by Perry, Kyle
Eliza felt a surge of relief. Tom was here to confess. He’d take the decision out of her hands.
He took her up in a big hug and turned to the police. ‘She’s not saying another word until she has her lawyer. Her relationship with Cierra has nothing to do with this.’
Detective Tran turned her dark eyes back on Eliza. ‘Miss Ellis, if you please?’
Eliza’s relief had deflated in Tom’s squeezing arms, but she kept her spine straight.
‘Remember Wren, please,’ whispered Tom in her ear.
‘Don’t say a word,’ said Murphy into the other.
Eliza walked, tall and proud, down to the waiting patrol car. Ignoring the journalists, she climbed into the back seat, pulling her phone from her pocket. She saw the missed calls and texts from concerned friends and family – Monica and Tom included. She ignored all of them, opening YouTube.
As the car pulled away from her house, the media snapping photos in through the window, Eliza watched Madison’s latest video.
Madison sat in her usual spot, in front of her bed. She was wearing the same green jacket as at the hospital: she looked stunning, the perfect mourning internet icon.
‘I have something to confess to you all . . . something I was not fully honest about before . . . I know who my sister, Cierra, was having sex with.’
Madison took a deep, shaky breath.
‘Cierra is loving. Incredibly loving. She builds relationships faster than anyone else I know. With friends, family . . . teachers.
‘I should’ve known from the start. I mean, Miss Ellis has always been closer to us than any other teacher . . . after her niece died last year – Denni King, you all remember – we became even closer. We’d lost a friend, but she’d lost a family member. I didn’t know at the time, but . . . Cierra and Miss Ellis began to comfort each other . . .
‘Now, I’m not a homophobe. Cierra is free to love whoever she wants to love . . . but I can’t sit back and let people like Jack Michaels and Mr Murphy take the blame when the one who was sleeping with my sister was Miss Eliza Ellis. And . . . if you needed any more proof . . . here’s Cierra herself.’
The scene cut to another face: identical but in a different part of the room, different make-up, wearing a violet wig. Eliza knew, though. It wasn’t Cierra, it was just Madison trying to look like Cierra.
‘. . . I love her. And I know she loves me. Maybe it won’t last, but isn’t this the time to experiment? Miss Ellis makes me feel happier than I’ve ever felt . . .’ said Cierra/Madison. ‘Why should that be anyone’s business but my own?’
Eliza turned her phone off.
How could she fight that? How could she convince people that Madison was pretending to be Cierra?
And if she did . . . what would happen to Wren? Everything always came back to her. She felt deeply, deeply exhausted.
Eliza sat at a metal table in one of the station’s interview rooms, the fluoro lights sparking the beginnings of a headache at the back of her skull. Tom had arranged and paid for a lawyer – an old, thin-faced woman called Rosalie – who sat beside her, lips pursed.
Detective Melinda Tran sat across from them, taking her jacket off, eyes dark and foreboding. She was alone.
‘Have you had sexual relations with Cierra Mason?’ said Detective Tran, her lips pressed in a hard line.
‘I think she needs a moment,’ said Rosalie.
‘I’m afraid she’s had long enough,’ said Detective Tran.
‘Eliza, dear, you are going to need to answer them – just tell them the truth,’ said Rosalie.
The truth . . .?
You have permission to be strong.
‘Yes.’ Eliza had to force herself to say it. ‘Yes, I have.’
‘What? Eliza, did you understand the question?’ said Rosalie.
‘I think she understood the question perfectly,’ said Detective Tran. ‘How long has this been going on? Who else knew?’
‘I don’t know. No one.’
‘Did you conspire to have Cierra kidnapped?’ said Detective Tran.
‘Of course not.’
‘Then who do the condoms belong to? The marijuana?’
‘The weed is mine. The condoms were from my last fling.’
‘With a man?’ said Detective Tran.
‘Obviously.’
‘You identify as bisexual?’
‘That is not pertinent,’ hissed Rosalie.
‘You’ve had no sexual relations with women before this?’ said Tran.
‘No – I mean, yes, I have . . .’
‘How is this relevant?’ demanded Rosalie.
‘We are still building a profile for the kidnapper, including sexual appetite. What other women have you slept with, Miss Ellis?’
‘I haven’t.’
‘So Cierra was the first girl you had sex with? You lied?’ said Detective Tran.
Eliza looked away. It was getting hard to speak. She felt claustrophobic.
I am a good person! she wanted to shriek.
‘We need to know,’ Tran continued, leaning forward. ‘We have three girls still missing, and you’re the last adult in contact, and you were sleeping with at least one of them. Now that we can see some motive . . . Did you find Bree attractive? Jasmine?’ She paused. ‘Georgia?’
‘Detective, I don’t think that’s a reasonable line of questioning,’ said Rosalie.
‘I didn’t take the girls,’ said Eliza.
‘You were the only one with them on that mountain,’ said Detective Tran. ‘What was it about Cierra that attracted you?’
‘This is completely inappropriate,’ said Rosalie.
‘Well, Miss Ellis?’ said Detective Tran. ‘No answer?’ She tapped her long lacquered fingernails on the table. ‘Then the next question is going to be very uncomfortable for you. Remember, this is all being recorded and transcribed, so please be very specific and explicit: what exactly did you and the very underage Cierra Mason, your student, who trusted you, do during your sexual encounters?’
‘This is ridiculous!’ cried Rosalie.
Eliza quietly agreed. The questioning was offensive, unnecessarily vulgar.
And then, in a crashing instant, Eliza realised why.
These questions were not trying to draw anything out of her: they were designed only to put her off balance, to make her misspeak, to find flaws in her story.
She doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t believe I was with Cierra.
She had a brief moment of relief, followed by outrage – how dare she – followed by unease.
She glanced up at the camera. This wasn’t Detective Tran’s idea. She thought of Con’s deep blue eyes, back in the hospital room on that first day: his knowing gaze, his attempt to make her uncomfortable, to draw truth out of her.
Con knows I’m covering for Tom.
CHAPTER 31
CON
On the monitor, Con watched Eliza make eye-contact with the camera. She knows we’re on to her, he thought.
‘What do you see, Cornelius?’ said Commander Agatha Normandy from her seat beside him. She had arrived from Hobart an hour before and quickly made herself at home. She was a short woman, with a bob of grey hair, and wore a woollen cardigan. She sipped a cup of tea, her lipstick not marking the china.
‘She’s covering for someone,’ said Con. ‘My guess is her brother-in-law, Tom North.’
‘Melinda is doing well, isn’t she?’ said Commander Normandy offhand. ‘It’s an unusual line of questioning, and a rather specific style: almost like she was coached by someone before she went in there.’ She turned her eyes on Con and sipped her tea. ‘Why is it hard for you to believe Eliza could have been sleeping with Cierra Mason?’
‘I don’t know, maybe because she can’t answer Tran’s questions quickly? Maybe because she doesn’t seem that upset by the questioning?’
Maybe just because it’s too left-field. In a case like this, something has to be normal – the steroid-fuelled gym teacher has to be more likely
to hook up with a student than the orphaned English teacher with the dead niece.
‘Unfortunately we have no proof of that,’ said Agatha, as though she could hear his thoughts. ‘Besides, your male intuition and the way you’ve coached Tran both presuppose a particular conclusion. Eliza isn’t here to defend a suspicion: she’s confessed. Madison made the allegation and Eliza has admitted to sleeping with Cierra,’ said Agatha. ‘As with Cierra’s own video confession, we need to take this seriously, and that means Miss Eliza Ellis has just become suspect number one.’
She inclined her head and turned her tea cup where it stood on the desk.
‘However, I agree that . . . it doesn’t feel right. But that doesn’t constitute evidence . . . Unfortunately . . .’ She lifted her tea, holding the cup close to her mouth. ‘You know, I really don’t like that this was all brought about by Madison Mason. If she orchestrated this whole disappearance, any videos she puts out – any information – must have a certain aim. What I would like to know is what she’s hoping to achieve by shifting our scrutiny onto Eliza Ellis.’
‘Then I should go speak with Madison,’ said Con, relishing the thought.
‘Not yet. I forbid it,’ said Agatha. ‘She must be handled very delicately from now on, which you’ll leave to me. And I don’t want a whiff of her planning this whole thing getting out to the public yet. We need that to be handled carefully too.’ She put her finished cup of tea on the table. ‘And another thing. Carl Lenah still hasn’t been found.’
Con shook his head. ‘It would be good to tie up the loose end, but we need everyone working where they’re most useful. I think we can safely rule him out. From what we can tell, he and his family are just deeply suspicious of police.’
‘I agree. If he surfaces before this all blows over, we’ll talk to him, but let’s not make a big deal of it. If we handle him wrong, it only reinforces Madison’s narrative.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Speaking of which – the commissioner has asked to speak to me about that video of you and Gabriella.’
She patted Con on the shoulder as she left the room.
Con looked back at the screen. Eliza Ellis. ‘Why are you protecting him? Are you protecting Tom?’ he murmured. He tapped the table with his fingertips.
Finally, the first part of the interview was over and Melinda Tran walked out.
Eliza sat alone with her lawyer. Neither of them was speaking. The lawyer had angled herself away from Eliza and was very red in the cheeks.
Eliza stared up at the camera, a tiny frown behind her glasses.
‘Good job,’ said Con when Tran entered. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you’re right: she’s trying to cover for someone else,’ said Tran. ‘She’s not as good an actress as she thinks she is. What next?’
‘Get Detective Coops to bring Murphy in for a chat. He should ask nicely, but without giving Murphy the option of saying no. He was there at the house with Eliza before we arrived: I want to know why.’ Con returned his eyes to the screen. ‘Meanwhile . . . Monica and Tom North are waiting to see Eliza. I say we let them have a chat, but somewhere they can be overheard. Then, afterward . . . how do you feel about teachers, Tran? I think Mr North needs someone to vent to about his sister-in-law’s betrayal.’
‘I’ll offer him a shoulder to cry on,’ said Tran with a wicked smile. ‘Let’s see if he’s a better actor than her.’ She left the room, her high heels clicking.
Con watched the monitor a bit longer, studying Eliza, thinking about his plan of attack for when he spoke to her himself.
The door opened and the young Constable Cavanagh stepped in, her face flushed. ‘Detective Badenhorst? I have a phone call for you, from . . . Pastor Hugh. Sorry, this is my personal phone. He called my number . . .’ She held out her phone to Con. ‘You need to hear what he has to say, but . . . keep it in this room. Don’t tell anyone else from this station.’
The pastor! He’d completely forgotten. That wasn’t a good sign. He took the phone from Cavanagh and, beginning with a profuse apology, listened to what the pastor had to say.
CHAPTER 32
MURPHY
Murphy pounded the steering wheel as he drove home from Eliza’s. He ignored the journalists outside his house and ran inside, slamming the door behind him.
‘Have you seen it?’ said Butch, excited, his laptop open on the table. ‘Madison put up a new video —’
‘I don’t wanna see it,’ said Murphy. ‘Eliza wasn’t sleeping with Cierra and you know it. Let me use the laptop – I’m gonna look at this USB of Madison’s, maybe there’ll be something on there I can take to Con to help Eliza.’
‘We’re calling him Con now?’ said Butch. ‘What, are you two mates?’
‘Shut up, dickhead.’ Murphy shoved the USB drive into the port of Butch’s laptop.
The drive held a folder named ‘Jasmine’s Footage’ and a text file entitled ‘Read Me First’.
Jasmine’s Footage. Murphy’s heart began to pound in his head. Don’t get excited. Madison can’t be trusted . . .
He opened the text file and began reading:
Mr Murphy,
I know you probably hate me, and I understand. I would if I were you.
I promise I don’t know where Jasmine is. And I don’t know what happened to Georgia, or why Bree’s backpack was still at the Fisherman’s Hut. But if Jasmine’s and Cierra’s backpacks are gone, I know that they’re safe. I’m sure of it.
I think it’d be good for you to understand why Jasmine chose to be part of this, why she chose to disappear for six months. Why she played along with my plan. Here’s all the footage I have of her.
If you share this footage with anyone else, I’ll end you.
Once you see what’s in the folder, you’ll realise that I can. Start with video #1.
Lots of Love,
Madison xoxo
The drive held six numbered MP4 files.
‘What is it?’ said Butch.
Disappear for six months . . .
‘I’ll be in my room,’ said Murphy, taking the laptop down the hallway and ignoring Butch’s protest.
He made sure the worn door was firmly closed and sat on his bed, the springs squeaking. He clicked open the first video.
It was Jasmine. She was sitting on Madison’s bed. Her make-up was heavy, her shoulders back, and she had been crying.
Murphy leaned forward, resting a hand on the screen.
‘. . . and that’s why I got with Jack,’ she said. ‘He was strong, and caring, and he made me feel safe. He loves me. For the longest time I wasn’t sure if . . . if I was worthy of love. If I could trust another man —’
‘And why was that, Jasmine?’ came Madison’s voice from behind the camera.
Jasmine looked at something above the camera for a moment. She shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Well, I guess you could say my father raped my mum, right?’ Her lips trembled. ‘That’s how I was conceived: my father raped my mum.’
The video ended.
Murphy heard a buzzing in his head and the edges of his vision went blurry.
My father raped my mum . . .
‘I didn’t rape her,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve never done anything – I never would do anything like that.’
But of course, the thoughts came. Did I? Did I have consent? Did she . . . did I come on too strong?
He hadn’t. He was sure he hadn’t. He was almost 100 per cent sure he hadn’t . . . they’d had sex plenty of times . . . of course, Sara had fallen pregnant very young . . .
Did she only marry me because she was scared of me?
And that’s when he caught sight of his hunting jacket, the unexplained tear in the arm. He’d been wearing it the night of the angel dust. He’d been wearing it the morning of Jasmine’s disappearance. The night he couldn’t account for.
If you raped Sara without knowing it . . . what else might you have done without knowing it?
This was a real thought, churning in his mind. And in a way it was
the same thought that had been churning ever since he’d found Jasmine was missing – he didn’t know where he’d been at the time that she disappeared.
But he’d convinced himself that no matter what Skinner said about angel dust, he doubted it could’ve taken him from his backyard all the way up to the track where she’d been taken, without him even being aware of it. But . . . was it possible there was something dark within him? Something that he didn’t even know about? That the drugs had snapped something within him, unleashed some hidden demon?
That’s not how drugs work, he thought angrily.
‘Murphy?’ came Butch’s voice from behind the door. ‘The cops are here for you.’
Murphy rushed to the door – he hadn’t heard sirens or even knocking. ‘Have they found something?’ he croaked.
Butch shrugged. ‘They’re in the kitchen.’
Murphy ran down the hall.
Two uniformed policemen and a detective stood there: the detective he’d seen up at the car park the first day of Jasmine’s disappearance.
‘Who are you?’ he asked the detective.
‘Detective Stuart Coops. Would you mind coming down the station with us?’
‘What’s this about?’
‘Detective Badenhorst wants a word with you,’ said Coops.
‘And he couldn’t do it here?’
‘He’s busy. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.’
‘And if I refuse?’ said Murphy, fists curled. He felt the anger starting to rise. His mind kept spinning back to the video, Jasmine’s damning confession, that hunting jacket . . .
‘I’ll still be giving you a ride to the station,’ said Coops. ‘Come on, mate. This way is much nicer for both of us. Sooner we go, the sooner you can come back.’
Murphy ignored Butch, who was hissing under his breath, trying to get his attention, and walked out the door with Coops and the other policeman.
He pushed his anger down. He’d go see what Con had to say.
I didn’t rape your mum, Jasmine.
