‘Yes. In our deli. It’s the family business.’ Mrs Mancini’s tone was slightly defensive. ‘That shop was all Gino’s work. He started it from scratch, bought the warehouse and did all the renovations himself. He didn’t want to retire, but when Brian couldn’t find a job, it seemed like a good idea to pass it on.’
‘Big mistake,’ Gino muttered, almost under his breath.
‘Sorry?’
‘Big mistake. That boy has destroyed our business. It loses so much money now. We will probably have to sell it.’
‘Really?’ Emmett looked sadly from husband to wife. ‘That’s a shame. Actually, is Brian home?’ He turned hopefully towards the back garden. ‘I’d like to have a look around their place.’
Mrs Mancini shook her head. ‘No, he’s at work, but we have a key.’
Emmett left Natale’s father sitting on the sofa, following Mrs Mancini out to the garden and towards the townhouse. As he watched the woman’s frail hand slowly turn the key to her daughter’s home, he pursed his lips. He sincerely hoped this lovely old couple wasn’t going to suffer, but he had a terrible feeling. Natale was gone for good – he was sure of it.
‘There you go.’ She pushed the door, allowing Emmett to step inside.
The front door opened directly into the family’s small kitchen and Emmett gave the room an appraising glance. It was squeaky clean, with not a dirty dish in sight. The fridge was bare of any magnets or photos, and the only item on the small round table was a tall vase, with pink flowers deliberately arranged to sit at different angles. Emmett smiled – he’d been in places like this before. He didn’t need to open the cupboards to know the saucepans would be carefully stacked or look into the fridge to know it would be filled with rows of labelled Tupperware containers.
To the left of the kitchen, a short passageway took him to two more rooms. The closest was furnished as a playroom for the children – a colourful rug in the middle of the floor and a set of building blocks in the corner. The furthest room was a modest entertainment area, with a burgundy couch covered in a knitted pink and white blanket facing a flat-screen television.
‘May I look upstairs?’
‘Take your time.’
On the second level, the townhouse instantly felt lighter and bigger. The walls of the landing were covered with large canvases of family photos: Natale and Aria sweetly dressed in matching outfits, the two children supposedly caught in the middle of playing a hilarious board game, Dario proudly swinging a golf club in front of an obviously photoshopped backdrop. They were nice pictures, but they looked staged, and Emmett knew a professional sitting had, at some point, taken place.
He poked his head through the first doorway. Aria’s room was pink. There wasn’t much more to be said about it. On a pink bed set sat a pink panda soft toy, its plastic eyes staring emptily at the detective. In the corner, a pink play dresser was adorned with a pink tiara, a pink hairbrush and pink hair accessories.
The next room was Dario’s. A large train set was assembled at the base of his bed, with little wooden people waiting patiently at each of the train stations. Posters of dinosaurs and cartoon characters were stuck on the walls, and large plastic boxes stacked in the corner were filled with small trucks and cars.
Emmett couldn’t help but wonder if the children actually wanted their rooms to look like this, or if the parents had forced the typical gender stereotypes on them.
The final door that came off the landing led to the main bedroom. Here, a generous bed was carefully made, with white sheets, a floral bedspread and pillow covers – even those funny European pillows which he’d never quite understood the point of.
The bedside tables were adorned with minimal items: a tube of hand cream, a water glass and a paperback novel.
Emmett shrugged. There was nothing to be gleaned from this. He was considering opening the main set of drawers, when he sensed the presence of another person. He turned to find the small shadow of Francesca Mancini cast in the doorway.
‘I think I’d better head off,’ he called out, so as not to startle her as he made his way back through to the landing. ‘Thanks for your time.’
After a brief farewell to Natale’s father, Emmett made the short trip around the side of the house, and out to his car.
Pulling away from the kerb, he waved in the direction of the house, unable to say whether he’d imagined the thin silhouette in the big bay windows. He smiled sadly as he pictured Mrs Mancini peering out from behind the white draped curtains.
But as he drove on, a strange sensation swirled in the pit of his stomach. Something had bothered him about his visit. What was it? He mentally replayed his time there, from the beautiful garden to the room full of photos to the sparkling townhouse. What was worrying him?
He shook his head.
The traffic was building on Flemington Road, and Emmett noticed a tension in his shoulders as he pulled up behind a row of cars, waiting for a tram to unload its passengers.
A woman with a pram struggled to get down from the tram and onto the road, and he watched as two middle-aged men in suits pushed past her. He ground his teeth. What was stirring in the back of his mind? Squeezing his eyes shut for just a second, he tried to force the niggling thought into clarity. But the moment was gone.
Never mind.
The tram’s doors were closing and Emmett began gently nudging forward.
It will come to me later.
CHAPTER FIVE
The sound of muffled cries was coming from down the hallway. Wobbling slightly as he stood up, Brian wrapped his old brown robe around him and tiptoed through the dark.
Holding his breath, he stood outside Aria’s room, listening intently. Was she distressed? He pressed the door ajar.
The gentle suckling sounds of her lips smacking together told him she was fast asleep. She’d done that since she was a baby, cradled up tight as her mother nursed her.
‘She thinks she’s still feeding!’ Natale would laugh, before swaddling her in cloth and placing her gently in her bassinet.
Brian felt his chest tighten. His little angel would never again know the warmth of her mother’s hug. How could he have let this happen?
A dainty cough interrupted the sweet sounds, and Brian froze on the spot, not wanting Aria to wake. Once he was sure she had drifted back to sleep, he gently pulled the door closed.
The stairs creaked as he made his way down to the kitchen, where he sat on a chair, staring out into the backyard. The sun wasn’t yet up, and the stillness of the pre-dawn dark was comforting.
He sat up straighter.
Was he imagining it or was there a light flickering from somewhere inside the main house? He strained his eyes, but whatever it was had disappeared. Brian shook his head. It was as though his in-laws were everywhere: watching, listening, waiting. He rubbed his temples – his mind was playing tricks on him.
It didn’t help that he knew the police had been inside his home – Francesca had phoned him the moment they’d left. The triumphant note of glee in her voice had made him angry. They hadn’t touched anything, from what he could tell, but he could feel their presence. It was very unsettling.
Standing up, Brian made his way to the broom closet and pulled the cupboard door open. He breathed out. It was fine. Nothing had been moved; they probably hadn’t even looked in there.
With his arms around his chest, he crept into the front room and curled up on the couch. The tension in his forehead was growing worse, his eyelids so heavy now that it was painful. But he couldn’t close them. If he did, haunting memories of a beautiful girl taunted him – it was more than he could bear.
‘Mummy?’ The whimper came from upstairs.
Tugging at his robe, Brian trudged back up to the landing. Dario had woken.
‘Mummy?’ the little boy cried again.
His throat tightened. How many times would his children call out for their mum? How many times would their calls go unanswered?
‘No, mate, it’s just Dad
dy.’
Brian shuffled into the room and sat on the edge of Dario’s bed. His little boy nuzzled closer, and he stroked his hair.
‘I’m afraid it’s always going to be just Daddy from now on.’
They’d only been sitting at the table for a moment when Nicholas screamed. Cindy turned from the kitchen bench to see her son staring at his lap, where his bowl of cereal was now lying upside down, milk running down his legs.
‘Emmett?’ She looked over at her husband, who was watching the spectacle from the other side of the table, too transfixed to move, it would seem.
‘Oh, right. Sorry.’ He put his mug down and scraped the remainder of the breakfast off his son’s sodden trousers, before lifting the sulky boy out of his seat. ‘Come on, let’s get you changed.’
Cindy sighed. Of course that would happen the one morning they were actually running on time.
She headed to the sink to retrieve a cloth, but was distracted by the buzzing of her phone.
Hello Superstar, I just wanted to see how the new job is going? Xx
She beamed. The message was from Michael.
Hello! So nice to hear from you. My first day was great and today I’m heading out to start shooting the campaign! I can’t thank you enough for helping me get this job.
Cindy looked at what she’d written. For a moment she pondered whether she too should finish her message with a couple of kisses but decided against it. She didn’t want to come across as too familiar.
Terrific. I knew you’d be great. When can I take you out for a drink? Xx
A gentle flutter rose in her chest. It was so lovely of Michael to take such an interest in her career. He really had become more than a teacher. He was a mentor – a friend, even. If only Emmett was this supportive.
Stop it.
She grabbed a cloth and began aggressively wiping up the spilled milk.
Emmett has always been supportive. He’s just busy.
But despite her best intentions, Cindy found herself resentfully replaying the previous lonely night, when she’d happily marched in the front door after a busy first day, foolishly expecting her husband to already be there, perhaps even whipping up a special, celebratory dinner.
She’d instead ended up eating leftovers on the couch while finishing a possibly off bottle of white wine that she’d discovered hiding at the bottom of the fridge, their only interaction being a tired grumble as Emmett slipped into bed.
Thankfully, her negative thoughts were interrupted by the sound of cheeky cackling making its way down the stairs.
‘Go faster, go faster!’
From around the balustrade, the flushed face of her husband appeared. Perched proudly on his shoulders was Nicholas . . wearing his Spider-Man costume.
‘Honey, you know you can’t wear that again. You have to wear your school uniform like all the other kids.’ Cindy tried to sound stern, but she couldn’t help a smile.
‘Sorry, no can do,’ Emmett answered for his son, high-fiving him as he plonked him down on his chair. ‘His pants were saturated with milk and the other pair is still in the wash, so this seemed like the next best option.’
Cindy laughed. It was nice to see them both so happy, and she was unlikely to be awarded Parent of the Year by the school anytime soon anyway, so what did it matter? ‘Okay, but you can explain that to his teachers.’
‘Sure.’ Emmett sat back down at the table, where Nicholas was now suspiciously eyeing a new bowl of cereal, as though it too might attempt to leap into his lap.
‘So, how’s work?’ Cindy arranged the toast on a cutting board and sat across from her husband.
‘We’ve got quite an interesting case at the moment . . ’ Emmett seemed to hesitate, lowering his voice and checking their son was not paying too much attention to the adult conversation. ‘We’re following up a report of a missing mother. She failed to pick her children up from a holiday program on Friday and hasn’t been heard of since.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘Yes, but we’re not jumping to conclusions; most of the time these things work themselves out. Hopefully her family will hear from her soon.’
‘You mean she might have just run off?’
‘Possibly . . She doesn’t seem like the sort of person to leave her family, but you never can tell. People often just get to a breaking point where they feel stuck in their lives and want to escape. Often there’s no warning sign at all.’
Cindy looked at her son, who was now greedily munching through the last of his breakfast, and her husband, who was somehow managing to appear the picture-perfect dad, despite minimal sleep. Could she, a happily married mother of one, ever just run away? She took a big gulp of coffee to try to soften the lump in her throat. Deep down, the thought was quite liberating.
‘Well,’ she smiled, quickly chomping the last of her toast and standing up, ‘I’m going to leave you two and get to work.’
As she walked through the door, Cindy waved cheerily behind her. It felt amazing to be the first one heading out, leaving all the usual family responsibilities behind.
Only a short time later she was strolling through the Docklands, weaving her way through the empty maze of laneways that made up the main shopping arcade, her backpack full of new equipment slung casually over one shoulder. She’d wasted no time in getting out to start her first portfolio, and it was hard to believe that at the same time last week, she’d been stuck at home with nothing but a boring list of chores stretching out before her.
I’ve done it. I’m a real photographer. I’ve actually done it.
Despite her excitement, it took a while to find her first location, and her heavy bag was beginning to pinch uncomfortably. She stopped at the base of the giant ferris wheel, gratefully loosening the shoulder strap so that the bag dropped to the ground.
Her job was to capture the different precincts of the Docklands, with her work to be used in advertising campaigns, government communications and grant applications. It was a fairly open-ended brief, and the touristy hub around the wheel seemed as good a place to start as any.
After fiddling with the top of the tripod, Cindy squinted as she peered through the viewfinder. The overcast conditions were a photographer’s dream, and the Docklands wheel looked impressive, rising above the flat buildings and into the sky.
She was happily clicking away when a blurry shape blocked her view. A teenage boy had stumbled into her shot and was now looking at her equipment intently.
‘That’s a nice camera. I like cameras. Why are you taking photos?’
Cindy smiled at her surprise visitor, who was older than she’d first realised, perhaps seventeen or so. There was an awkwardness about him that was rather endearing. ‘I’m just doing a bit of work. What are you up to?’
‘My name’s Jordan. I’m really good at taking photographs. Do you want to see?’
‘Absolutely!’ Cindy couldn’t help but laugh. There’d been an autistic boy at Nicholas’s kindergarten who had spoken in a similar way. She wondered if this boy had the same condition. ‘It’s great to meet you, Jordan. My name’s Cindy.’
The teen didn’t need to be told twice, eagerly pulling out his mobile phone and flicking through several dozen almost identical images of silver city trains.
‘I love trains.’ Jordan’s eyes lit up, and he peered uncomfortably closely into Cindy’s face, as though to check whether she was in fact appreciating his photos as much as she should.
She must have passed the test, because he continued.
‘This is a really funny one.’
Cindy looked at the picture of the silver train.
‘What’s so funny about it?’
‘It was running early!’ Jordan’s face crinkled in amusement before he slapped her arm a little too vigorously. ‘And it didn’t even wait at the platform. I saw one man running for it but he missed it! The trains never run early at Macaulay Station, but this one did!’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Maybe next time
I can use your camera?’
Cindy instinctively put a protective hand over her equipment. As she did, she noticed a gentle rain had started to fall.
‘This is my work camera so I don’t think I’ll be allowed to lend it to you. Sorry.’
Jordan shrugged. ‘Are we friends now?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Cindy took her camera off its stand and placed it carefully back in her bag. ‘I think the storm is coming, though, you’d better get under cover.’
‘Okay. Bye.’
As the boy disappeared around the base of the wheel, Cindy felt a warm rush of affection for her new friend.
She had a strong feeling she’d be seeing him again.
The sound of the rain hammering on the roof of the police centre made it hard to hear. Occasionally the thundering would stop, as though Mother Nature was taking a breather while she worked up the energy to deliver another huge battering.
‘I’ve spoken to management at the TAFE where Natale Gibson was studying, and they confirmed that she attended her aged care placement on the Tuesday last week, as expected. She wasn’t due back in again until this week – so that really doesn’t help us with where she was on the Friday.’ Emmett looked from Steven to Morton, to make sure his colleagues were following along. ‘Given there’s been no activity in her bank or phone records since her date of disappearance, it’s my intention to get homicide involved. Of course, we’ll need to get Brian Gibson back in for a formal interview, but first let’s head back out to the football club to conduct a full sweep of the area for security footage, and witnesses. If that’s the last place Natale was seen, that has to be our starting point.’
‘Shouldn’t we wait until the storm passes?’ Morton looked horrified at the prospect of trudging around in the wet. ‘There’s plenty else we could get on with.’
Emmett sighed. He always found it difficult to work with Morton. His colleague was technically a higher rank, but the lazy sod only used his authority when it suited him.
‘I could go with Carter, if you’ve got more important priorities here?’
Sticks and Stones Page 5
