her pale eyes were full of anger.
