SH02 - Harum Scarum

by Felicity Young

  She guided the conversation back to their case. She explained the connections she’d discovered between Emma and Bianca, that the modelling agency that had taken Bianca’s photo was Tall Poppies—owned and managed by Emma Breightling’s mother, Miranda.

  Tash was forking her hair, making it stand up in short spikes. ‘Hang on,’ she said, ‘this is ringing a bell.’

  Taking her mobile phone from the coffee table, she rang someone at Central police records. Stevie strained to catch the conversation. From what she could gather it sounded like they had another lead. Her pulse quickened.

  ‘Hey!’ she raised her glass in a toast when Tash put the phone down. ‘You’re a genius, fill me in.’

  Tash’s eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘I thought Miranda Breightling’s name sounded familiar when you first mentioned her. It was from a couple of years ago, long before you joined Sex Crimes. There was a scandal involving a modelling agency soliciting girls in the Hay Street Mall. Miranda Breightling, proprietor of Tall Poppies, was stroking these wretched girls’ flimsy egos, telling them they had The Look and promising them a career in modelling if they put themselves on her books. The only cost to them was footing the bill for a photo shoot with the company photographer. We had several complaints about this. One girl had stolen from her mother to pay the fees; another said they’d never received the photos, which were supposed to be theirs to keep.

  ‘After they’d paid up, big surprise, most of the girls were told they were unsuitable. There was an investigation, the photographer...’ Tash made a drum roll on the coffee table, ‘Julian Holdsworth, and the owner, Miranda Breightling, were cautioned but not charged.’

  ‘No wonder she doesn’t like cops.’

  ‘We thought at first that something even more seedy was going on, but actually, the only thing they really did was soliciting—it’s their prerogative to turn unsuitable girls down after all. We’ve had nothing more on them since.’

  Stevie beamed. ‘So anyway, Holdsworth is using his real name? That should make him a snap to find.’

  ‘He must’ve been pissed as all hell when their scam ended. So maybe he’s found another outlet, and maybe that’s selling kiddie porn on the net. Christ,’ Tash shook her head, ‘a paedophile photographer in a modelling school would be like putting a rabbit in a vegie patch.’

  Stevie grimaced. She opened her over-stuffed briefcase and pulled out a wedge of paper. ‘Now here’s another angle I think might be interesting. These are stories Bianca had on her desk. Maybe she wrote them, maybe she downloaded them, I don’t know. Either way, they star the same character that was in a story Emma was telling Izzy when she babysat for me. Have you ever come across a character in kids’ books called Katy Enigma?’

  ‘I don’t think so. What’s the story?’

  ‘Not sure yet, except Izzy loved the stories. I guess I’ll know more when I’ve been through this lot. And I’m hoping they’ll give me a better picture of the kid. I’m also wondering what kind of involvement she had with Emma Breightling, there’s the modelling and the Katy Enigma connection...’

  ‘Hang on a moment, Stevie. Why don’t you save yourself a lot of work and just ask Emma if she knew Bianca?’

  ‘I did ask her, when I saw her reaction to a newspaper story about Bianca’s death, but she said she didn’t. She’s a strange kid.’ She ran her ponytail through her fingers. ‘I’m not sure I can totally trust her; I’ve caught her in a lie before. I’d like to get some concrete evidence before I ask her again.’

  Stevie took the iPod from her briefcase. ‘And then there’s this...’

  ‘Holy shit, Stevie, I never thought I’d see you with one of those.’

  Stevie regarded the pink-cased gadget and shrugged. ‘I thought Bianca’s taste in music might also tell me more about her.’

  ‘So you’ll be carrying out your research to boy bands and Pink, maybe even some Pussycat Dolls. Lucky you.’

  ‘Well yeah, don’t know how much of a help it will be but it’s worth a try. I’ve never even used an iPod before, not sure if I even know how to turn it on. Damn, I didn’t pick up the ear plugs, do you have any?’

  Tash extended her hand and clicked her fingers. ‘Give us a look.’

  Stevie handed over the slender latex covered contraption. Tash pressed the ON button, said ‘shove up’ to Stevie and settled next to her in the circular chair so they could both see the small screen. Tash touched the central eye and the screen lit up, showing a list of files.

  She tapped one with her finger. ‘Hey, what’s this?’

  Stevie squinted at the screen and read, ‘Audio play list one.’

  ‘No, duh—underneath it, the rich text files.’

  ‘Documents? I didn’t know you could store documents on an iPod. I thought it was just for music.’

  ‘Get with the program, girl, they can be used as external hard drives too. And you won’t need ear plugs for this.’

  ‘But she was only ten. What would she want with something like this?’

  ‘Nearly eleven,’ Tash corrected. ‘Kids grow up fast. And maybe it’s something she didn’t want her mother to see on her computer. Let’s go into my study and print these out.’ She punched Stevie on the arm. ‘I think we might’ve just found the mother lode.’

  24

  EXCERPT FROM CHAT TRANSCRIPT 141206

  HARUM SCARUM: how do u want the story to start?

  BETTYBO: ummm ... it was a dark and stormy nite

  HARUM SCARUM: LOL ok

  BETTYBO: and I want the princess to kill the evil count

  HARUM SCARUM: and torture him first?

  BETTYBO: yeahhhhhh!!!

  Stevie fought her way through the heat, the noise and the crush of traffic to meet up with Izzy and Monty for their picnic tea on the beach. The sea was flat as wine and the sun still bit. It was nearly six o’clock but the sand was still dotted with people. She stopped when she reached the end of the wobbly steps, put down the picnic basket, prised off her shoes and rolled up her jeans. The sand was warm underfoot; she grabbed the basket and made a beeline to the firmer sand at the sea’s edge.

  Shading her eyes with her hand she scanned the multitudes for her family. Finally she spotted her daughter in her red bathers, collecting shells in a small yellow bucket.

  Izzy ran over when Stevie called, hugged her around the waist and began burrowing about with sandy hands into the picnic basket.

  ‘Wait on there Miss Greedy; you’re getting sand in the chips. Find Dad for me so we can start our tea.’

  ‘You won’t be able to find him,’ Izzy said as she lunged again for the picnic basket. This time Stevie was ready for her and swung it away. ‘You won’t be able to find him,’ Izzy repeated, ‘cos I buried him!’

  Stevie walked a few steps and searched the surrounding sand. She really didn’t have time for Izzy’s games this evening. Not only were their fish and chips getting cold, she was desperate to get home and start wading through Bianca’s stories plus the sheaves of emails she and Tash had printed from Bianca’s iPod.

  Izzy’s hand stopped her in her tracks, preventing her just in time from tumbling over a mountain of sand. ‘Careful, you’ll step on him!’ her daughter warned.

  A few cracks knifed their way through the compressed sand and the mountain groaned. Only Monty’s head was visible and it shone from one end of the mound like that of a red painted tortoise.

  ‘Monty, you idiot, you’re burnt to a crisp!’ Stevie cried.

  ‘I think I fell asleep.’

  ‘No sunscreen? No hat? Izzy, go find your father’s hat!’

  ‘I used it to carry water for my sand castle,’ Izzy said.

  ‘Then go and get it. Now!’

  ‘Don’t let him get up, I haven’t finished decorating him yet,’ Izzy called over her shoulder, running off to find Monty’s hat.

  Compressed sand slid off his body in great slabs as Monty sat up. He climbed groggily to his feet and shook like a dog, reaching out for Stevie when he almo
st lost his balance. After planting a sandy kiss on her cheek, he headed to the water to sluice off.

  Stevie spread out the picnic blanket and opened up the parcels of fish and chips, the mouth-watering smell reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She managed to hold off until her family returned, Izzy with the hat and bucket of shells, Monty with the smell of the sea on his skin.

  While they ate, Izzy regaled them with every second of her day spent playing with her friend Georgia. When they’d finished their meal, Stevie told Izzy that if she wanted to bring her shells home she’d have to first wash them; it was all she could think of to get some time alone with Monty.

  ‘I had a word with Tash,’ Stevie got in quickly when Izzy skipped off. Monty’s shrug made her pause and she sat poised with the last chip halfway to her mouth. ‘Well, it’s what you wanted me to do, isn’t it?’

  ‘Forget it, it’s over, let’s drop the subject.’ Monty turned to watch Izzy at the water’s edge. The sea was pulling the sun down; pinks, oranges and mauves smeared the sky around it.

  Stevie decided to file the matter of Monty’s strange mood in the too hard basket, to be retrieved later when she had the mental energy for it.

  She filled him in on what she and Tash had discovered and gave him the name of the photographer. ‘We should be making an arrest tomorrow.’ She added, ‘I’m hoping the printed documents from the iPod might tell us a bit more about how men like Kusak operate, and maybe give us some details on the Dream Team. I also think that Emma and Bianca knew each other, it’s a long shot but I’m going to follow it through.’

  ‘Good one, sounds like you’re in for a busy night. Ring me if you find anything more of interest. Oh and by the way, the mystery of Mrs K’s large cash withdrawal has been solved. She was planning on a trip to Italy next month and used it for an airline ticket and other expenses.’

  ‘Not to pay a contract killer?’ Stevie was hardly surprised.

  ‘Right, scratch that theory. It’s all on the street kid now.’

  He screwed up the fish and chip paper and headed to a bin with it. ‘Hey, what about your mother, aren’t you supposed to pick her up from the station tonight?’ he turned and asked.

  ‘Oh shit, yes, at eight o’clock.’ Stevie looked at her watch, then pleadingly at Monty as he’d trudged back through the sand to her. ‘Will you, please? You were going to be having Izzy tonight, anyway.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said, without enthusiasm.

  She rummaged in the basket for some sunscreen. ‘Here, put this on, better late than never and it might stop you from peeling.’

  He rubbed the lotion into his face, took some time to massage the remainder into his arm. She looked at him for a moment. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  In reply he handed her back the tube and stooped to rearrange the items in the basket. Izzy returned with her washed shells and insisted they both examine her latest find, a shell with legs.

  ‘It’s a hermit crab Izz, you can’t take it home, it’ll die and stink the place out,’ Monty said.

  Izzy protested and Monty gave in with an unusual lack of conviction. Stevie caught his eye and signalled her concern to him.

  ‘Just a touch of the sun,’ he said, putting the crab in the bucket.

  Stevie ignored the breakfast dishes in the sink and settled onto her sofa with the emails, chat transcripts and printed stories. She’d also left copies with Tash, so they could meet at Central in the morning to discuss them.

  Tempted as she was to get started on them straightaway she forced herself to pause, leaned her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes, trying to conjure up a portrait of Bianca Webster. Criminal profilers stressed the importance of getting into the mind of the killer, but Stevie knew it was just as important to get into the mind of the victim. Soon the image of the child became so clear in her mind’s eye she could have been watching her from a web cam.

  She visualised Bianca dipping a greasy hand into a packet of chips split open upon her desk. She could almost smell salt and vinegar in the air, see the crumbs dropping on to the keyboard, salt sprinkling the strewn papers. With much sighing and brow furrowing, the girl struggled to write coherently, typing with two lead-heavy fingers. She could see her lose concentration and pause to doodle on a piece of scrap paper, or scratch the name Daniel with a compass into the veneer of her desk. When a new email appeared, she’d give it a quick skim and impatiently type back words before they had even formed properly in her brain. Sometimes she got angry, sometimes she cried, sometimes she swore and stabbed at the desk with the point of her compass.

  Stevie shook her head to rid it of the images—imagination was a powerful thing and as a cop she should use it with extreme caution: evidence, that’s what she was after. She picked up a bunch of printouts and started to read.

  Then read it again.

  She should have guessed. Daniel, the name she’d seen carved into Bianca’s desk, was Miro Kusak, not some rock or movie star as she’d earlier assumed.

  None of ‘Daniel’s’ earlier emails had been saved to the iPod. Stevie could only guess that Kusak had made the first move, getting Bianca’s email address and photo from the Dream Team webmaster, Lolita. With her email address and the necessary computer skills, it would have been no problem for Kusak to cyber stalk Bianca wherever she chose to travel on the web. She needed to confirm this with Clarissa, but she suspected Kusak had probably infected Bianca’s computer with a Trojan virus disguised as some innocent-looking email attachment addressed from a friend. Once installed on her computer it would forward to Kusak the log files of all her Internet activities.

  Stella had told Stevie that her daughter was a loner, often seen sitting in the school playground fiddling with her iPod. Bianca had probably been reading Daniel’s messages over and over again, trying to boost her fragile self-esteem. Stevie closed her eyes and took a breath and waited a moment for the ache of sadness to become manageable again.

  The contents of Daniel’s saved emails were sickeningly predictable, flattery and talk about their common interests mostly. ‘I only have one parent too, we have so much in common; we’re soul mates...’ It was what she told the school kids at her talks: the cyber predator closely examines the profile of his victim and makes himself into what they want him to be. Unlike the inexperienced Robert Mason, Kusak seemed to have been able to hold back on the dirty talk—though Stevie had a feeling the needy Bianca Webster would’ve played along regardless.

  Shuffling through the papers on the coffee table she picked one up at random, surprised to discover that this correspondence was not from Miro Kusak at all.

  > From: B. Webster [bbo2@hotmail.net.au]

  > Sent: Thursday, 12 January 2007 7:35AM

  > To: admin@katyenigma.com

  > Subject: hi

  >

  > I hat my life, sometimes I wanna die. He was round the

  > otha da & giv mum a blak i . i had to go next door cos

  > Mrs smith the naybor thumpd on the wall then took

  > mum to the hopital. Her arms broke 2. I hate him. hop

  > things r o k with u.

  > rite S.O.O.N

  >

  > lots of Luv bettybo xxxxxxxxxx

  This message posed more questions than it answered. Stevie recognised Bianca’s email address and assumed Bettybo to be her Internet nickname. But who was this man who terrified her so and had broken her mother’s arm? The man on the stairwell and by the lake? ‘Bob’ of the mysterious phone call?—or were these men one and the same? Stella had told her she hadn’t seen Bianca’s father since the conception. Was this a stepfather Bianca was referring to, or a boyfriend, and why hadn’t he been mentioned before?

  If it hadn’t been so late, Stevie would have been pounding on Stella’s door now, demanding answers.

  The email from Bianca was addressed to someone at a Katy Enigma website. At least that was something she could check out now. She moved over to her PC tucked into a workstation in
the corner of her lounge room, pushing Izzy’s collection of ‘My Little Ponies’ from the seat before she could sit down.

  When the computer was booted up she typed Katy Enigma into the search engine. A Katy Enigma fan site came up at the top of the list, the only complete entry for the name. This meant that Katy Enigma wasn’t the commercial fad she’d first assumed it to be. And since Emma had been telling Izzy Katy Enigma stories, Emma must be a member of this fan site too.

  She clicked on the website link and waited for the page to load.

  A cartoon figure of Katy Enigma appeared on the screen. The manga style animation had exaggerated eyes, a dark bob and scarlet hotpants with the letters KE emblazoned in fire on the bib.

  ‘Welcome to the Katy Enigma fan site,’ the large script at the top of the page said. ‘Here you will find original stories featuring super-girl hero, Katy Enigma. Follow the links to read other stories written by fans, the chat room, message board, writing competitions, prizes and lots more!’

  The cursor drifted over the web page and she found a link to a message board, then to a form a potential member had to fill out before joining. She filled in the form, gave herself the screen name of bizzylizzy and clicked to submit it. Within a few minutes she was a member of the Katy Enigma site. As her eyes ran down the list of member names she wondered which, if any, belonged to Emma—poshgirl, squeaky, oddmouse, katyfan!

  She checked out her own new profile, which she discovered was accessible to all the board members. Her email address wasn’t displayed because she’d ticked the box asking for it not to be. Members could still contact each other through an internal private mailing box without revealing their email addresses. Soon she found Bettybo’s profile and saw her private email address displayed for the world to see. Kusak had already known Bianca’s email address, but even if he hadn’t, she might just as well have knocked on his door and presented herself to him.