Clear to the Horizon

by Dave Warner

  Perth’s population had grown by probably twenty percent since those days. This was a psycho for the next generation. I asked one question to reassure myself.

  ‘You spoken to Listach?’

  ‘Yeah. He runs a restaurant in Bali now.’ Franz Listach had been the celebrity shrink who had been treating and hiding Steve Compton. ‘He confirmed what he told us twenty years ago. Steve Compton killed Joey Johnson and there was nobody else involved.’ There had never been any benefit in Listach lying about Johnson. In fact the opposite was true. I breathed a little easier.

  ‘How’s Natasha?’

  ‘She’s great. We’ve got a little girl, Grace.’

  ‘Best times. Don’t waste them. Sorry mate, I have to go.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks, we need it.’

  That night I slept soundly. I didn’t even hear Natasha get up to feed the baby. Next morning I swam, went to work and posted the report on the philandering printer. Like everybody else, I followed the case of the missing young women through the news. Husson’s piece came out and created a brief flurry but I’d already lit out of town. Tash had given me the green light and I’d driven up to Geraldton to stay with an old footy teammate who ran a cray-boat. George Tacich was on the news a couple of times, eerily reminiscent of a coach whose team was welded to the bottom of the ladder, talking up inconsequential ‘positives’. The case was stalled. They had no body. That was a huge problem. I ended my short vacation, went back to work, nobody bothered me about the case, Grace settled into a better sleeping pattern. By the time winter crept into our beds, life in Perth was almost normal. Women were still careful about waiting for taxis alone; Claremont’s night scene was skinnier than it had been but not anorexic.

  And then Jessica Scanlan disappeared after drinking with friends in the same area. Australia-wide the story went ballistic. My phone rang constantly, reporters wanting a comment. In his rare TV appearances Tacich looked strained. Three young women, who all had attended the same school, vanished without a trace, a modern-day Hanging Rock. The city was petrified. The lack of any bodies stymied the press from dubbing these serial killings. Husson tried valiantly to tag the unknown perpetrator Ghost of Gruesome. Those seeking to spin the events as evidence of white slavery had even less success. But we all knew this was real and that unpleasant truth covered the city like invisible smog.

  Yet, not quite a year on from when it had all started, here I was, seemingly unchanged, sitting on the terrace of my regular North Cott café with a view clear out to the horizon chatting with my swimming mates about the Olympic Games opening ceremony that we would all be watching that night. The women were excited about the prospect of Farnsy and Livvy. Living vicariously through Grace, my viewing highlight promised to be the Bananas in Pyjamas. One by one people drifted away but I had a light day ahead and was studying the paper and the chances of gold medals for our swimmers when Craig Drummond loomed alongside me. Craig was around fifty, slightly paunchy, pretty quiet. Even though he’d been swimming in our group for close on two years, I didn’t know him very well. I believed he was an accountant or something in finance. We’d exchanged morning pleasantries many times, the temperature of the water, footy results but not much more.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  I pulled out a chair. He looked slightly uncomfortable and even before he sat I had the awful premonition he was going to ask me something about discovering whether his wife was unfaithful. I would have to beg off. This was my one grotto.

  ‘You’re a private detective.’

  Here it came.

  ‘Yes, mate, but if this is about work …’

  ‘I know it’s not the right situation but my friend is out of his brain. Gerry O’Grady. His daughter Caitlin is one of the missing girls.’

  He didn’t have to tell me which missing girls. ‘Oh. It’s my worst fear. And mine’s not two yet.’

  ‘He’s worried there’s no advance in the case. He and his wife, Michelle, they’re like ghosts. They can’t work, they can’t think of anything of else.’

  ‘It’d be the worst thing. The worst thing. But I know the cop heading up the case. He’s as good as they come.’

  ‘That’s the worry. If he can’t find anything, what other cop’s going to? Gerry wants somebody else to take a look. In case there’s anything the police missed. You cracked Gruesome. You’re the obvious choice.’

  I could have said it was impossible, that I’d been out of the loop too long, that George Tacich was a friend and this would jeopardise that friendship. But all I could think of was, what if it was my Grace and I was the one asking.

  ‘Okay. I’ll meet with them, see if I think I can offer anything. I don’t need money.’

  ‘I know what your fee is. There’s a group of us who’ll pay. I don’t want you out of pocket.’

  ‘It’s not necessary.’

  ‘I’m his friend. I want to do this for him. And you might need assistance. I’ve got staff, office space, vehicles. They’re at your disposal. Thanks, Snowy.’

  He held out his hand and I shook it.

  ‘You want another coffee?’

  I suspected I was going to need a lot more than one.

  CHAPTER 2

  The O’Grady house was modest by the standards of some in Dalkeith, a pretty Californian bungalow, leadlight windows, neat rose bushes and lawn. A Mercedes nestled in the driveway alongside an older Corolla, P-plates attached as they would have been back when Caitlin had set out on that weekend after Australia Day. Drummond had told me Caitlin’s only sibling was a younger sister, Nellie, but she was too young to drive. Drummond had offered to come with me but I thought it was better I did this alone. His job was simply to set up the meet. By the time I’d finished my coffee I was on for 11.00. I went home, showered, and caught Natasha as she was about to head out. Fortunately it had already been agreed Grace would spend the day with Natasha’s mum, Sue. It had taken a long time but Sue had finally forgiven me for taking up with Tash. Mind you, Grace had helped.

  ‘You think I’m doing the right thing?’ I asked Tash. She held me tight.

  ‘You’ve got a gift.’

  Maybe I’d had a gift. I wasn’t sure of its currency. It had been a long time since I’d investigated anything like this. A couple of disappearances, yes, but right off I’d nailed those as businessmen skipping out on wives and debt. This was different. My brain knew it the way it knew pi was 22/7. Sitting there looking over at Caitlin’s car, I knew it now in my heart too. I felt crushed in. This was probably the lawn she’d tumbled over as a toddler, these were the flowers she’d smelled, the magpies she’d heard call. It was all intact, a perfect shell, but without her it may as well have been a painted set. It wasn’t going to get easier no matter how long I sat there. I got out of the car and started up the slightly faded red concrete path. I was about to insert myself in somebody else’s tragedy. Some stern objective voice inside told me to turn back but I shut it down and knocked. Gerry O’Grady opened the door. He was a fairly big man, six two maybe, balding, broad across the chest. He wore a diamond pattern pastel vest over a white shirt, slacks, brogues. Drummond told me he had a business supplying glassware and crockery to restaurants and hotels.

  ‘Please come in.’

  I walked down a Persian runner, over polished jarrah, past an oil painting of men with beards chopping down what looked like an Australian rainforest circa the days of W.G. Grace bowling underarm. It was an oddly masculine touch and I wondered if O’Grady dominated the house the way a lot of men in this suburb did. The sitting room was right off the entrance hall. It was high-ceilinged, quite light for winter, the light entering via glass doors that led out to the back. The furniture was good quality but comfortable and lived-in. I imagined happier times when they all sat around the telly to cheer the Eagles or Han Solo. Michelle O’Grady stood to welcome me. She was petite, had dark brown hair, attractive without being a beauty. I put her around my age, a coupl
e of years south of her husband. She had prepared tea and coffee, cake and biscuits, the pots sitting on a little serving trolley.

  ‘Thank you so much for seeing us,’ she said. There was strength in her, resolve but fragility too. O’Grady moved beside his wife. In my game you make snap judgements. I made one now. The self-blame, pity and anger these two would have had in the aftermath of the disappearance flashed by on fast forward. I could almost smell the tears in this room and taste the dregs of wine drank for comfort in lonely hours but I sensed a unity. This was a couple who would stand together, defying pain and darkness.

  ‘Please.’ Gerry O’Grady indicated I sit. I chose a comfortable armchair.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ asked his wife.

  ‘Thank you, white coffee no sugar.’

  In truth I didn’t need another coffee but she’d gone to trouble and when people have something to do they relax. I wanted them to relax because I wasn’t sure how much I could. When she’d poured me a coffee and I’d selected a biscuit, they sat opposite on the sofa. Neither of them took beverage or food. I started straight in.

  ‘I feel very deeply for you guys. I want to help if I can but I have to be straight up about some things. I’ve worked with George Tacich and I believe he’s a good detective. The chance I’ll find something they’ve missed is remote. I haven’t done this kind of work for a long time.’

  Gerry O’Grady leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees.

  ‘We understand that. We’re not expecting miracles.’

  ‘Also,’ I hesitated, ‘you must not get your hopes up about a happy outcome.’

  This time it was Michelle who spoke.

  ‘Believe me, we’ve thought of every scenario. We still hope. But we won’t abandon her, alive or dead.’

  I sipped my coffee and glanced at the walls, family portraits, Caitlin around fourteen in the biggest. A pleasant open teenager, she had the broad face of her father rather than the delicate features of her Mum. Those seemed to have passed to her younger sister.

  ‘We have these photo albums of her,’ said Michelle tapping what looked like three big volumes next to her.

  ‘We also have family films and videos.’ O’Grady gestured at a stack of videos on a bureau.

  ‘Whatever you want from us, we’ll do.’ Michelle offered me another biscuit. I wasn’t aware I’d eaten the first. This time I declined.

  ‘I suggest I work on this for a month, see if I can find anything at all they might have missed. If something breaks before then you won’t need me anyway.’

  They sought consensus from one another’s faces.

  ‘Sure.’ Michelle O’Grady’s vulnerability was more obvious in her voice.

  ‘Have the police given you any indication they’ve made progress?’

  They shook their heads in unison.

  ‘From time to time Tacich has said they are following leads …’

  ‘… but nothing seems to happen.’

  They were tag teaming. He’d gone first. ‘Following leads’ sounded ominously vague. I guessed the police had some tips, nothing concrete.

  ‘I’m going to have to go over ground the police have already covered. I apologise but there’s no other way.’

  They understood that, they said.

  ‘Have you been in touch with the parents of the other girls?’

  Michelle revealed that via George they had been given details on the Virtues and about a month after Caitlin’s disappearance the four parents had got together here.

  ‘They live in Peppermint Grove,’ she added. That was a couple of suburbs away. They had called each other a few times after the meet but contact had faded.

  ‘Even reaching out can be hard.’ Gerry looked at his brogues.

  When Jessica Scanlan disappeared, George Tacich had asked them if it was alright to pass their details on to her parents. Michelle had been happy to offer support but apart from one call with the mother they’d never spoken.

  ‘She thanked me but said they wanted to deal with it by themselves.’ She shrugged, what could she do?

  ‘Had any of you known one another or had any contact prior to this?’

  Michelle spoke. ‘We talked about that with the Virtues. Emily was two years ahead of Caitlin at St Therese’s but so far as we know they didn’t mix. Emily was a sporty girl, Caitlin did debating and drama. Emily started at the school year eight, Caitlin year seven.’

  ‘No doubt they would have crossed paths but nothing close so far as we can ascertain.’

  Gerry O’Grady put his arm around his wife.

  ‘And Jessica?’

  ‘Gerry knew of Dave Scanlan but we’d never met. As far as I know the Virtues don’t know them either. Jessica is three years older than Emily and only attended St Therese’s for her last two years so she wasn’t there when they were.’

  A weary old lab staggered in on shaky legs, sniffed the biscuits and implored with big eyes.

  ‘No, Soupy.’ Michelle waved him off. Soupy stood his ground, the eyes almost tearing up.

  ‘Soupy!’

  Gerry O’Grady’s voice was more commanding. Soupy slowly headed out of the room. My eyes found more photos on the wall. Caitlin about twelve with Soupy. Cher was right: if only we could turn back time. Gerry spoke.

  ‘Both the Virtues and us are members of the tennis club.’

  ‘We hardly ever use it.’

  ‘We don’t remember them there. Apparently Emily used to be pretty good in her school days and still played a fair bit in summer.’

  I nodded, considering the massive task of collating the lifestyles of three families to see if there was any common ground. Already I was considering my pitch to George to get his data and save time. Then again, if they’d missed something and I relied on them, I might miss it too.

  ‘What about boys?’

  Gerry deferred to his wife.

  ‘Caitlin only had one real boyfriend, Adam Reynolds. They lasted about a year. It finished around ten months before …’ she caught herself. ‘They were still friends, I think. He has another girlfriend now. He was in Bali that Australia Day and for the next week.’

  ‘How old is Adam?’

  They said he was a year older than Caitlin. He had gone to Scotch College and was now at university. He seemed like a normal, pretty sensible young man and his friends seemed of a similar ilk. They gave me the names of two who had been around to the house regularly. Caitlin had held her seventeenth birthday here. They had photos and lists of those who had attended. I was pretty sure that whoever had abducted the girls was going to seem nice and normal.

  ‘Who might Caitlin have accepted a lift from?’

  Gerry said, ‘Very old family friends, girlfriends, friends she knew well from university, some of the boys she felt she knew very well. We’re talking Adam and his closest friends.’

  Michelle said her daughter was a very sensible girl. When Emily’s disappearance had been made public, she and Gerry had reminded Caitlin and her sister of not trusting people you did not know extremely well.

  ‘She would never accept a lift from an acquaintance, let alone a stranger,’ Gerry said emphatically.

  ‘Teacher? Somebody like that?’

  They wouldn’t consider that possibility. She was either forcibly abducted or somebody she knew very well, somebody she trusted, offered her a lift home. I asked them to take me through the last day they had seen her, Saturday the 29th of January. Gerry had been back at work for two weeks but things were still slow. Michelle, a housewife, was enjoying having the girls around. Nellie had another week before school started. Caitlin had weeks before she needed to go back to uni. She had just finished her first year of Economics at UWA. Her marks were good, not outstanding, pretty much where she’d always been academically. Gerry and Nellie had gone for a morning swim at Cottesloe. Caitlin had got up, taken Soupy for a walk, then noodled around the house. Michelle had shopped. They’d had sandwiches for lunch. Gerry watched cricket, Australia cruising to a win ove
r the Windies. Caitlin had washed her hair, played a board game with Nellie and then picked up her friend Hanna and driven to the OBH for drinks with friends. This was around 3.00 pm. They’d stayed there till around 5.00 pm. Caitlin had dropped Hanna home, she lived not far away. Because she was driving, Caitlin had not had any alcohol. I interrupted.

  ‘Who were the friends at the OBH?’

  ‘Girls she and Hanna knew from school and uni. There were a couple of boys. One is the boyfriend of one of the other girls. The others were boys he knew or the other girls knew.’

  Caitlin’s plan that evening was to go to Claremont, dance, hang out with friends, and no doubt scout boys. Hanna begged off, she’d consumed a few wines at the OBH and was going to sit home and watch a video. Caitlin spent a while on the phone confirming which friends she would meet and where.

  ‘I’d made a chicken salad. She loves that kind of thing. We all ate it here. She got ready. Girls that age … she watched some television with us. She wanted to have a drink and dance so she decided not to take her car. Gerry dropped her off.’

  The club strip was only a ten-minute drive, if that, from the house.

  ‘We left here about nine-thirty. She kissed her mum goodbye.’

  I looked over at Michelle fighting emotion. Gerry continued.

  ‘In our day the pubs closed at ten, right? Nowadays it’s just getting going. I dropped her right around from the Sheaf by the bottle shop at a quarter to ten. I made sure she had a taxi fare. We’re usually in bed by eleven-thirty and I knew she wouldn’t be home till at least one. They all take taxis. I told her to have a good time.’

  For some hours the night had gone according to plan. Caitlin had met up with three girlfriends at the hotel. They had drinks there and chatted till around 11.30 then took themselves across the road to Autostrada, which was pumping but not yet packed. Around 1.00 am on what was now Sunday, one of the girls had peeled off with a boy she knew. By 1.30, Caitlin was ready to head home. She’d danced, and according to her friends had consumed a daiquiri and a single vodka. At the hotel earlier she’d had only one vodka, so three spirits all up. Many people saw her and spoke with her. All backed up her friends’ account that she was not drunk but she was happy, a little buzzed with the alcohol. Caitlin’s friends wanted to stay on – one of them was hopeful a boy she knew might make a play for her, the other was staying as backup – so Caitlin said goodbye. There was CCTV footage of her leaving the club at 1.36 am and that was it. From that moment she had disappeared.