The Ones You Trust

by Caroline Overington

‘I don’t think she did,’ he said. ‘That’s not her job, I guess. It was my fault. I’m not saying it wasn’t. I was just running around, focused on dinner, and Emma came home, she didn’t have Fox, and it took us a second to figure out what must have happened, and Emma took off for Crayon and Clay, and the rest you know.’

  Brandon stopped talking. Franklin studied his notepad in silence, turning the pages back, then forward again.

  Seconds ticked by, then a minute.

  ‘So?’ said Brandon. His tone had shifted from fierce to sorrowful during the time it had taken to explain how he had forgotten to get Fox, but now he was feeling forceful again. ‘I get you have to clear me, so I’ll answer any other questions you’ve got.’

  Franklin looked up and said, ‘If I’m reading this right, you worked out in the home gym today. You played around on your computer. So the only time you left the house today was to go to the butcher. You didn’t take the boys to school. You didn’t pick them up. You didn’t collect your daughter.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So your absence from the house today is what, two hours? One hour?’

  ‘Something like that. The butcher’s not far. You’ve got to park, go inside, come home again.’

  ‘Where is the butcher?’

  Brandon hesitated. ‘Gallery Main Street.’

  Franklin looked up again. ‘The butcher is at Gallery Main Street?’

  ‘Right. But it’s not near Crayon and Clay. The place is huge, you know how it’s sort of two buildings, with walkways over the road? The butcher is in the other building.’

  Franklin frowned. ‘And what time are you saying this was?’

  Brandon shifted position. ‘It was after Emma left the house to get to her lunch, so . . .’

  Franklin kept his gaze steady, waiting for Brandon to go on, but Brandon did not go on.

  ‘Okay, let’s see if we can figure it out,’ Franklin said. ‘If it was after Emma left the house from getting her shoes, but before the boys came home at three-thirty, then we’re looking at a pretty small window of time.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘A window of time around one?’

  For a moment, Brandon couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it, but then finally he said, ‘Okay. Yeah. I guess it was at about one.’

  Monday 12 October

  11 pm

  ‘As most viewers will know, Emma has two older children – two boys – they will need to be supported during this . . .’

  PJ raced his Porsche up to the security boom outside the Stellar headquarters. A guard rushed to raise it, and PJ followed the road around, stopping right under the red six-pointed star.

  ‘Park this,’ he said, as an assistant ran out of the building to catch his keys, and PJ strode inside. Maven had reached him on his mobile phone at a cocktail bar in Sydney’s east.

  ‘Emma Cardwell’s daughter is missing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Missing, presumed abducted, although the cops seem to have no real idea and it’s not like we’ve had a ransom demand. But it’s a bloody big story.’

  ‘I’ll come straight in.’

  He had left his mason jar mojito and the girl he’d been drinking with at the bar and driven himself – unwisely, probably – straight to Stellar, calling Matty from the car to say he wanted to get on air as soon as they could, even if it meant broadcasting through the night, when most people would be in bed.

  ‘That’s what a decent fucking newsroom would do,’ he’d said.

  Now he was striding down the corridor, with Matty running along beside him. All around was chaos, with staff running everywhere and every TV monitor on.

  ‘Maven got everyone to come in,’ said Matty.

  PJ plucked a suit jacket off a hanger, and began struggling to get it on. ‘How’s Emma?’ he asked.

  ‘I haven’t talked to her. I only talked to Maven. She said she’s a mess,’ said Matty. ‘And she said we need to get the tone right. No goofball.’

  ‘Fuck her. Did she really say that?’

  ‘You know Maven. She’s all: we have to do it right. This is like the most massive story. All hands on deck!’

  ‘Can you just shut up? And get me a coffee.’

  PJ got the jacket on, and quickly smoothed his tie. He marched across the newsroom to one of the big TV monitors. Stellar was still showing the British cooking show, with the BREAKING NEWS ticker. Stellar’s main rival, Saturn, had sent a news crew around to Emma’s house. There wasn’t much going on there – cops coming in and out, and satellite dishes going up – but they were broadcasting live, with a BREAKING NEWS: EMMA CARDWELL’S DAUGHTER MISSING banner along the bottom of the screen.

  ‘Why the fuck have we just got a banner?’ he asked. ‘They’ve got live coverage.’

  ‘We’re putting a package together,’ said Matty. ‘We’re getting pictures off Emma’s Facebook page. We’re trying to see if she’s going to be able to do a press conference.’

  ‘Fuck all that,’ said PJ. ‘This is news! Is our team on the way there?’

  ‘They’re there, we’re just not crossing to them. We don’t have an anchor. We’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘Fuck this. We’ve got to get moving.’

  A nervous intern rushed up with coffee in a disposable cup. PJ took a sip and said, ‘Christ, that’s hot. Matty, this is Emma’s daughter. Emma’s going to want this everywhere. We have to give her one hundred and ten per cent.’

  He paused, then added, ‘Christ, what do you think this is about? Do you think they want money?’

  Matty’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t know. It’s freaking me out. Like, is this random? What do you think happened?’

  ‘I’ve got no fucking idea,’ said PJ. ‘There’s nutters around, for sure. Christ, remember that creepy guy who used to turn up at the meet-and-greets, trying to give her that grubby bag of Lindt Ball chocolates? They should check him out! He’d be my number one. But who goes after somebody’s kids? That’s just bullshit. Okay. Let’s get to air.’

  PJ stopped running long enough for a make-up girl to apply a layer of powder to his face. He got miked up, and sat down on the Cuppa couch, before quickly getting up again. ‘Okay, no. Let’s do this from the news desk. I’ll look straight down the camera. Emma’s one of my best friends, I want to talk to her.’

  ‘We can’t get Emma on air,’ said Matty, his tone incredulous. ‘She’s with the police, PJ.’

  ‘I know that. What I mean is, I’ll look straight down the barrel, so it looks like I’m addressing her. That’s what’s going to work best.’

  ‘Okay. Good. You know it’s making worldwide news? Look.’ Matty passed an iPad across.

  PJ glanced at the headline: Australian breakfast TV host’s child taken from daycare centre.

  ‘Probably the Prime Minister is watching,’ said Matty.

  ‘Jesus, we’re getting left behind,’ said PJ. ‘Let’s just go.’

  The floor manager held his hands up for the count: five, four …

  ‘No music,’ said PJ urgently. ‘Just blank. Then BREAKING NEWS.’

  Matty scrambled. PJ kept his expression serious, like the time he had been allowed to report in a flak jacket from the tarmac in Iraq. The floor manager counted from three, down to two, to one.

  ‘Welcome to a special edition of Cuppa. We have broken into our normal programming this evening because we have shocking news. Terrible news. Emma Cardwell’s daughter is missing.’

  He paused, and swallowed, looked down, composed himself.

  ‘NSW Police have just in the last hour issued an Amber Alert for Fox-Piper Cardwell-Cole, who is Emma Cardwell’s daughter. We do not yet have all the details but it seems that Fox went missing from her daycare centre, Crayon and Clay, which is on the third floor of the Gallery Main Street shopping centre. We will soon be showing you live footage from outside Emma’s home. Emma is there, with her husband, Brandon, and their boys, but their daughter, Fox-Piper, is missing, and we are coming to you live all nig
ht if necessary to broadcast this Amber Alert. Here are some images. This is Fox-Piper. This is the girl we’re all looking for. Police believe she was taken from her daycare centre by an unknown woman. This is breaking news. It’s coming to us right now. We understand that one of the staff at the centre let Fox go with an unknown woman. We are getting a description of that woman. Police believe that she may also have taken Fox’s backpack – a pink and purple backpack – and her favourite toy – a floppy rabbit, we’re being told, from the Posh Teddy brand – and Fox may well have that rabbit with her. Many of you will already know some of the other details from social media. There are a lot of theories around. A lot of Fake News, already, on Facebook and Twitter. So, here is everything we know: police are saying that Emma Cardwell’s daughter, Fox-Piper, who is seventeen months old, was taken from her childcare centre, Crayon and Clay, at around 1 pm by an unknown woman.

  ‘Emma – our Emma – does not know who has her daughter. Police are investigating. They are extremely concerned. We are all gravely concerned for Fox-Piper’s wellbeing. And for Emma’s wellbeing and for her husband, Brandon, and their sons. This is a terrifying situation for their family. Police don’t know – we don’t know – why Emma’s little girl was targeted. There have been no demands. That is the most perplexing thing about the investigation to date. We don’t know the motive. Police have received no ransom demand. No demands at all. So we are all in the dark. We just don’t know.

  ‘What we do have is a description, this has just come in from NSW Police Media, and some images. Please look very closely at the pictures on your screen now, and they are on our Facebook page, on Cuppa’s Instagram, on Cuppa’s Snapchat, on Cuppa’s Twitter, and we know that our colleagues, our friends on the other networks, are united in sharing these images tonight.

  ‘This is Fox-Piper. She is, as I said at the beginning of the bulletin, seventeen months old. Not quite one-and-a-half years old. She’s tiny. She wouldn’t come up to your hip. She is completely delightful. She is the apple of Emma’s eye. She’s blonde, with blue eyes. She has blonde curls. And this picture – the one on your screen now – was taken at Crayon and Clay just hours before she was taken. This outfit is what she was wearing when she was taken: yellow gumboots. Bright yellow gumboots. A tutu skirt. This exact one, from this photograph. Layers of tulle. A purple top, with frilled sleeves. Repeating, these pictures show Fox-Piper Cardwell-Cole, who is Emma Cardwell’s daughter, who is missing, feared abducted, and police need your help. We here at Cuppa are pleading for your help. If you know anything at all about this unfolding situation, you must contact police. You must do it now.’

  PJ stopped speaking and put a hand to his ear. He nodded, listening to a voice the audience couldn’t hear.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I have something else to show you. It’s a sketch, and it’s on your screens now. This sketch has just come into us from the police. It’s a rough sketch, we’re told, a very rough sketch, of the woman who allegedly took Fox-Piper from the daycare centre. This is based on a description given by one of the staff there. She has told police that she was an older woman, possibly in her sixties. She was wearing a casual outfit – light-coloured pants and a white T-shirt. Do you recognise her? We – the Cuppa family – need your help. The images that are on the screen, you are going to be seeing them in your Facebook feed, in all your social media feeds. Please share them. This is an Amber Alert. A child abduction. Repeating, Emma Cardwell’s daughter, Fox-Piper Cardwell-Cole, is missing. And Emma, I know you are watching, I know you are listening and I want you to know, we’ve got your back. Everyone here at Cuppa, and everyone at Stellar, is right behind you. We love you, Emma, and the Cuppa family is behind you.

  ‘Repeating: we have breaking news. A major news story is breaking here tonight. Emma Cardwell’s daughter is missing . . .’

  Monday 12 October

  11:10 pm

  ‘You’d start to question yourself, and everyone around you. You’d be asking yourself a million questions . . .’

  Brandon was at Gallery Main Street today.

  Franklin had written the sentence into his notepad and underlined it once, then twice, then three times.

  What were the chances? Not just that he’d been there, but that he’d been there when his daughter was supposedly being picked up by somebody else?

  As with everything, it was possible. Brandon had given a perfectly good reason for being at Gallery Main Street. He had gone there to buy ribs, apparently.

  ‘Fuck this!’ Brandon said angrily. ‘I can prove it.’

  He’d gone into the kitchen, and pulled a tray from the cold oven. ‘Here,’ he said, slamming the tray down hard, causing near-bare bones to leap and clatter to the floor.

  ‘This is what I was doing. You can ask the butcher.’

  ‘Dad?’

  They turned towards the door. Seal had come down the stairs. He was a big boy for five, and normally ebullient. He was wearing plaid pyjama pants and holding a soft toy and his face was a shattered ruin.

  ‘I want to come in.’

  Emma felt every muscle in her heart tighten. ‘Oh Furry,’ she said, rushing towards him.

  Franklin said, ‘Okay, no . . .’

  But Emma could not be stopped. She fell to her knees, took Seal in her arms and held him, saying: ‘It’s okay, Furry. This is just a mistake.’ Turning to Franklin, she said, ‘You have to let me settle him. He needs his mum.’

  Franklin heaved his shoulders. He didn’t say no, and Emma took that as a yes, lifted her son off the floor, and with one arm beneath his bottom, and one hand on his back, she carried him away and up to the master suite, with Brandon following. Hudson was sitting up crying in the big bed. Brandon moved to comfort him.

  Emma sat down on the opposite side, easing Seal gently into the pillows. ‘Hey, hey, hey, guys, it’s okay. This is a mix-up. We’ll find her. Don’t you worry. The police are here to help us.’

  Eventually they settled, with Hudson promising to take care of Seal, and Seal saying, ‘No! I’m okay, Mum’ and Emma saying, ‘That’s right, you’re a good boy. You’re both such good boys. Now, help Mum and Dad, try to get some sleep.’

  Both of the boys nodded in the dark as Brandon and Emma left the master suite together, closing the door quietly behind them.

  On the landing, Emma took a deep breath.

  ‘Poor kids,’ said Brandon. He opened his arms to bring his wife into his embrace. ‘Come here, I’m so sorry.’

  But Emma held herself back. She looked Brandon dead in the eye. ‘Do you know who she is? Did you have anything to do with this?’

  Brandon didn’t hesitate. Still with his arms out, he said, ‘No, Emma.’

  She waited a beat. ‘Okay.’ She let her shoulders go a bit, but still did not step towards him. ‘Okay.’

  ‘And you?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You, Emma. Did you have anything to do with this?’

  ‘Me?’ Heat rose in her face. ‘You bastard.’

  Brandon looked indignant. ‘You asked me.’

  Emma’s face registered disgust. ‘She’s my daughter,’ she said.

  Turning sharply from her husband, she thundered barefoot down the stairs, passing the portrait of her family in their denim jeans and their white T-shirts, with their frozen TV smiles, on the pretty beach.

  Brandon stayed on the landing for a few moments, jaw and one fist clenched. Eventually he came down, not in temper, but with steps louder than necessary. He found Emma in the situation room, sitting opposite Franklin, who was head down, scribbling.

  ‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ Emma was saying. ‘I should probably never have hired Airlie . . .’

  Franklin glanced over at Brandon, who stopped dead in the doorway.

  ‘It was my sister, Freya, who asked me to help her out. And it’s really hard when you work the hours I work. We had a Danish girl, she was always late, and I can’t be late. We had a German girl, Elif – that’s E-l-i-f – M
uller, and she decided she wanted to go off backpacking with some Brazilian guy she met in a pub, and just left us in the lurch. There was a girl who approached me at Crayon and Clay, but we didn’t take her on because the last thing you want is to be accused of nanny-poaching. So when Freya told me she was having trouble with Airlie, I offered to help out.’

  Franklin’s pen had been moving quickly across his notepad, but when Emma stopped talking, he stopped writing and looked up. ‘And?’ he said.

  Silence.

  ‘What happened?’ said Franklin, glancing at Emma, then Brandon, and back again.

  ‘We had to let her go,’ Emma said finally.

  Panton, sitting beside her, said, ‘Why, Emma? Please help us.’

  Emma shot a look at Brandon as if to say, ‘Well?’

  Brandon sighed deeply, completely resigned to what he had to say next. Then he spat it out, ‘Because she was blackmailing us.’

  ‘Not us,’ said Emma.

  ‘No,’ said Brandon. ‘Me. She was blackmailing me.’

  The chair clattered as Franklin pushed it back roughly. He stood with his enormous hands splayed across Brandon’s desk, his face like thunder.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’ he said.

  ‘I did tell you,’ a startled Emma protested. ‘I told you it’s been six months since Airlie worked for us. We had trouble with her. I did tell you that.’

  ‘Blackmail, Emma? You didn’t think to tell me about the blackmail?’

  ‘Okay, but it wasn’t real. It was just stupid. Airlie’s a kid. She was playing a stupid game. And Airlie can’t have anything to do with this,’ insisted Emma. ‘She’s eighteen years old. She dropped out of high school. She spends her days smoking drugs. She’s not organised enough. And they know her there. Noelle and the others, at Crayon and Clay. If it was Airlie that picked her up, they’d have known.’

  Franklin turned to Panton. ‘The casual, Maria, she wouldn’t have known her. We need to find this Airlie, immediately. We need to show her a photograph.’