Sticks and Stones

by Katherine Firkin

  Owen saw Charlotte’s mouth tighten. She was only a few months older than he was, but as each day brought her closer to her thirty-eighth birthday, the subject of age was becoming more and more sensitive.

  ‘I’d love twins,’ she murmured.

  ‘Good.’ The doctor turned to him. ‘If you sit up at the bedhead with your partner, you can view the transfer through the ultrasound.’

  Owen swallowed a lump in his throat. He hated this part, but he saw Charlotte nodding, so he diligently picked up his chair and moved so that he could face the screen that hung over his girlfriend.

  ‘No sedation again, Charlotte, but it’s normal to experience some mild cramping. Just keep breathing naturally for me.’

  With his girlfriend squeezing his hand, Owen forced himself to look at the black and white footage.

  ‘That line you can see is the catheter going into the uterus. And in just a second you should see a bright white splodge where I’m injecting the blastocyst . . Just give it a moment.’

  Charlotte trembled.

  ‘There we go.’

  A bright white mark appeared on the screen. Their future child, or children, or nothing at all.

  Owen pressed his lips together. Don’t get confident. Don’t plan. Don’t hope.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be okay to get yourself home?’ he whispered, realising guiltily it was time he left for work.

  ‘Of course,’ Charlotte responded, almost robotically.

  Owen got to his feet, turning once more as he reached the doorway. He watched his girlfriend’s determined expression, her fixed stare.

  Not for a second did she take her eyes from the screen.

  Emmett stood at the school gates, watching Nicholas bounce off into the distance. With a slight pang he noticed that his son’s trouser hems were sitting high on his ankles, the once chubby legs of his little boy having shot up seemingly overnight. They’d only bought the uniform at the beginning of the year. How had he grown out of it already?

  He sighed, a wave of nostalgia hitting him as he turned and walked back to his car.

  It didn’t seem that long ago he’d been standing there proudly on Nicholas’s first day of school, his chest feeling like it might burst.

  What had Cindy said to him that morning? Emmett unlocked the car.

  We’ve done well.

  That’s right; he smiled as he dropped his bag onto the floor on the passenger side and slipped into his seat. She’d whispered the words as they’d stayed back, peering through the windows of the classroom as Nicholas had buzzed around, introducing himself to the other children and showing off the Spider-Man collectibles that he’d brought with him.

  They had done well. And yet half a year had vanished with Emmett almost never setting foot in the school again.

  He took a deep breath as he started the car.

  And was it worth it? Emmett turned the heater up and took a sip of coffee from the travel mug he’d brought with him. His career might well be progressing, but it was to the detriment of everything else that mattered.

  At least the previous night had gone okay, he remembered. Nicholas hadn’t been too upset about him missing the football game and Cindy had seemed more herself, chatting about her work and telling him about those awful women at the sports club.

  Emmett frowned as he followed his GPS out to Mount Alexander Road. How odd that his son should have to play at the ground where Natale Gibson had dropped her two young children.

  As he crawled past the sprawling blocks of the Flemington housing commission units, Emmett thought about what Cindy had told him. The women were adamant that Brian was responsible – he had a bad temper, they’d said; the marriage was in trouble.

  Their theory matched his own concerns, but Brian had a sound alibi: the deli security footage accounting for his movements on the day Natale disappeared. He couldn’t have killed his wife. Or could he?

  Emmett pondered this as he pulled up at a set of traffic lights. Natale’s autopsy results weren’t back yet. What if she hadn’t died on the Friday evening?

  He turned into a side street and pulled up along the kerb, directly opposite Daniel Norman’s flat. He forced himself to let his worries go. For now, he had other things to focus on.

  ‘Good morning.’ Emmett was pleased to see that Rosemary’s brother was already dressed. ‘Are you ready to head off?’

  ‘I’m still finishing my breakfast. Come in.’

  Emmett followed the thin man through to the back of the house.

  ‘Did you want a coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you. But what’s all this?’ Emmett looked around at the boxes of photos on the ground.

  Deep lines formed on Daniel’s forehead.

  ‘They’ve released her body now, so I have to get the funeral sorted. I’m supposed to find a selection of photos for the service, but . . ’ He paused, composing himself before continuing. ‘But how do you choose?’

  ‘May I?’ Emmett picked up a photo from a much happier time. He looked at the unremarkable Norman family, the husband and wife standing behind their three young children, completely oblivious to the tragedy that was about to befall them. ‘How old was your sister there?’

  Daniel leant over. ‘About nine, I guess? That would have been the year before the crash.’

  ‘Your brother was eight, wasn’t he? When the car accident occurred?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So Rosemary was ten, and you were . . ?’

  ‘Eleven, almost twelve.’

  Daniel snatched the photo back.

  ‘I’ll definitely include that one, but I don’t know what else to choose.’ He swept a hand over the many pictures, before landing on a small pile on the coffee table. ‘These are all recent ones that Rosie took herself while travelling. They don’t mean anything to me, but I suppose I should pick at least one.’

  Emmett accepted the few that Daniel handed him. There was Rosemary in front of Stonehenge, there she was at Machu Picchu, there she was hiking in Nepal.

  ‘Wow. She really had an amazing life.’

  Daniel shrugged, passing a few more photos over. ‘These were from her last trip, when she went to Vietnam.’

  Emmett looked at the adventurous woman, beaming at him from her place in the midst of a busy market.

  But as he flicked through the photos, it wasn’t the sight of her red hair breaking out from the traditional conical hat that caught his attention, it was the beaded wooden bracelet around her left wrist. Where had he seen that before?

  He scrunched his face, looking from one image to the next. The beads were square and chunky, with unusual black markings. He’d definitely seen them before, but where?

  As Emmett turned to the next photo, in which Rosemary was posing in front of a traditional fishing boat, it came to him. He’d seen the bracelet in the bedside drawer at Tom’s nursing home, on top of the newspaper clippings.

  ‘When were these pictures taken?’ he asked, handing all but one back to Daniel.

  ‘Earlier this year, February, I think. Maybe March? I don’t know exactly. It was her last overseas holiday.’

  ‘I see.’ Emmett looked again at the bracelet. He was sure it was the same one he’d casually swept aside. ‘And had Rosemary visited your brother after getting home?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Daniel scratched his forehead. ‘She didn’t tell me if she did.’

  Emmett closed his eyes, trying to picture the visitor book. He was fairly sure Rosemary had visited Tom. But why would she leave her bracelet there? Was it a gift? A good luck omen, perhaps?

  ‘Can I keep this?’

  Daniel pulled a face. ‘I suppose I can print another one.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  After abandoning a piece of underdone raisin toast, Daniel reluctantly followed Emmett out to the car.

  ‘How long will this take?’ he asked, his limp seeming more cumbersome than usual.

  ‘It shouldn’t be too long, and we’ll make sure someone drops you back
.’ Emmett smiled. ‘These interviews are a formality we just have to get through, I’m afraid.’

  Rosemary’s brother mumbled something indistinct. Emmett chose to ignore it.

  ‘Detective Bianca Tardio will be with us too,’ he said, as they entered the glass building. ‘Are you sure you didn’t want anyone to support you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  After also refusing the offer of coffee or tea, Daniel sat down across from the detectives in the interview room, timidly sipping at a plastic water cup.

  ‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Norman, we’ll just switch the recording on now.’ Emmett sat up straighter, racing through the usual legalities before getting to the point of the interview. ‘Can you recall where you were between 7.30 p.m. and 9.30 p.m. on Saturday, July 13?’

  Daniel stroked his chin. ‘No.’

  ‘Can you try and remember?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was probably at home, watching TV. That’s what I usually do on Saturday nights.’

  ‘What were you watching?’

  Daniel let out an exasperated sigh. ‘At 7.30? Probably the footy. I think the Saints were playing Hawthorn. Or was that the following weekend? I can’t remember.’

  ‘Okay, so you think you were at home watching football on the television?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Bianca scribbled some notes.

  ‘Was anyone with you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And how long would you have watched the football for?’

  ‘A couple of hours. Until the game was over.’

  ‘Can you recall who won?’

  ‘St Kilda . . if that’s the game I’m thinking of.’

  ‘Is there anyone who can verify your movements at that time?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Can anyone vouch that you were at home between 7.30 and 9.30 p.m. on Saturday July 13?’

  ‘No. I was on my own.’

  ‘Okay.’ Emmett flipped to a new page of notes. ‘And what were you doing on Friday the nineteenth of July? That’s one week ago.’

  ‘Last Friday? Nothing special. I think I was just at home.’

  ‘What were you doing at home?’

  Daniel squeezed the plastic cup, so that it crinkled in the middle.

  ‘Probably nothing. Maybe took a nap, watched TV . . My life’s not that exciting, detective.’

  ‘What do you do for income, Mr Norman?’ Bianca asked.

  ‘I don’t work. I’m on a government disability pension. It’s not much but it’s enough.’

  ‘And you spend most of your time at home?’

  ‘Yes. Or with Tom . . ’

  ‘But by last Friday you were quite worried about your sister, weren’t you? You’d reported her missing that week, after she didn’t attend Tom’s birthday.’

  ‘Yeah, I was. I knew something bad had happened.’

  ‘So did you do anything about that on the Friday? Were you out looking for her? Did you go to her house?’

  Daniel shifted in his chair. ‘I probably sent her a message or tried calling her again, but I didn’t go looking for her. I knew the police were already doing that. Didn’t seem much point me searching as well.’

  Emmett frowned, remembering the panicked, slightly aggressive man he’d first met earlier that week. He seemed so much calmer now – perhaps that was the sedatives he’d been prescribed.

  ‘And have you ever met, or did you know Natale Gibson – the other victim who was found murdered near your sister?’ he asked.

  Daniel shook his head. ‘I read her name in the news after her body was found. But I didn’t know her before.’

  ‘She wasn’t a friend of your sister’s?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  After going through a few more details, the detectives let Daniel go.

  ‘He has no alibi whatsoever.’ Bianca raised her eyebrows as she followed Emmett out to reception.

  ‘No.’

  ‘And we know he phoned her on the Saturday afternoon, before she was murdered.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So that would make him a fairly strong suspect, in my mind at least.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Emmett stopped, turning in the corridor to face his colleague. ‘But I still don’t see him being capable of murdering those two women. Do you? I mean physically, look at him. If he had killed them, how would he have got their bodies to the creek? You can’t tell me he could lift them.’

  Bianca frowned. ‘I’ve already given you my thoughts on homicide investigations,’ she said, somewhat testily. ‘Follow the evidence, not opinions – yours or anyone else’s.’

  Emmett shrugged. ‘Well, in that case let’s bring Tom Norman in for questioning – that’s where all the evidence is really pointing.’

  ‘You’re being silly.’

  ‘No, I’m not. You heard Daniel – according to him it was Rosemary who caused the car crash. So who would have a better motive than Tom?’

  Bianca scoffed, but Emmett gave his colleague a playful glare.

  ‘You know, one day, you’re going to be wrong about something.’ He waggled a finger. ‘And I cannot wait for that day to come.’

  Steven rubbed his palms together: anxious and sweaty. He’d got in early, supposedly to work through the financial and educational records of their two victims. But he’d done little, utterly distracted by the incessant buzzing of his phone.

  R we meeting 2nite or not?

  Hello?

  Dont mess with me.

  I mean it. THIS IS UR LAST CHANCE.

  He rolled his neck, turning to the financial records of Natale Gibson with a sigh. As he’d suspected, there was nothing much there. The mother’s tax returns revealed just some meagre parental assistance payments from the government, the family’s combined income put at a modest $80 000.

  Steven smirked as he recalled the reddening face of Brian Gibson, as he and Morton had marched in yesterday morning, seizing the store’s security footage; the way Natale’s husband had frozen on the spot, as images of him stashing cash into a sports bag appeared on the monitor.

  He chuckled.

  The Gibson family was making well over $80 000.

  Still, Steven made a note on the paper beside him; tax fraud was one thing, murder quite another.

  He was just beginning the painful process of looking into the women’s education and schooling when the sound of Bianca’s gruff voice sailed down the corridor.

  Grabbing his phone, he poked his head through the doorway, disappointed to see just the homicide detective and Annette heading towards him.

  ‘Is Detective Corban around?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s gone to the kitchen,’ Bianca barked without stopping.

  Sure enough, Steven found Emmett angrily smacking the vending machine at the back of the small staff dining area.

  ‘It’s stuck halfway,’ his boss groaned, as he tried to shake his selection free.

  Steven smiled. ‘Allow me.’

  A sharp karate-style kick to the base of the machine was enough to free the chocolate bar, and the young policeman watched as Emmett sheepishly reached to retrieve it.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No problem.’ Steven hovered awkwardly as Emmett began unpeeling the wrapper.

  ‘Did you need me?’

  ‘Um . . ’

  The anxiety must have been written all over his face, because Emmett sighed, shoving the half-opened chocolate bar into his pocket and leading Steven to his office.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he asked as he sank into his chair.

  ‘I may have made a bit of a mistake.’ Steven squirmed. ‘I kind of . . ’ He paused, unable to make eye contact with Emmett. ‘Since Medhurst wasn’t having much luck in locating Rosemary’s phone, I decided to just contact it directly myself.’

  ‘You did what?’ The colour fell from Emmett’s face.

  ‘I didn’t say I was from the police. I just sent some messages from my personal phone asking if I could get the
handset back, and the person wants to meet me this afternoon.’

  For a moment his boss didn’t seem able to speak. His eyes flickered oddly.

  ‘I probably should have checked with you first . . ’ Steven floundered. ‘I knew that finding the phone was a priority, and I wanted to do something more than just office admin.’

  ‘Why would you risk compromising a key piece of evidence?’ Emmett smacked both hands on the table. ‘Why wouldn’t you consult me?’

  Steven shrank.

  ‘Do you have any idea what you might have done? Or how much pressure we’re under to solve these cases? What if you’ve blown it?’

  ‘I think it’s okay . . ’ Steven slid his phone across the table. ‘Here are the messages. The person said they’d exchange the handset for cash.’

  Exhaling loudly, Emmett took the phone, aggressively moving his right thumb across the screen.

  Steven held his breath as he watched his boss. He knew the messages by heart.

  How much cash wud u give me?

  That had been followed with a barrage of bargaining requests.

  I want $300.

  Make it $400.

  Ur trying to rip me off. Give me $500.

  Then came the painful efforts to arrange a meeting.

  Meet me at 3.

  Actually 3.20.

  At Maccas.

  Nah actually the chicken shop near the servo.

  In Flemington dickhead.

  Steven pulled his most contrite face as Emmett looked up from his phone.

  ‘Are you serious?’ His boss’s eyes were wide. ‘You’ve been conversing with this person for almost two days without telling me?’

  Steven swallowed a lump in his throat. He knew his boss might be a little angry, but surely he appreciated his initiative?

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  But Emmett’s eyes were wild. ‘You’ve just jeopardised our entire investigation.’

  It was the first day of the new school year, and although he was in a higher class, with a different teacher, the boy was surprised to find himself happy to be back, away from the boring old couple.

  ‘Today we’re making pasta frames!’ Mr Ong said, handing out tubs of dried pasta shells. ‘We’ll start by gluing the shells down onto the cardboard, then another day we can paint them, and then one day we might even go outside and use my special polaroid camera to take photos that we can put inside the frames.’