‘They don’t, I believe them. He’s just vanished. Christine looks broken hearted.’
Rafe was startled.
‘You’ve seen them? They’ve been here?’
‘Yes Sir, they were here,’ she stammered. ‘I was following up on things like you said, and have been trying not to bother you unless I have something really vital…’
‘You don’t think that Annabelle’s pimp and prostitute friend were important enough for me to come and sit in on?’
‘Well,’ Louise was still stammering. ‘It wasn’t a proper interview or anything, it was pretty casual and informal, just a chat, I thought I’d get you in when they come back and do something more official.’
Rafe tried to shrug off his annoyance, but it was written all over his face and in the thin, straight line of his lips.
‘I assume you got hold of the phone when you saw Christine and Bessie?’
‘No.’
The silence was overwhelming.
‘I didn’t take it off her, in case he calls her…but I did, I did check it.’ Louise felt ill, another major oversight.
‘Get the phone,’ he said gruffly.
‘Yes. Sir.’
‘And get them back in here, tomorrow, so I can talk to them.’
She nodded in reply.
Louise went to pick up the diary but he put his hand on it. ‘Leave this here, I’ll have a look.’
Louise’s chin felt like it was dragging on the ground as she walked back to her desk. Just when she thought she was doing a cracking job, she’d cocked up.
Rafe, as annoyed as he was, soon got engrossed in the diary and the possibilities it presented. When Louise first approached him about this old case that had gone cold, he didn’t anticipate it would become so interesting. He only really gave it to her as practice, and to test the modern investigative techniques everyone remarked upon in her resume.
Perhaps he hadn’t taken as much notice as he should have when she’d shared her latest instincts with him. So far these instincts had been correct… and accurate. How many resources should they throw at the elusive Annabelle Brown? A missing teenager from nearly thirty years ago, who many had forgotten, but was coming to life, and starting to feel very real.
CHAPTER 41
Yellow
They landed the best table at Yellow, right out on the footpath. It was a clear, still evening with a slight chill in the air. Bessie could remember when this golden yellow terrace halfway down Macleay Street in Potts Point was an artists’ residence in the seventies. Oh, they had some wild nights, with some of Sydney’s most famous artists. Brett Whitely, Ellis D Fogg and George Gittos were familiar faces. Bessie could tell some stories about Yellow, that’s for sure.
‘It’s much more civilised than what I remember,’ she remarked.
‘I’m sure it is,’ Christine smiled, remembering Bessie’s stories from the olden days.
‘I miss the Sydney climate, these still nights with just a hint of coolness, not the freezing blow your tits off cold of Melbourne.’ Christine breathed in deeply.
After several cocktails, and a decadent three courses finished with an artistic dessert that looked too good to eat, Bessie broached the subject of Danny.
‘What are you going to do? You can’t just leave him hanging.’
‘I dunno Bess, he’ll never forgive me.’
‘You don’t know that. From what I could gather, he’s a nice fella, just what you need. And he loves you. He’ll make you happy, for the rest of your life.’
‘Yeah, maybe so. But my heart is with Ant, he’s the love of my life.’
‘For Christ’s sake Christine, get over him. He’s no good for you. He’s not going to be there for the rest of your life. He fucked off on you, didn’t he?’
Christine couldn’t face up to herself, let alone face up to Danny.
‘I know what’s going through your head,’ Bessie said kindly. ‘I tell you what though, it gets easier every day.’
‘Ant said something like that. He said take things one second, one minute, then one hour, one day, one week…’
‘Yeah I get the point,’ Bessie rolled her eyes. ‘Pretty good advice, even if he is a bloody ratbag. Jeez, I wish he hadn’t taken off like that. Underneath it all he’s a good bloke, but there’s something dark and sinister bubbling under the surface. I dunno, I could never put my finger on it all those years ago, and can’t put my finger on it now.’
Christine was sick of talking about her ruined life, and changed topic.
‘What are you going to do with yourself now Bessie? Any thoughts of setting up a nice little brothel back in Kellett Street?’
Bessie squinted at her, then chuckled. ‘You know me too well my dear!’
‘Yes I do! And not for one minute do I think after coming back here, that you’ll be satisfied with going back to your quiet life on the Great Ocean Road. Where nobody knows you, and nothing ever happens. Where life is so sedentary it is at risk of standing still.’
‘I must admit, it has crossed my mind a time or two. Familiar places, but different faces. I certainly wouldn’t be able to run it how I used to, and if that Louise is anything to go by, the coppers run a pretty clean ship these days. No way the likes of them are going to let me get away with what the old coppers used to.’
‘Looks like back to the quiet life for you then?’
‘Looks like it. But I might just come back a bit more often and walk these streets, for old time’s sake.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Christine felt a laugh bubbling inside her. ‘Cheers, Big Ears!’
…
Rafe sat in bed with his wife sleeping soundly beside him, reading the diary of Annabelle, Bell and Anna, late into the night. Analysing every word and looking for clues or hints – anything that might lead to something. It took a while for the penny to drop – Anna and Bell weren’t her friends, they were voices in her mind. They went everywhere with her, influencing her from within. No wonder she had so much trouble staying on track.
As confronting as he knew it would be for her family to read, it was part of her story, part of who she was. Something precious, that they could hold onto. Her bleeding heart spilled onto the pages in blue, black and red ink. He wondered if the people around Annabelle knew how deeply disturbed she was. Did they know how desperately she needed help? Did anyone see the signs before she disappeared?
Well after midnight, frustrated with tired sore eyes, he had to admit it was just a diary of a troubled teenager. As far as he could see, it contained nothing which would lead them to what happened at that party in the bush. There was nothing he could find, behind the words, which might solve the frustratingly mysterious disappearance of Annabelle Brown.
CHAPTER 42
Interview Two
Bessie brought coffees for everyone. Partly because she and Christine were nursing sore heads after one too many cocktails at Yellow last night. Also because she thought she’d better stay on the good side of the police, in case these young guns decided they wanted to look more closely into her previous affairs.
Louise had gone to great pains to explain the meeting would be casual and informal, and that everyone should feel at ease. Bessie felt the opposite. Louise was also a bundle of nerves. She had been up all night working through different scenarios. After her dressing down from Rafe, she worried about what else she had missed in her questioning that he would discover.
Once everyone was settled with their coffees, in a much larger room this time with good air-conditioning, Rafe took charge.
He was subtle in his approach, and had a relaxed smile. It didn’t take long for the friction in the room to dissolve, as he skilfully teased out more information. ‘We appreciate you coming in again,’ he said. ‘We know you were both a big help when Annabelle first disappeared and Louise has brought me up to speed on yesterday.’
Bessie sipped her coffee thoughtfully, wondering what this straight-laced, immaculately dressed Detective was getting at.
Silence stretched across the bare laminex table between them.
Rafe cleared his throat. ‘We are all curious about who sent this diary. I imagine you both feel pretty strongly about who sent it, and have as many questions as us.’
Bessie and Christine didn’t take the bait. It was excruciating to watch and Louise cringed.
‘I have a simple question,’ Christine spoke softly. ‘Where is Annabelle?’
Rafe didn’t skip a beat, sensing a small opening.
‘That is why we’re all here, Christine. I don’t think the diary itself reveals any vital clues, but we’re all trying to confirm if Ant sent it, and if he did, then why.’
Bessie still hadn’t spoken. She wasn’t sure which direction Rafe was trying to take them. She also didn’t have anything new to add to what she’d already told Louise.
‘We also need to find Carl,’ Rafe said. The question he’d been working up to. The one he really wanted an answer to. Bessie had come prepared, prompted by what Louise had raised in yesterday’s conversation, she’d written down everything she could remember about Carl.
‘He was a greasy slimy bastard that one,’ Bessie cursed. ‘I wouldn’t even let him into my kitchen for a cup of tea. He used to hang around with Ant. He had the hots for Annabelle, that’s why he was always around.’
Rafe sipped his coffee thoughtfully.
‘We’ve tracked down his family, but they haven’t heard from him,’ he continued. ‘From what we can work out, he disappeared around the same time Annabelle disappeared, but they never reported him missing. He doesn’t have a bank account, he’s not on the electoral roll…’
Bessie laughed, ‘I think a few that used to cross my threshold back in those days won’t be on the electoral roll.’
‘I’m sure there are, I’m sure there are,’ Rafe replied wryly.
Christine spoke apologetically, desperate to contribute but feeling all at sea. ‘I’m really sorry, I don’t know anything more about this Carl. I probably couldn’t even place him in a lineup. I can’t remember his hair colour, his eye colour. I can’t remember anything about him, except that he was a bit odd.’
Rafe scribbled down a few notes.
‘Neither of you heard from Ant overnight?’ Louise asked, taking Rafe’s note taking, when there was nothing to note, as a sign he wanted her to take over.
‘No, nothing,’ Bessie said. ‘Not a peep. That bugger is long gone.’
‘Do you still have his phone?’ Louise asked Christine, unable to stop blushing from Rafe’s eyes which she knew were on her.
‘Yes, yes I do.’ Christine rifled around in her bag and produced the phone. Louise’s hands shook as she took it.
‘We’ll just need to keep hold of this for a while, okay?’ She was mumbling and Christine struggled to make out what she was saying. Rafe broke in and spoke briskly.
‘We will see if our tech people can pull anything off it that might be of value to the investigation.’
Christine’s heart was beating fast, she didn’t want to let go of the phone. ‘But what if he calls me on it?’ she stammered. ‘What if…’
‘We will let you know,’ Rafe said, closing off any further conversation about the phone. Christine watched Louise drop it into a plastic zip lock bag and zip it tight.
‘Well, thanks ladies for coming in. Keep in touch, eh?’ Rafe started to wrap things up.
‘Yes, we will,’ Christine said. She was desperate to provide something of use and wanted to contribute something valuable to the detectives. But she wished they hadn’t taken Ant’s phone, her only connection to him.
‘If we hear from Ant, if we hear anything, we’ll let you know,’ Christine stammered. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call you when I first arrived in town, I ah, um…’ Bessie looked at her sharply, and she stopped talking.
‘Anyways, we’d better let you get back to it,’ Bessie said in her ‘organisey’ voice. ‘Come on love, let’s go.’
Once they were well away from the station, past the fountain and across the street, Bessie spoke sharply. ‘They’re still coppers Christine, can’t give them too much. I know you’re eager to help, but keep a bit of a lid on it okay? Not sure they’re going to be thrilled to hear what you’ve been up to since you arrived back in The Cross.’
‘Sorry Bess, you’re right, absolutely right. I guess I’ve lost my street smarts.’
‘You sure have,’ Bessie put her arm around her. ‘Forgotten everything old Bess taught you.’
Christine laughed. ‘That’s right, the street smarts lessons. They completely slipped my mind.’
‘Too much clean living between then and now, and I’m telling you straight, that’s how it should be. If I hear you’re back on the streets, I’m going to kick your bum all the way to Melbourne and back.’
Christine flushed, it was as though Bessie could read her mind. It was as though she knew Christine was fighting with her bad side every minute they were here, wondering if she could face up to herself or whether it was easier to do what she’d been doing before Ant found her.
‘I’m trying Bess, I’m really trying,’ she said.
‘Good girl, you can do it, I know you can.’ They were standing at the door to Christine’s apartment. ‘So, how about you make me a nice cuppa and then we’ll doll ourselves up and head out for dinner, do some people watching and feast like queens.’
…
After dinner that night at the Macleay Street Bistro, which had been in Potts Point since the eighties but not the kind of place they ever dined in, they walked arm in arm back to Bessie’s hotel. Christine kissed her soft cheek and hugged into her squishy bits.
‘I fucked up bad Bessie. That ice, it’s dangerous shit. I feel like shit. Like trash on the streets.’
Bessie faced Christine and placed a warm hand on each cheek.
‘You’re not trash on the streets darlin’. You’re a famous, fabulous, talented jewellery designer with a perfect life waiting for you back in Melbourne. Go grab it, with both hands.’
Christine tried to put on a brave face.
‘You’re the closest thing I have to a real Mum Bess. You were back then, and you still are now.’
Bessie’s boobs wobbled when she chucked. ‘Not much of a Mum back in the day, sending you out on the streets, but I still loved you just like a Mum loves her daughter.’
‘I know it sounds wrong when you say it like that, but it was what we knew.’
Bessie hugged Christine tight, and whispered in her ear.
‘Can’t change the past, although I have a few regrets, I try and tell myself I did the absolute best with what I possessed at the time. I’m a better Mum now, and would love it if me favourite girl would visit every now and then, when she can.’
‘I will,’ Christine whispered back, ‘I definitely will.’
…
As hard as it was to stop herself from walking around the corner to find a dealer, Christine repeated Bessie’s words with every step towards her room. She got herself ready for bed, tidied the apartment until everything was spotless, and climbed between the crisp white sheets with her phone, to make the call she’d been dreading.
‘Hey,’ she said when she heard the familiar voice at the other end.
‘Hey yourself.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, so softly he could hardly hear. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
Danny had taken Bessie’s advice and gotten himself out of his depressive slump. He had started a strict exercise regime, worked diligently on his scripts, filled his spare time with things he loved, and thought good thoughts for Christine. As soon as he heard her voice he knew exactly what he wanted.
‘How about you save it all for when you come home,’ he said softly.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I
’m sure,’ he said, biting back all the questions and accusations he knew would come. It wouldn’t get them anywhere tonight. That would be a better conversation when they were face to face.
‘Okay, I’ll come home tomorrow.’
‘Beaut, see you then.’
They quickly rang off, not wanting to ruin the kindness they were wrapping around their words, when they knew harshness was simmering just beneath the surface.
Christine sent a text to Bessie: Catching flight tomoz. Want to grab coffee 7.30?
Bessie’s reply came instantly: Absolutely. I have flight tomorrow too, we can go to airport together :)
Christine: thumbs up emoticon.
She lay her weary head on the pillow and tried to keep her mind from blowing apart. Something Annabelle used to say crept into her thoughts. Here for a good time, not a long time! She pushed the words roughly away. No Annabelle, I’m here for a long time. A long, long time.
CHAPTER 43
Delivering the Diary
Lee fussed around the kitchen, the same way she fussed whenever she was getting a visit from investigators into Annabelle’s disappearance. Even after all this time, greeting detectives made Lee’s emotions feel raw and bloody; it was as though Annabelle had disappeared only yesterday.
She had swept every speck of dust vigorously away, and filled her oven with cookies and cakes. Every ornament, cushion and trinket was in its place and a small vase of freshly picked flowers from her garden was the table centerpiece. She’d laid out her best cups and crockery – right down to the matching sugar bowl and milk jug. The sink and benchtops showed no evidence of the baking storm that had started before six o’clock, and the dishwasher warmed the kitchen as it went through its final drying cycle.
Lee had toyed with the idea of moving somewhere closer to town, with less garden to look after and a newer house that would be easier to clean. It was only the two of them in this rambling old house, and a lot of the time it was just her, with Gordon away so much for work.
Found Page 17
