‘But he’s the one who initially reported her missing?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he’s the last person we know spoke to her alive?’
‘At this stage.’
Ted pulled a face. ‘Sounds suss to me.’
Emmett attempted his best neutral expression. He didn’t need the homicide detective telling him how to run his investigation.
‘Right. Well, I’ll keep that in mind.’
Leaving Ted to get on with the phone records, he returned to his own office and closed the door.
Daniel Norman simply didn’t strike him as someone able to carry out a murder. And, perhaps more importantly, was Rosemary’s brother even physically capable of moving a dead body?
Emmett tapped his pen on the desk.
His new colleague was wrong; he was sure of it.
The dining area of the cafe was busier than usual thanks to a large group of tourists, so Cindy was forced to sit outside on the terrace, hugging her big puffer jacket around her chest.
She’d agreed to meet her photography tutor for lunch, and although she knew she was entitled to take a meal break, she still felt anxious, checking her phone every few minutes to make sure she hadn’t missed a call from someone in the office.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ Michael sprang up from behind, causing Cindy to jump.
He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.
‘You’re freezing,’ he said, taking his coat off. ‘Here, put this over you.’
Cindy gratefully accepted the extra layer, wrapping the fawn woollen coat around her legs like a blanket, before launching into her spiel about how much she enjoyed her new job, and how thankful she was for her tutor’s help.
‘Don’t even mention it,’ he laughed. ‘You have natural talent, and you’re a hard worker – I can’t think of anyone who deserves their success more than you.’
Cindy beamed.
‘Champagne?’ Michael waved a waiter over.
‘Sure, why not? And can I show you some of my photos?’
‘Of course.’
Eagerly pulling out her camera, Cindy flicked through the viewfinder, her confidence growing with Michael’s encouraging words.
‘That one there is really good,’ he said, pointing to one of her first shots of the large ferris wheel. ‘The composition is great.’
When she’d finished showing him her latest photos – taken that morning by the harbourfront – Michael leant forward.
‘Actually, I have a couple of images I want to show you.’
Cindy took a sip of champagne and was surprised to see her tutor slip his mobile phone from his pocket, sliding it across the table.
‘No camera?’
‘No. These are just some snaps I took today. But I think they’re some of my best work yet.’
Intrigued, Cindy scrolled through Michael’s photo gallery.
‘What?’ She laughed, staring at the photos in disbelief. ‘When did you . . ?’
Michael’s eyes sparkled. He’d captured three striking images of Cindy sitting hunched forward at the table, her arms hugged protectively across her chest, her wide eyes staring off into the distance.
‘You looked so innocent, sitting there all on your own waiting for me. I couldn’t help myself.’
Cindy shook her head, still laughing.
‘I can’t believe I didn’t notice you take that. I must have been lost in my own world.’
‘No, it’s a bit of a skill of mine, capturing candid shots like that. I love observing people when they don’t know they’re being watched. You can learn so much that way.’
‘And what did you learn about me?’ Cindy felt her cheeks flush as she sipped another, more generous mouthful of champagne.
‘Oh, a lot. But mainly that I should have brought a spare jacket.’
Cindy giggled. ‘Should we order? I don’t want to be late getting back.’
Waving the waiter over again, Michael ordered some shared plates and a bottle of red wine.
‘You’re not worried about your evil boss, are you?’
‘No!’ Cindy laughed. ‘Vania’s great. And she’s been so understanding about letting me leave early to pick Nicholas up after school.’
Her tutor nodded, but for some reason an uncomfortable silence descended over them, and Cindy realised sheepishly that she wished she hadn’t mentioned her son.
‘How do you know Vania?’ she asked, keen to change the subject.
‘We actually met at university, when we were both studying graphic design. Funnily enough, neither of us followed that career path after graduating. I obviously fell in love with photography and she went down a more administrative route, but we’ve stayed in touch. And when I heard that she was looking for someone for this new role, of course you came to mind.’
‘That’s so kind of you.’ Cindy cautiously took a piece of the focaccia that had just been placed between them, embarrassingly trying to untangle the long strings of melted cheese that seemed determined not to break.
‘Honestly, it’s been my pleasure.’
After working their way through a plate of antipasto, and a small side of potato wedges, Cindy felt unable to move.
‘I’m so full,’ she moaned, holding her hands up in defeat.
‘Maybe a shot of coffee to get you through the rest of the afternoon?’
‘I’d love to, but I really should be getting back.’
As she stood up, Cindy wobbled slightly, and Michael laughed, placing a steadying hand at her waist.
‘Thank you for a lovely lunch,’ he whispered, kissing her on the forehead.
They walked in silence, their breath hanging in gentle puffs against the crisp air.
‘Here we are.’
Cindy was aware of her tutor’s arm wrapping around her waist as they stood at the base of the ferris wheel, facing the red-brick building of her office. She let her body lean in to him.
‘You know I adore you.’ Michael squeezed her tighter. ‘But I am going to have to take my coat back.’
‘No.’ Cindy giggled, playfully resisting attempts to get the jacket off her.
As Michael pulled her in again, she was aware of a stern voice in her head, warning her against what was about to happen. She did her best to silence it.
‘Come here.’
When they finally kissed Cindy felt everything that she imagined she was meant to feel – a burst of excitement, pleasure and overwhelming joy all at once.
It was a long, passionate kiss, laden with mischief and desire, and just sheer bliss.
And when they finally parted ways, him disappearing off into the fortress of shopping arcades, and her stumbling slightly as she entered her building’s cold steel elevator, Cindy desperately wanted to experience some kind of remorse for her betrayal.
But all she could feel was an overpowering sense of happiness.
Abbie dropped her handbag on the table by the door, and trotted down the short hallway. It was a treat to get home so early on a weekday, and she was determined not to waste the unexpected afternoon off.
The DGP office had been a flurry of activity that morning, but once the presentations to their international guests were over, most of the executive team had disappeared with the Danish investors, who, she’d been told, were keen to get out and experience the city.
‘You may as well head home,’ Sally had suggested kindly. ‘I’m only here to answer the phones, and no one will notice you’ve gone.’
The offer had been too good to refuse and Abbie had darted out of there, catching a free tram to Southern Cross Station before just making the 2.45 p.m. Upfield train.
It had been a strange day, what with those two detectives visiting the office first thing, then Marcus seemingly avoiding her after their awkward parting the previous night, and then she’d finally finished her internship project with no one around to recognise the milestone.
Abbie was happy to leave it all behind.
As she rummaged through her bedroom
drawers, she pulled out her new exercise gear and thought about the route she intended to take. She liked to run with minimal stops or distractions, and her chosen path most days involved cutting across Travancore Park and following the bike path that ran along the Moonee Ponds Creek towards Melbourne’s north-western suburbs. Perhaps tonight she would run the other way, towards the city.
Standing in front of her wardrobe mirror, she checked out her new outfit and tried smiling at her reflection, just like all the self-help books advised.
‘You look great,’ she told herself confidently.
Her eyes fell on her stomach, which rippled underneath her new fluoro stretch top. As she let her fingers gently prod the soft and squishy skin that lay below, a familiar sadness threatened to overwhelm her. Her tummy was the one part of her body that just hadn’t recovered from having a baby, and it was a constant reminder of her mistakes.
Abbie sighed, letting herself flop down on the end of her bed.
Why wouldn’t her body return to what it was? She pressed her stomach again, feeling the gentle roll that inched forward over her tights. She’d been so young when she’d had the baby, just seventeen, and it was hard to believe that Spencer was now already at school.
As she sat, defeated, her eyes scanning over the heaped pile of clothes on the floor next to the window, the bedside table that was covered with old tissues, chocolate wrappers and pieces of fashion jewellery, and the exposed holes in the wall (where she’d tried and failed to hang a picture), Abbie experienced a wave of shame. She couldn’t even look after herself properly, it was no wonder things had turned out the way they had; no wonder her little boy didn’t even know that he was her son.
Heaving herself back up, she trudged into the kitchen and headed for the sink, where she began filling up her water bottle.
As she watched the steady stream of water entering the bottle, she focused intently on the sound of the liquid hitting the plastic, aware her mind was dancing precariously close to taunting memories that she’d long tried to block out.
Abbie sniffed.
She wasn’t going to allow herself to remember the horror of discovering she was pregnant, or the relief she’d felt when her doctor had advised her to have an abortion. And she definitely wasn’t going to let herself remember the moment of betrayal, when her mother had suddenly intervened, refusing to approve the procedure.
‘You can either keep the baby, or get out!’ she’d screamed.
Abbie wiped her face as several tears trickled down her cheeks. There had been one particularly painful moment, when she’d been standing in the doctor’s consulting room, wearing nothing but her underwear, her growing stomach exposed. The doctor had left the room to get a thermometer and her mother had turned to her with a look of pure venom.
‘You’re a disgrace. No wonder your father left us.’
Abbie watched her water bottle overflow, her hands now shaking uncontrollably. Not only had that moment created a deep rift between her and her mother, but from then on, she’d been forced to endure months of hell: from the morning sickness to the bullying at school, to the constant judging eyes that met her everywhere she went. Until, finally, the ultimate day of suffering had arrived. For that one stupid night, Abbie had been forced to pay over and over and over again.
Turning the tap back off, she wiped her face with the back of her hand. It did no good to dwell in the past. What was done was done.
Still, she remembered as she headed for the hallway to find her shoes, there had always been that hope, that small, teasing hope that once the baby was born she would feel differently about it. She hadn’t.
In fact, she remembered now with intense shame, there had been days when the sensation of the alien child taking over her life had become so overwhelming that she’d refused to even have it in the same room as her.
Eventually, her mother had had enough, delivering an ultimatum that would change her life.
‘If you can’t look after your baby properly, you can get out.’
Abbie had left.
Over time she had tentatively reintroduced herself to her little boy – albeit as a sister rather than a mother. But her relationship with her own mum had never been the same again.
She sighed, opening the front door and stepping outside.
At its best her relationship with her mother was fractured, their interactions handled with an awkward politeness that was rooted in the underlying fear of reopening old hurts. At its worst it was volatile, destructive and simply unhealthy.
Bending down to put her keys underneath the gnome on the porch, Abbie noticed a stiffness in her body. She rubbed her back, then started out at a gentle jog.
Passing several women pushing strollers, she cut across Myrnong Crescent and charged down the short laneway and into Travancore Park. In front of a playground, she stopped at a bench to stretch lightly before continuing.
As she turned right onto the familiar bike path, her feet found a comfortable rhythm and Abbie freed herself from tormenting worries, instead enjoying the crisp July air on her face.
Puffing slightly, she thanked a man who managed to wrangle his dog to the side of the trail, which dipped below a concrete overpass and emerged on the other side of Mount Alexander Road, her legs now cycling through an easy tempo.
With her head finally clear, Abbie allowed herself to think about her plans for the rest of the week. The priority was making sure things were okay with Marcus. She was worried about how she’d abandoned him the previous night, but she knew someone like him would understand her position.
It was exciting to know that Marcus felt the same way that she did, but she was determined to move cautiously.
Perhaps they could start dating once she was offered a permanent position? But she definitely couldn’t get involved with him while she was still an intern.
She rounded the next bend, picking up her pace – then suddenly slowed. She was surprised to see a large part of the track was cordoned off by police tape, and a group of people in bright orange jumpsuits were huddled near the creek.
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She did an uncoordinated skip after almost colliding with a teenager who was taking photos on his phone.
She looped around, deciding it was too difficult to navigate whatever was going on.
As she settled back into an even rhythm, Abbie replayed her gentle kiss with Marcus in the boardroom. It had been so passionate, but so wrong.
She shook her head, laughing at herself.
It was so typical of her to fall for someone inappropriate – she’d done it her whole life. But not this time.
No, she smiled, as a quiet resolution took hold: finally she’d been gifted the chance to build the career of her dreams, and she wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way. Tomorrow she would go into the office early, and try to get Marcus on his own. They’d have a calm, reasoned conversation about their relationship, and clear up any misunderstandings. Once that was done, she would be brave and approach one of the directors, flagging her desire for ongoing work.
Abbie beamed as she followed the path back below the overpass and out the other side, her movements easier and easier with every step.
After sprinting the last section through the park, her whole body felt loose and fluid, and she noticed happily how easily she bounded up the steep flight of stairs to her porch, where she retrieved her keys from under the gnome.
Kicking off her shoes in the doorway, she headed straight to the shower.
The warm water worked its magic over her tired body, and she closed her eyes, silently congratulating herself: the old Abbie would have given in to her emotional urges, but not this new improved version – she’d learnt from her mistakes.
Stepping out and onto the soggy bathmat, she used the edge of her towel to wipe a patch of mist off the mirror, and grinned at her reflection. Here she was, besotted with a handsome, intelligent and genuinely great guy, and yet she was mature enough to realise that their relationship had to wait.
>
She hummed as she applied her face moisturiser and wrapped her comfiest dressing-gown around her damp body.
There was no doubt about it. She was handling this really well.
His right ankle buckled, and the boy had to stop, steadying himself before continuing his way along the drain that ran parallel with the wire fence.
Ducking his chin to his chest, he closed his eyes, ignoring the sharp scraping as he pushed through the branches of the prickly tree and came to rest in his hiding spot. This was his safe place. No one would find him here.
From somewhere on the other side of the bushes, he could hear fast footsteps and excited puffing. He held his breath, closing his eyes and squeezing his knees into his chest until, finally, he heard Scott and his mates run past.
Picking up a twig, the boy snapped it and used an end to doodle in the dirt.
He’d been so excited about starting school but, like everything else in his short life, it had turned out to be one big disappointment.
The old couple had told him he would have a great time and meet lots of other children who would want to be friends with him. But that had been a lie. The other children were mean, and the bullying had started from the very first morning.
Now, his days were filled with nasty taunts, elastic bands flicked from the back of the room and torture games during the breaks.
He hated lunchtimes the most. That was when the boys had time to find him.
Already he’d been tied up, kicked, spat on. He didn’t know how much more he could take.
‘Quick!’ The sound of Scott’s voice made the boy instinctively hunch forward. ‘He must have gone this way.’
The boy waited, counting silently in his head until the frantic footsteps again disappeared.
He’d only discovered the prickly tree a few days ago, but he knew the other children wouldn’t even think to look for him here. This area was out of bounds, and it was littered with broken glass and rubbish. The only way to find it was by following the drain that ran up the back of the portable classrooms and pushing through spiky leaves and branches. There was no way the other children would be brave enough to do that.
Sticks and Stones Page 12
