Also, why so many cops in the street?
Pap pulled the long hem of his shirt over his camera bag and did his best to look casual as he stepped up to the shopping centre. There was a gym on the third floor – Work yourself into a sweat anytime, we’re open 24 hours – although how he knew that, Pap couldn’t have said, since it had been a while since he’d been near a gym. How close he would be able to get to the childcare centre he didn’t know, but there was only one way to find out. He stepped as casually as he was able onto the escalator, and went from ground to the first floor, then the second floor, where he took cover behind a set of palms in massive pots.
Definitely something was happening on the third floor. He could see up through the atrium. There were cops all around the entrance to Crayon and Clay. Pap aimed his lens and nearly fell on his arse.
Jesus! It was Emma Cardwell!
Pap took a step back. What were the chances? He looked again. Yep. It was Emma. Definitely Emma. She was sitting on one of the chairs built for toddlers, just beyond the front door, and every time it opened – often, given the number of cops coming and going – he could see her plain as day.
Pap lowered his lens and looked around. Did he have enough cover? If the cops came across him, he’d get moved on, and he couldn’t afford to get moved on. Something was happening and he didn’t know what, but whatever it was, it needed papping.
He ducked down, and settled in for the wait.
Monday 12 October
9:10 pm
‘There are a number of questions we’re waiting to have answered . . . We need police to update us on the situation . . .’
Brandon bolted down the steps in time to see Emma nearly crash into the garage door. He wanted to plead with her to wait but it was too late, she was gone. His instinct had been to grab the boys and follow her to Crayon and Clay, but upon getting back upstairs, he found Hudson absolutely hysterical in the kitchen.
He grabbed his phone and dialed Lena, urgently asking her, ‘Can you come here?’
She made it in record time. Brandon barely took time to register the shock on her face before he jumped in his car and took off for the Gallery Main Street, where he was immediately stopped at the boom gate by a duty officer.
‘I’m the girl’s father,’ he insisted through his window.
The duty officer radioed in to Franklin, explaining that a man who was claiming to be the dad had arrived. Brandon waited impatiently, then tore up the ramp in his car, and bolted on foot across the car park, straight into the daycare centre.
Emma was sitting on one of the small, timber toddler chairs in Dinosaurs. She was barefoot, with her knees up under her chin.
‘Where is she?’ Brandon asked, looking around. ‘Why isn’t she here?’
Franklin stepped up. ‘You’re the father?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Brandon Cole. Where’s Fox?’
‘She isn’t here,’ said Emma. Her tone, to Brandon, sounded weary. ‘All I can think is Noelle must have her.’
‘Noelle?’ echoed Brandon. ‘Why would Noelle have her? You think she took her home?’
‘It doesn’t make sense to me,’ said Franklin. ‘We checked the sign-out book. Somebody signed out your daughter at 1 pm . . .’
‘Somebody signed her out?’ asked Brandon. ‘But I was meant to get her. Who signed her out? Let me see.’
Franklin lifted the book from atop the cubbies, and pointed at Fox’s name. ‘Signed in by the nanny at 9 am,’ he said. ‘Signed out again at 1 pm but Emma can’t make out that name. I take it that’s not your signature?’
‘No,’ said Brandon. ‘I can’t make it out, either. It’s not even a signature. It’s scribble.’
‘I agree,’ said Franklin. ‘And you don’t have any idea who might have come for her?’
‘All I know is, I was meant to come at around 5 pm, after the boys got home from school. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but I forgot.’
‘You forgot?’ replied Franklin.
‘Yes. I’m a complete idiot,’ Brandon said. His voice was unsteady, and his hands were shaking. ‘It’s not normally me that does the pick-up on Mondays and I had a bit on today and I don’t know . . . But I don’t understand why she’s not here.’
‘Let’s take a step back,’ said Franklin, calmly. ‘You’re both absolutely sure she came to daycare today? She couldn’t be somewhere else?’
‘Somewhere else? She was definitely here,’ said Emma. ‘You can see where she was signed in. And they sent me a photo. I can show you.’ She pulled up the picture of Fox on her phone, standing by the water table in her purple tights and yellow gumboots. ‘Look,’ said Emma, tears filling her eyes. ‘That’s my baby.’
‘This was taken today?’ asked Franklin, taking the phone.
‘Yes. They do it for every child every day. She was definitely here, and Brandon was supposed to pick her up.’ Emma turned to her husband, her tone anguished. ‘But he forgot. And now where is she?’
Brandon put his fingers over his closed eyelids and staggered a little on the spot.
‘Okay, we really need to reach this director, Noelle,’ said Franklin. He turned to Emma. ‘Is your daughter old enough to talk?’
‘A little,’ said Emma, wiping mascara from under her eyes with the back of her fingers. ‘Not much, but a little.’
‘Okay, and she knows you’re her mum, doesn’t she? If somebody else comes and says, “I’m your mummy, I’ve come to get you” she knows that’s not right, doesn’t she?’
‘You’re asking me if she knows I’m her mother?’ asked Emma. ‘Of course she knows I’m her mother.’
Brandon went to say something then stopped.
‘What?’ prompted Franklin.
‘I was just going to say, other people do pick her up from here.’
‘Who does?’
‘Me. The nanny, Lena. In the past, it’s been Emma’s sister Freya, and her daughter, Airlie. And I mean, we’ve had a few different nannies this year – we had a Dutch girl, and before that, a German girl . . . Our house is pretty chaotic. So she is used to having different people pick her up.’
Emma swung her body sharply in his direction. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Christ, Emma,’ said Brandon. ‘It’s not supposed to mean anything. I’m just saying, it’s not always the same person who comes and gets her.’
‘Okay, but today it was supposed to be you,’ said Emma.
‘I know, but what I’m saying is—’
Franklin interrupted. ‘But you’re both obviously sure that it wasn’t the nanny today?’ he asked impatiently.
Brandon shook his head. ‘Lena’s at our house. We called her when we realised that we hadn’t . . . that I hadn’t picked up Fox. To check. She hasn’t got her. But we’ve got two boys and I couldn’t just leave. She’s looking after them now.’
‘Okay,’ said Franklin. ‘But you do think Fox would go willingly with somebody that she doesn’t know?’
‘Of course she wouldn’t,’ said Emma.
‘Look, I don’t want to get into a fight, but I think she might,’ Brandon said. ‘Christ, Emma, don’t look at me like that. I’m just trying to explain. She might go willingly with somebody she doesn’t know. Thinking it’s the nanny. Because sometimes it’s a madhouse, and the poor kids, they just get picked up by whoever is around.’
Monday 12 October
9:20 pm
‘Suspicion falls on everyone, because the police can’t afford to rule anyone out. They have to keep all their options open.’
Noelle Preston heard the buzzer on her front door and looked up, surprised. She lived in a high-rise and nobody was supposed to be able to get up without buzzing from below. Confused, she put down her wineglass, rose from the couch, and peered through the peephole to find two police officers – one male, one female – standing in her hallway.
She undid the chain, and opened the door. ‘Hello?’ she said.
The police showed their badges.
‘Noelle Preston?’ the male officer asked.
‘Yeah?’
‘You’re the director of the Crayon and Clay daycare at Gallery Main Street?’
‘Yeah?’ said Noelle.
‘Can we come inside?’
‘What for?’ asked Noelle, looking alarmed.
‘If we could come inside?’
Noelle stepped back from the door and the police officers entered. Noelle’s apartment was relatively modern. The flat screen TV was on, and there was a half-empty wineglass on the coffee table.
‘We had a call from some parents who say they forgot to pick their child up from your centre today,’ the female officer said. ‘Police are down there now, but the place is empty.’
‘Somebody left their kid behind?’ replied Noelle. ‘That’s not possible. All the children have to be signed out. I check the sign-out book myself. There was nobody missing. Who is supposed to be missing?’
The two officers exchanged glances.
‘It’s Emma Cardwell’s daughter,’ the female officer said.
‘Emma Cardwell’s daughter?’ echoed Noelle. ‘Fox-Piper?’
‘Correct. The parents – Emma and her husband – are saying they didn’t pick her up, they’ve raced over there, but she’s not there. They thought maybe you brought her home.’
The female officer looked around as she spoke, taking note of the US flag over the back of Noelle’s couch, and the closed bedroom door.
‘They think I brought her home? Why would I bring her home?’ asked Noelle. ‘If the parents are late, I don’t take the kids home. I can’t. That would be illegal. I might call child services.’ She sighed. ‘No, I don’t. I’ve never done that. I say I will, but I don’t. But I would never bring a child back here.’
The male police officer stepped towards the bedroom door, ear cocked, as if listening.
‘You can look in there,’ said Noelle. ‘Go on. You won’t find a kid, that’s for sure.’
The male officer turned the handle, and glanced inside at Noelle’s bed, and the floor strewn with clothes and shoes.
‘We’ve all been calling you for half an hour,’ the female officer said.
‘My phone’s in my bag . . .’
Noelle stepped towards a gold-studded tote, slumped on the floor.
‘Why don’t you get your bag? We need you to come with us.’
‘What? To the police station?’
‘To Gallery Main Street.’
‘Of course,’ said Noelle. ‘But this cannot be happening. There’s just no way . . .’ Her voice trailed away. ‘Okay. Let me grab my things.’
The two officers waited while Noelle grabbed her handbag off the floor, and checked for her phone and keys. The three of them left together, with Noelle saying, ‘Fox left behind? There’s just no way.’
She pulled her phone from her bag and began searching for fellow staff members, and she was still fiddling with her phone – texting and calling – when the patrol car pulled up the ramp, into the Parents With Prams car spaces. Noelle gasped as she looked around: there were four police cars parked near the third-floor entrance, all with their lights flashing. She followed the two officers into the centre where at least ten duty officers were milling about.
‘Jesus,’ she said.
Detective Franklin was waiting near the front door of Crayon and Clay. On seeing the two officers, he stepped outside.
‘You’re Noelle?’ he began, as the group approached. ‘I’m Detective Paul Franklin, CIB. I need you to look at something.’
He guided Noelle into the entrance hall. There was no sign of Emma and Brandon but Panton was standing with the fingers of one hand splayed like a spider against the open sign-in, sign-out book. Noelle stepped forward. She was young for the director of a childcare centre – just thirty years old – thin and freckled, with maroon-dyed hair gathered into a short ponytail, and a blue tattoo, perhaps home-made, or done by a friend, on the back of her neck. She looked at the scribble next to Fox-Piper’s name.
‘Okay, she was signed out at one o’clock,’ she said.
‘But that’s not either parent’s signature,’ said Franklin.
‘No? Then whose is it?’
‘That’s what I was hoping you could tell us.’
Noelle’s brow furrowed. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know everyone’s signature. It’s not their nanny?’
‘Apparently no. Their nanny is at home with the other kids. She wasn’t supposed to collect Fox today. The father – Brandon – was supposed to do it.’
‘And what, he didn’t?’
‘No.’
‘Yeah, okay, well, that’s not a total shock. It can get a bit messy with Emma,’ said Noelle. ‘Don’t take that the wrong way. It’s not just her . . . we’ve got a lot of mums with big jobs, dads with big jobs, everyone running around, they’ve got different people coming to get their kids all the time, so . . .’
‘So?’
‘So, yeah, I can’t say who picked her up, but somebody’s signed her out.’
‘You don’t remember who?’
Noelle went to answer. Then stopped. Emma had risen from the toddler chair in Dinosaurs, and placed herself in Noelle’s line of sight. They locked eyes for a moment, before Noelle looked away. She put the corner of a bitten nail between her front teeth.
‘It definitely wasn’t her mum?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Franklin.
‘Okay, well, I’m going to be honest with you, I had two of my regular staff call in sick today. We had two casuals come in for cover, but . . .’
She paused. Franklin encouraged her on, saying, ‘But the staff don’t sign the children out, do they? You said the parents do it? So who came for Fox?’
Noelle pulled the nail edge clear and began to chew it between her front teeth. ‘I’m trying to think. It’s such a blur,’ she said. ‘I remember Fox being here. She was wearing yellow gumboots, yeah? I commented on her outfit. I told her, you’re becoming a fashionista. Okay, wait, is her bag still here?’
‘No,’ said Franklin, pointing to Fox’s empty cubby.
‘Okay, well that makes no sense.’
Emma took another step towards the childproof gate. Her jaw was set, and her eyes were seeking out Noelle’s.
‘Where is she, Noelle?’ she asked.
‘Emma, please sit down. Let me ask the questions,’ said Franklin. ‘Is there CCTV in here, Noelle?’
Noelle made a short snorting sound. ‘No. You’re not allowed to have that with kids. Privacy rules. You can’t even do a class photograph without a permission form. But have you checked with the shopping centre? They’ve got a million cameras.’
‘We’re doing that,’ said Franklin. ‘I wanted to check with you first.’
‘What I don’t get is how anyone was able to get Fox out of here,’ said Emma, taking another step towards the gate. ‘You have a list, don’t you, Noelle, of who is authorised to take Fox? You’re forever telling us to make sure it’s up to date.’
Franklin queried, ‘A sign-out list?’
‘Yeah,’ Noelle said nervously. ‘We have a process. If somebody comes for a child, it’s got to be somebody on the authorised list. But Emma . . . she’s had a few different people this year. She’s busy. She’s got her husband running around but she still calls sometimes, or he does, and says, you know, my sister’s coming, the nanny’s coming . . .’
‘We haven’t had anyone else for months,’ said Emma. ‘It’s me, or Lena. Or my husband.’
‘Can I see this list?’ asked Franklin.
‘It’s on there.’ Noelle pointed to the desktop computer in her office.
‘Can you get it up for me?’
She shrugged. She followed Franklin into her office, stood at the desk, and waggled the mouse until icons appeared on the screen. She clicked on a file marked ‘Pick-Up’ and scrolled down.
‘Here’s Fox,’ she said, clicking the image. A list of names came up:
C
ardwell, Emma.
Cole, Brandon.
Schwab, Lena.
‘Okay, so that’s three people,’ she said.
‘Three people authorised to pick up Fox?’
‘Yeah, for now, but there have been a few times when somebody else has come – this happens with all the families, not just them – when somebody – Fox’s auntie, maybe – has turned up, and we’ve had to call and you know, Brandon, or Emma has said, just let her go with her, because I can’t get there now, I’m at work, or at the office, it’s okay, let her go.’
‘But you’re not supposed to let them go with somebody who isn’t on the list?’
‘No, but that’s not realistic,’ said Noelle. ‘I’m sorry, you probably don’t know this, but parents – I’m not saying these ones – they bully you. They get on the phone, and they say, just let them go, like making it sound like we are the ones being difficult. And normally I make them send an email, or write a letter and photograph it, and send it with their signature. But Emma’s been here for years. Her older boy, Seal, he was here, so . . .’
The Ones You Trust Page 7
