‘So you might let her child go with somebody not on the list?’
‘I mean, no, I’m just saying . . .’ It seemed to Franklin that Noelle was about to say more, but at that moment, Noelle’s eyes opened wide and her hand flew to her mouth, and she said, ‘Oh!’
‘What?’ demanded Brandon, stepping forward. ‘What, Noelle? What did you just remember?’
Monday 12 October
9:45 pm
‘The massive media interest in this, it’s easy to understand . . . A missing child, it really is one of those stories that everyone dreads, and also where everyone is hoping for the best . . .’
Franklin exited Crayon and Clay and headed into the car park. Only when he was well clear of the building did he get out his smartphone and locate the number for the NSW Police Minister.
Catherine J. Hoffman.
She was the first woman to hold the post, and she had therefore been the subject of features in newspapers, and even on TV. Much had been made of her background: she’d grown up the daughter of a country cop, who hadn’t been surprised when she’d announced, at age fourteen, her intention to enter the academy.
‘She grew up around cop shops,’ her father had said, to one of the first reporters who had tracked him down for an interview. ‘She used to line up her dolls for fingerprinting.’
Franklin’s own background was similar – son of a country cop, always keen on the force – and because they were of similar age, they had ended up in the academy together, and for a while they’d been pretty close, and they’d even spent some time working together, at Kings Cross, and in the city. But then their careers had gone in radically different directions. Franklin had done the hard yards – duty cop, which meant directing traffic outside sporting venues and so on – but he’d always been keen on detective work and so he’d put himself on that path.
Catherine’s goals had seemed similar in the beginning – she had gone from academy to duty officer, too – then she’d leapt up to sergeant, but from there, she’d veered into politics, which was something Franklin could never in a million years imagine doing.
Solving crime. That’s why he’d become a cop.
‘Policing is all about fixing the problem after it’s happened,’ she’d said, in announcing her decision to run for a nice, safe seat. ‘In politics, I hope to find solutions to make sure crime doesn’t happen.’
Franklin didn’t see it that way. Crime was mostly bad stuff that happened to bad people. That kind of stuff you could never prevent, and the bad stuff that happened to good people? You couldn’t prevent that either. But you could sure catch the bad guys.
Franklin had been surprised by how quickly Cath had got into the swing of being tough on crime. As platforms go, that one always played well with the electorate, and Cath had ridden a wave of popularity all the way to the top. He had tried to stay in touch, and he’d even approached Cath a few times over the years with ideas for law reform.
She’d promise to look into it, and then he’d hear nothing, or else he’d get a call from one of her people.
Her people.
Nowadays when he saw Cath it was mostly on TV, promising to get even tougher on crime. No more kid-glove policing.
He no longer bothered her with requests for a moment of her time.
This was different. He had a missing child on his hands, and it was Emma Cardwell’s daughter, and if the media got hold of that fact before Cath was told, well, she’d want to know – she’d be demanding to know – why she hadn’t been kept informed.
He waited while the phone rang.
‘Cath Hoffman.’
‘Minister? It’s Paul Franklin.’
‘Paul?’ Her voice registered surprise. ‘How can I help?’
From the noises in the background – glasses clinking and people chatting – Franklin guessed that Cath wasn’t home, but out somewhere, maybe at some kind of event. He waited a few seconds more.
‘What is it Paul?’ asked Cath. The line was clearer now that she had stepped outside.
‘We’ve got a little girl missing from a daycare centre. And it’s Emma Cardwell’s daughter.’
‘Emma from Cuppa?’
‘That’s right,’ said Franklin. ‘The girl’s name is Fox. Fox-Piper, actually, but I guess they just call her Fox.’
‘Fox? Okay. And when you say missing . . . the child’s run off?’
‘No. She’s too little for that. And it’s not a custody thing. I’ve got both parents here – Emma and her husband. He was supposed to get her from childcare today and he forgot, and the place closed up. By the time they got here, she was gone. There’s a signature in the sign-out book, saying the kid left at 1 pm, but we don’t yet know who picked her up, or if anyone saw her go.’
He allowed Cath to think for a minute. ‘That sounds strange,’ she said.
‘I know. I’ve got the centre’s director here. Young woman. She’s not necessarily running the smoothest centre in Australia. She’s saying she wasn’t here at one, which is the time in the book. She’s got a bunch of staff including casuals who were here – or should have been – so I’ve got to track them all down. But it’s also completely out of order. Nobody’s supposed to take a child without being on the list of people who are authorised, and the parents are saying they didn’t pick her up, and the nanny didn’t either and they’re the only three on the list. So now the director wants a lawyer, which we’re trying to organise.’
He paused again to allow Cath time to absorb the problem and respond.
‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘And I guess the reason you’re calling me is that it’s going to be a circus, media-wise, when it gets out? Emma from Cuppa’s daughter. Jesus. Where are you now?’
‘We’re still at the daycare centre. It’s Crayon and Clay on the third floor at Gallery Main Street. I want to get them out of here. I’ve still got to speak to the nanny, just to tie that end off, but we might have to think about an Amber Alert.’
Cath paused. ‘An Amber Alert,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘You’re going to need help with the media if you do that. It’s going to be a big story.’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe I should come out there?’
Now it was Franklin’s turn to gather his thoughts before answering.
‘Maybe not at this point,’ he said. ‘There’s a bit we need to do before we issue the alert.’
‘Yes, but my appearance will help draw attention to the situation,’ said Cath. ‘Attention might be what we need. I’ll tell you what, let me talk to my media team, see what they say.’
Franklin went to reply but before he could, the line went dead. Cath had hung up, without so much as a, ‘God, let the little one be okay’ or even, ‘Whatever you need, Franklin, ask.’
Just, Maybe I should come and stand in front of a camera?
Franklin wasn’t surprised. Cath had started out as a cop but she had become a politician, and Franklin had dealt with politicians before. He knew how it worked: don’t stand between them and a microphone.
Emma came out into the car park. Her feet and the hem of her pale-coloured pants had grown filthy. She walked quickly towards Franklin. ‘I don’t understand what’s happening,’ she said. ‘Shouldn’t we be getting some kind of alert out? An Amber Alert?’
Franklin wasn’t surprised to hear that Emma knew what an Amber Alert was. Most people did, and since she was in the media, she had probably even covered a few. Franklin had already alerted the rostered District Officer – a sergeant, based in the NSW Police Link communications centre – to issue a Red Alert, alerting all police units to the situation as he was taking it on face value – a child was missing, and may have been taken from daycare by a stranger – but an Amber Alert was a different story altogether.
An Amber Alert wasn’t for police, it was for the public. It meant press conferences, media releases, Facebook posts and flashing freeway signs.
Franklin tucked the phone back into his jacket pocket. ‘That was the Police Mi
nister,’ he said. ‘She wants you to know, Emma, that we will throw everything at this. And assuming Fox doesn’t turn up in the next ten minutes, yes, I’m going to issue an Amber Alert.’
‘Ten more minutes?’
Emma sounded anguished. Franklin was about to say more, but he could see Panton hurrying out of the centre towards them, with one hand on her service revolver.
‘I just got a call from Police Media,’ she said. ‘They’ve had a call from a reporter.’
Franklin’s face gave nothing away, but he thought, Nice one, Cath. Straight out of the blocks.
‘Okay,’ said Franklin. ‘Officer Panton, could you take Emma home? We’re going to issue an Amber Alert, and I want her somewhere safe, out of the spotlight, when we do it. It’s going to be a circus, once this gets out.’
‘Yes sir,’ said Panton.
‘But what about Brandon?’ asked Emma.
‘I’ll bring Brandon,’ said Franklin. ‘You just go. Go now, before the media turns up.’ He took Emma by the elbow, and began walking her towards Panton’s car. ‘Leave me your keys,’ he said. ‘I’ll get somebody to take your car home. I don’t want you driving.’
‘My keys are in the car, I think,’ said Emma. ‘It’s a fob. You press the start button.’
‘Got it,’ said Franklin. ‘We’ll be right behind you.’
Panton popped the locks on the patrol car. Blue light was spinning around the car park. Emma went to duck inside, but stopped herself. She put one hand on the roof and looked up at Franklin.
‘I know how this looks,’ she said.
Franklin didn’t respond.
‘Maybe you’re also thinking, are they even telling the truth? Did they pick her up and they’re saying they didn’t? We are telling the truth. But you probably don’t know whether to believe us. We’re suspects. We have to be,’ she said.
Franklin again said nothing.
‘I’m not angry with you,’ said Emma. ‘I understand how it works. But promise me you will clear me as quickly as you can. Me and Brandon. Because any time you waste looking at us is time you’re not spending looking for Fox.’
Franklin nodded. He helped Emma into the car, and closed the door behind her.
Emma buzzed the window down. ‘I mean it,’ she said.
‘And I hear you,’ said Franklin. ‘I should clear you and Brandon, and I should do that first.’
‘Shit, who’s that guy? I nearly hit him.’
Panton had come down the ramp and swerved into the street. In her haste to leave the scene, she’d nearly collected Pap. Having been discovered by police on the second floor, he’d been ushered out of the shopping centre, and he was now standing by the ramp, taking photographs of the police cars as they arrived and left.
Emma looked out her window. ‘Stop, stop. I know him,’ she said. Frantically buzzing the window down again, she called out: ‘I know you. You’re John . . . you’re Pap. What are you doing here?’
Pap looked over the top of his camera. Alarmed to have made actual eye contact with Emma, for a split second he looked embarrassed, but the reaction didn’t last.
‘My job,’ he said, raising his camera to click in Emma’s face.
Monday 12 October
9:50 pm
‘The question for police is: where to start? You’d imagine they will be combing all the available CCTV but also questioning everyone . . .’
The front door of Emma’s home was open, and light from inside was spilling onto the porch. Somebody was silhouetted in the doorway, causing Panton to say, ‘Wait, are we all good?’
‘It’s Lena,’ said Emma.
‘Oh my God, you haven’t got her with you.’ Lena’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘I kept thinking you must have found her but you couldn’t call to say so. I don’t understand this, where could she be?’
‘We don’t know, Lena.’ Emma stepped inside, her voice a whisper. ‘Where are the boys?’
‘They’re upstairs. I put them in Brandon’s room. Your room. They didn’t want to sleep. I told them they have to sleep. I gave them their iPads to play with. They’ll probably come down when they hear you. I’m sorry.’
Emma looked up the staircase. ‘What did you tell them?’ she asked.
‘Just that we had a mix-up, and you’d gone to get Fox.’
‘I should go up to them,’ Emma said, but Panton stopped her.
‘No, Emma, we need to start getting organised. If the boys come down, we’ll deal with that. In the meantime, let’s start putting a description of Fox together, as accurately as we can.’
The gate behind them clicked, and Franklin came into the courtyard, with Brandon behind him.
‘Who’s this?’ asked Franklin, as Lena rushed forward.
‘That’s Lena,’ said Brandon. ‘Our nanny.’
‘Your full name is?’
‘Yes. I’m Lena Schwab,’ said Lena, glancing nervously at Franklin’s badge. ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t figure out what’s happened here. I wasn’t meant to pick her up.’
Franklin looked her over. Lena was an older woman – maybe sixty? – with short grey hair and no make-up. She was wearing slacks, and she had a ladybird brooch pinned to her loose summer cardigan.
‘Do you mind if I ask you some questions?’ Not waiting for an answer, he continued, ‘Did you see Fox today?’
Brandon went to answer. ‘I told you, she . . .’
But Franklin said, ‘No, I want to hear it from Lena.’
Lena pulled the two sides of her cardigan together, over a substantial bosom. ‘Yes I did,’ she said. ‘I came here this morning and took her to daycare. Monday is not my day to pick her up. I go to Book Club on Mondays. Monday is Emma’s day, or when she’s busy she gets Brandon, or somebody else to do it.’
Franklin took his notepad out of his inside jacket pocket, and flipped the cover. ‘I’m guessing there would have been other people at Book Club?’
‘Of course,’ said Lena, suddenly alarmed.
‘And what about this afternoon? Where were you around one o’clock?’
‘I was with my mother,’ said Lena, heat rising in her face as she spoke. ‘She’s in a nursing home. You can speak to the staff there.’
‘I’m sorry, Lena,’ said Emma. ‘They have to rule everyone out.’
‘I’ll need the name of the nursing home. Officer Panton, can you take care of that? We need to get organised. What’s through here?’ He gestured towards the vast, open living spaces of Emma’s home.
‘Come through,’ said Brandon, leading the way into a room with an L-shaped sofa, a thick rug, and a floor lamp on a marble stand.
‘We’ve taken Noelle back to the station,’ Franklin said, as he hiked up the legs of his loose pants and sat down on the edge of the sofa. ‘She wants a lawyer and she’s got a right to one. For now, I’m going to assume what she’s saying is true, and she wasn’t there when Fox got signed out.’
‘You’re going to assume it’s true?’ asked Emma.
‘Yes. You heard what she said, didn’t you? That’s what she remembered, that she wasn’t there at 1 pm, she was inside Gallery Main Street, having that pedi-man . . .’
‘Mani-pedi,’ corrected Emma, automatically. Then: ‘I’m sorry, it’s not important. What I don’t understand is even if Noelle was not there, somebody must have seen Fox go. You can’t just come in and take a child and sign the book and leave.’
‘Well, we don’t know for certain about that, either,’ said Franklin. ‘Maybe one of the staff signed next to Fox’s name when they saw she was gone and the space was blank.’
‘You think Noelle could be lying?’ asked Brandon. ‘Covering up? Because she doesn’t know where our daughter is?’
‘I’m keeping an open mind.’
‘Do you think something happened to Fox at daycare?’ asked Emma, her tone alarmed.
Franklin went to reply but Brandon said: ‘I know Noelle pretty well. I’ve done the drop-off there quite a bit. She helped us when we needed to get mo
re hours for Fox. I mean, I don’t think she’d lie about something like that.’
‘I’m keeping an open mind,’ Franklin repeated. ‘In the meantime, we are sending a forensic team – digital forensics – to examine CCTV from the shopping centre, and from the car park.’
‘Right, but how long will that take?’ asked Brandon.
‘That is going to depend,’ said Franklin, matter-of-factly. ‘We will start with that window, around one o’clock. We might see something straightaway. But one thing I want to get clear: you heard Noelle saying that you have different people coming for your kids, depending on the day, or who’s around to do it. I know I asked you back there, but you’re one hundred per cent sure nobody else picked your daughter up today? Your mum, or somebody? There’s no way this is just a mix-up?’
‘My mother lives four hours away,’ said Emma. ‘I grew up outside Orange, and Mum’s still there. Brandon’s parents are in the US.’
Franklin studied the notes he’d made at Crayon and Clay. ‘What about Fox’s auntie, your sister, the one Noelle mentioned?’
Emma looked at Brandon, who glanced back at her.
‘Freya? No. Freya hasn’t picked up Fox for, I don’t know, months,’ said Emma. ‘Noelle says we’ve had different people, but I’ve had kids at Crayon and Clay for three years! Seal – that’s my son – was there before he started school, and now Fox is there, and when Brandon was working, and the nanny was sick, we might have asked Freya to do some pick-ups, or else my niece Airlie, she was our nanny for a while, but she’s been gone since April.’
Franklin looked up from his notebook. ‘Was she ever on the list for Fox?’
‘Yes,’ said Emma. ‘But she’s not authorised anymore. I made sure of that.’
‘You made sure of that why?’
Emma glanced at Brandon again. ‘Look, Airlie is lovely, but she’s troubled,’ she said carefully. ‘Call her if you think it’s important, but if you’re thinking that Airlie could have something to do with this, I mean, no. Airlie, she’s mixed up. She’s just not capable, if I could put it like that.’
The Ones You Trust Page 8
