Sticks and Stones

by Katherine Firkin

  Daniel got to his feet, his entire face tinged with red.

  ‘Tom was my best mate. We used to play cricket together, we’d kick the footy in the yard, we’d ride our bikes down along the creek. Now I can’t play cricket or kick a footy or ride a bike, and he can’t even hold his own fucking head up. You think you understand?’

  Bianca opened her mouth as though about to say something, before thinking better of it.

  ‘You want me to tell you exactly what happened? Well, I’ll tell you.’ Daniel waved his arms wildly. ‘We were on our way back from a dinner, a birthday dinner for Tom. My dad was tired but he was okay to drive, he just didn’t see the train coming, because he was distracted. And do you know why?’

  Emmett held his breath. Daniel was leaning over him now, his face only inches away.

  ‘Because my stupid sister was busy complaining and squealing and carrying on as she always did, kicking the front seat and throwing a tantrum. It was her fault we crashed, it was her fault my parents died, and it was her fault that Tom will never actually live another day in his life.’

  ‘Mr Norman.’ Emmett raised a hand, but Daniel ignored him. Rosemary’s brother was unloading years of pain on them, and he wasn’t about to stop.

  ‘And do you know how often Rosie visited Tom in the nursing home?’

  Emmett met Bianca’s gaze, wondering if she was also mentally scrolling through the list of visitors they’d seen that morning. He remembered encountering Rosemary’s name only once, maybe twice.

  ‘Almost never. She was too busy, you see. Too busy.’ Daniel paused, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Tom’s birthday was the only time she would make any effort; the rest of the time she was off travelling the world. Escaping, that’s what she called it, but I know she was running away. And so she should.’

  ‘Mr Norman, I think it might be best if you sit down.’

  ‘Wait. I haven’t told you the best bit.’ Daniel waved his hands dramatically. ‘Guess how many injuries Rosie sustained in the accident? Go on, guess.’

  Emmett shook his head. He was not going to play this game.

  Daniel’s eyes danced between the detectives.

  ‘None.’ He spat the word out. ‘Not. A. Fucking. Scratch.’

  Beside him, Emmett noticed Bianca shuffle forward on her seat.

  ‘Mr Norman, where were you on the weekend of July 13 and 14?’

  ‘Can’t remember,’ Daniel muttered as he slumped back on the couch, all signs of energy suddenly evaporating from his body, rather like a balloon deflating in front of them.

  ‘We’re not accusing you of anything,’ Emmett said. ‘We’re just trying to . . ’ He paused as he felt his phone buzz in his jacket pocket. He took it out and saw that Ted Medhurst was calling.

  ‘Do you mind taking this for me?’ He passed the phone to Bianca, who discreetly retreated from the room.

  ‘We’re just trying to find the person who killed your sister. That’s all we want to do. Are you sure you can’t remember where you were that weekend? You’ve said you spoke to Rosemary on the Saturday afternoon – can you recall what you did next? Did you visit Tom, perhaps? Or see a friend?’

  Daniel shook his head, hugging both arms into his chest. He was shaking.

  ‘We might leave it there for tonight, but I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay?’ Emmett stood up to leave. ‘Make sure you look after yourself. We can show ourselves out.’

  Leaving Daniel on the couch, Emmett found Bianca in the hallway; her face was ghostly white.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he whispered, as they stepped onto the front porch. ‘Has the line search been done? Have they found Rosemary’s phone?’

  Bianca shook her head. ‘No, they haven’t found her phone.’ She took a few steps away from Daniel Norman’s porch and turned to face Emmett. ‘But they have found another body. It’s Natale Gibson.’

  Emmett froze, aware of the terrible sensation that he knew what was coming next. ‘Don’t tell me . . ’

  Bianca nodded. ‘She was wrapped up in a tarpaulin, fully clothed. She even had her bag and wallet on her.’

  ‘The same killer? How is that possible?’ Emmett murmured, placing a hand on his forehead, which was burning hot.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Bianca frowned. ‘But Bryce wants us back straight away.’

  Emmett went to follow his colleague, but his body seemed unable to move.

  Was some twisted, opportunistic psycho now lurking the streets of Melbourne? Or was there a connection between the women? What had he missed?

  A picture of a bloody diamond appeared in his mind.

  ‘Come on.’ Bianca was gesturing wildly from the car.

  Emmett sighed, allowing his feet to slowly carry him forward.

  Rosemary Norman and Natale Gibson had met with the same killer.

  It didn’t seem real.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Brian Gibson sat on the floor of the kitchen, shaking.

  His alarm had gone off at 6 a.m. as it always did. He’d got up and showered as he always did. Then he’d gone downstairs and made breakfast as he always did.

  Then he’d collapsed.

  In between waiting for the toast to pop and the kettle to boil, something inside him had snapped. They’d found Natale. It was over.

  Cradling his head in his hands, he gave in to violent sobs.

  He’d known what was coming the moment he’d seen the detective’s number flashing on his phone the previous evening.

  ‘I have some terrible news . . ’ Emmett Corban’s voice had been flat.

  Brian had numbly agreed to meet the detective later that night, to formally identify his wife’s body.

  He’d been taken to a sterile room, where Natale was lying on a trolley, all but her face covered by a white sheet.

  ‘Can I hold her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can I touch her?’

  ‘No.’

  Rolling to his knees, Brian wiped his eyes with the back of a hand. How had he let this happen?

  He’d met Natale almost twenty years ago, when she’d been a wild, rebellious teenager. They’d shared a deep love of emo punk music, bad haircuts and body piercings. Their holidays had been spent travelling to music festivals with friends, riding together on overnight buses and later, when the first of their crew got a licence, squashing together in the back of an old Holden, the extra passengers ducking out of sight whenever a police car was spotted.

  They’d slept in tents or sometimes out on mattresses staring up at the night sky, tripping on pills and booze and happiness. She was the love of his life. And their life had been perfect.

  A strange rasp escaped from Brian’s throat, and he found himself sinking back onto the floor, the cold of the tiles penetrating his skin through his boxer shorts. Theirs had been a reckless, unhindered love. How had things gone so horribly wrong?

  He coughed, a mixture of snot, tears and saliva landing on the palm of his left hand, glazing the last of the bruise that was finally healing. Perhaps he’d always had a bad temper, but it had been the arrival of their first child, little Dario, that had set their lives on divergent paths.

  Brian trembled as he remembered the first year of his son’s life – the drastic changes that had come with parenthood had hit them both with a shock so powerful, it was like an earthquake shattering every illusion they had ever held about themselves.

  He’d watched Natale age before his eyes, her forehead suddenly etched with lines that didn’t want to leave, her body changing in strange – and if he was honest – unappealing ways. But worse was the utter implosion of their relationship. Their weekends had no longer involved booze and music and parties, but instead became an endless cycle of washing and dressing and cleaning and stressing. Natale’s sunny, carefree persona completely transformed, as she became stern, tired and – something Brian would never have imagined – conservative.

  Suddenly his funny, outgoing girl listened to talkback radio and spoke earnestly about sch
ool zones and childcare expenses. She wanted nothing more than to be at home with her baby and parents, and he wanted nothing more than to escape.

  Well, maybe now was his chance?

  Rolling onto all fours, Brian eased himself back up, his knees cracking as he straightened. Moving gingerly, he leant against the kitchen bench and heaped a teaspoon of instant coffee into a mug. As he re-boiled the kettle, he squeezed his eyes shut.

  What should he do?

  After identifying Natale’s body he’d been taken back to the police headquarters and interviewed again. It was obvious the detectives didn’t trust him.

  ‘Are you certain you didn’t see your wife at any stage after you left for work on the Friday?’

  ‘Who can confirm your movements that day?’

  ‘Were there any difficulties in your marriage?’

  Brian sipped his coffee, the caffeine giving him the clarity he was seeking. The police would be watching his every move from now on; it was too late to leave.

  ‘Daddy?’ His daughter’s voice called from the darkness beyond the landing upstairs.

  ‘Just a minute, darling.’ Brian took another sip of coffee.

  For now, he had to stay and see this out.

  But once this was all over – his eyes fell on the broom closet in the corner – he would escape for good.

  Emmett leant against the whiteboard at the front of the room and scrunched his face, unable to contain a long yawn. He’d got three, maybe four hours’ sleep at best, home just long enough to shower, nap, kiss his son on the head, and be reminded by his wife that Nicholas had his first footy practice match that night.

  ‘He’s been counting down for ages. You will make it, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Emmett inhaled deeply, letting his heavy eyelids rest for just a moment. All he was ever doing was his best. It was never enough.

  ‘Are we waiting for anyone else?’ Bryce nudged him with a jolt that almost caused him to topple over. ‘Can we get going?’

  ‘We’re all here, but I think Annette was going to bring in the screen so we can play those slides . . ’ Emmett stopped as the station secretary appeared right on time, pushing what looked like a large television mounted on wheels.

  ‘Here.’ He helped guide the monstrosity through the doorway.

  ‘Okay’ – the Superintendent stepped forward, once Annette was gone – ‘as you all know, late yesterday a search team, led by Detective Medhurst, discovered a woman’s body in the vicinity of the Moonee Ponds Creek. The body was subsequently identified as Natale Gibson, one of our outstanding missing persons. She was located just nine hundred metres north of where Rosemary Norman was dumped, and there are worrying similarities between the two deaths: both women were clothed, with personal identification on them, and both were wrapped in tarpaulins.’

  Bryce paused, turning to the screen and flicking the remote.

  ‘From initial examination, both women also suffered superficial lacerations to their bodies.’

  Emmett heard Steven’s sharp inhalation as the gruesome photos appeared.

  Just like Rosemary, Natale’s torso was marked by four deep, clinical cuts.

  ‘We think the markings are supposed to represent a diamond,’ Bryce said. ‘Though we have no idea what that means.’

  ‘What is that?’ Steven held a hand over his mouth as the next image appeared.

  ‘That’s a close-up of the cutting across the victim’s left nipple.’

  Emmett’s chest tightened; he’d seen it all yesterday, but that didn’t lessen the horror.

  ‘Both sets of cuts have been inflicted in a similar way,’ Bryce continued. ‘Forensics believe a precise, sharp-edged weapon was used, perhaps a pocket knife or small fishing knife, something like that.’

  ‘A copycat?’ Ted asked.

  ‘Unlikely. We deliberately kept Ms Norman’s death out of the media. The only person who would know the extent of her injuries would be her killer.’

  ‘Is there any known link between the victims?’

  ‘Unfortunately, the simple answer is no. But I’ll let Detective Corban elaborate.’

  ‘Thanks, Superintendent.’ Emmett stepped forward, noting his boss had shuffled only slightly to the left, not enough for him to take centre stage. ‘Nothing that we’ve uncovered gave us any reason to believe that these two cases were connected. And the only similarities we know of now are that both women were in their thirties, and both lived in the north-west of Melbourne, around the Flemington area.’

  ‘And now both are dead,’ Morton quipped.

  ‘Exactly.’ Emmett looked straight at his overweight colleague. ‘That’s why I’ll be getting you and Carter to complete a full background check on each woman: we need to know where she grew up, what schools she attended, what hobbies she participated in, what work she did . . and any similarities are to be reported to me immediately. In particular, I want you to speak with teachers at the TAFE where Natale was studying. We know she attended her aged care placement last Tuesday, but perhaps there’s more we haven’t uncovered – like a classmate she was particularly close with . . something like that. And I’ll also need you to go back over any outstanding missing persons cases which match a similar profile, to ensure there aren’t more victims that we don’t know about.’

  Steven raised a hand.

  ‘What about the husband, Brian Gibson? We have a warrant to get that security footage from the family deli, and we were planning on doing that first thing this morning.’

  ‘That’s fine, you’ll have time to do that.’ Emmett scanned the room as he mentally assigned tasks to each person. ‘Tardio and I will go to Natale’s home with a forensics team, and Medhurst will work with the department’s cyber experts to cover the internet histories of both victims; he’ll also follow up the security footage that was retrieved from Yarra Trams, to plot out Natale’s last known movements.’

  ‘What footage was that?’ Bianca’s gravelly voice called from the side of the room. ‘I wasn’t aware there was more.’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon I managed to find onboard footage of Natale taking a tram down Mount Alexander Road, near the football club where she dropped her children off.’ Morton patted his stomach smugly. ‘She was seen getting off at the top of the city, near the Elizabeth Street roundabout.’

  ‘Was she alone?’

  ‘Yes. She got on just after 9 a.m., carrying a large handbag, and didn’t talk to anyone.’

  ‘Good work.’ Bryce nodded in Morton’s direction.

  Emmett noticed Steven squirm.

  ‘I’ve also been making some good headway with locating Rosemary’s phone.’ The young officer’s voice was a little shaky. ‘I’d be happy to keep going with that too.’

  ‘Yes.’ Emmett nodded. ‘Finding the phone has to remain a priority. But I’ll get you to liaise with Medhurst since you’ve both been looking into that.’

  Steven frowned.

  ‘We haven’t got the preliminary autopsy report for Rosemary Norman yet?’ Bryce tapped his notes as though to hurry the meeting along.

  ‘No.’ Emmett flicked his left wrist, looking at his watch. It was only Thursday morning. The poor woman had been found less than forty-eight hours ago. ‘I’ll chase that up with forensics. I expect it will be with us either today or tomorrow.’

  ‘Good. And I’ll be addressing the media later today.’ Bryce pulled a face that suggested he wasn’t looking forward to this. ‘For operational reasons I would prefer that we kept these cases out of the public spotlight. But with two women dead and a killer on the loose, we have a duty to warn the public.’

  The superintendent placed both hands on his belt buckle and widened his stance before looking around the room.

  ‘We don’t know who else may be in danger.’

  The forensics team were already working their way through the Mancinis’ property when Emmett and Bianca arrived; the carefully manicured garden of number 42 dotted with pale blue jumpsuits.
<
br />   ‘What a pretty home.’ Bianca’s eyes roamed over the neatly marked vegetable patches in the backyard.

  ‘Yes—’ Emmett broke off, noticing the frail woman standing shivering by the back door. What was she clutching to her chest? ‘Mrs Mancini.’ He stepped over small shoes that were carefully lined up on the doormat. ‘You must be freezing, please, let’s go inside.’

  Natale’s mother didn’t respond. She was wearing just a nightgown, her arms visibly shaking in the cold.

  Emmett placed a steadying hand on the woman’s shoulder. ‘You remember me? I’m Detective Corban, and this is my colleague Detective Tardio.’

  Francesca looked at Bianca; her face crumpled.

  ‘My Natale,’ she gasped.

  ‘I know.’ Emmett gently guided her through the back doorway, nodding to a team of forensics officers who were moving through the kitchen. ‘I’m so terribly sorry. Do you have a blanket? Or a dressing-gown I could get for you?’

  After finding a knitted shawl, Emmett helped Mrs Mancini to the living room couch, where Bianca was perched.

  ‘You’ve put more photos out.’ His eyes scanned the room.

  Indeed, the shrine to Natale had grown. Photos from every school milestone now adorned the shelves, and there were some additions that Emmett guessed must have been taken during her teen years, when she appeared to have been going through some sort of gothic phase.

  ‘How old was she there?’ he asked, pointing to a particularly grim-looking young Natale in heavy make-up.

  ‘Seventeen,’ Francesca whispered, shaking her head as she wiped tears from her face.

  ‘Lei è molto bella.’ Bianca reached to a side table and picked up a different photo, surprising everyone with her carefully pronounced Italian.

  ‘Sì,’ Natale’s mother said, before burying her head in the stuffed rabbit she was clutching.