‘Will we get to use the camera ourselves?’ one of the girls asked.
‘If you’re very good.’
The boy felt himself caught up in the general excitement – he’d never got to use a camera before, and this new teacher seemed much more fun than the old one.
As the children began making their frames, Mr Ong wandered around the room.
‘That looks lovely, Jade, well done.’
‘Careful with the glue there, you’ve probably got enough.’
‘Scott – sit down or you’ll be sent to the corner.’
The boy was immersed in the activity when a cold rush of air struck him. He turned around to find the classroom door open.
‘This must be Tom?’ Mr Ong greeted the school principal, who was standing in the doorway holding hands with an unknown boy.
‘Yes. He’s very excited to be joining your class.’
From his position at the back, the boy eyed the new student carefully, taking in his funny glasses, the freckles on his nose and the brightness of his white sneakers.
‘I’d like everyone’s attention for a moment, please.’ Mr Ong clapped his hands. ‘This is Tom Norman. He’s new to our school this year, and he’ll be joining our class. I’d like you all to make him feel welcome.’
‘Nice glasses!’ Scott goaded, and several of his friends laughed.
‘Choose any free seat you like, and I’ll get you some art supplies.’ The teacher waved vaguely in the direction of an empty table off to the side.
But to the boy’s surprise, Tom instead headed straight to the spare chair beside him.
‘Hi.’ Tom turned to the boy, his smile exposing a funny gap between his two front teeth.
‘Hello,’ the boy whispered, unsure what to say next.
They worked silently next to each other, neither saying a word, until the bell for recess sounded.
‘Do you like cricket?’ Tom asked, just as the boy was about to make a hasty exit to his place under the prickly tree.
‘I suppose so,’ he said, remembering Zac and Nate playing in Maria’s yard.
‘Do you want to play with me?’
The boy froze. He couldn’t tell if this was like the time Scott had invited him to play frisbee at the back of the oval, when he’d ended up instead being dragged along the fence and left huddled in a heap.
But Tom’s smile was wide, and he was holding out his right hand.
‘I brought my favourite ball from home. It’s in my bag. Wanna see?’
The boy nodded, but didn’t take Tom’s hand, instead cautiously following him to the bag rack at the side of the room.
‘This is a really special ball, because it’s signed by Geoff Slater, the Aussie captain!’
The boy held the heavy red ball, noticing the black squiggle on it. He didn’t know who Geoff Slater was, but he murmured appreciatively.
‘Are we friends now?’ Tom asked, eagerly looping an arm with the boy.
The boy’s jaw dropped. His chest danced a little.
‘Yes,’ he eventually managed, his lips breaking into a smile.
He and Tom were friends.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The headache was insistent, pounding just firmly enough at the back of her temples to make everything seem like a chore. Cindy squeezed her eyes shut, turning away from the crowd that was gathering in the staff kitchen.
It was only mid-morning. How on earth would she make it through the rest of the day – and then on to Nicholas’s school production that evening?
She flicked her wrist, checking the time and deciding she’d be okay to pop one more tablet. Hopefully that would ease the pain.
‘You’re very quiet!’ Vania patted her on the back a little too enthusiastically, just as she was gulping from a mug.
Cindy spluttered droplets of water across the sink.
‘Oh.’ Her supervisor noticed her packet of painkillers. ‘You’re not well?’
‘Just a minor headache,’ Cindy smiled. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Glad to hear it. And I’ve also heard that you’ve been getting creative with your photos? I can’t wait to see them.’
‘Yes . . ’ Cindy hesitated.
‘Michael phoned me last night.’ Vania laughed at her obvious confusion. ‘He said he caught up with you yesterday and gave you some tips? Apparently your work is excellent.’
Cindy nodded, but anxiety rose in her chest. Why would her tutor have told her boss that he’d been helping her? What else had he said?
‘Yes, he just happened to be stopping by the Docklands and very generously offered to take a look at some of my work.’
‘Oh, good. We used to study together, you know . . Actually, we dated for a while – I’m sure he told you.’
‘Yes,’ Cindy blatantly lied, wondering how to end the conversation when, thankfully, a boisterous chant rang out.
‘Speech! Speech! Speech!’
Her colleagues were gathered around a high bench, watching Pratesh from the IT department cut through a birthday cake. As he pulled the knife out several people clapped.
Cindy kept a smile fixed to her face, but deep down she found the whole scenario quite odd. She’d never worked at a place where birthdays were deemed worthy of interrupting an entire office. Surely you got to a certain age where you just privately acknowledged the milestone and moved on?
‘Here you go.’
Clambering up to a stool, Cindy accepted a piece of the disgustingly sweet-looking mud cake, and prodded it with a plastic fork. At least this was stopping her from having to do any actual work.
‘You’re the new photographer, aren’t you?’ A woman in a bright orange blazer introduced herself. ‘You’re a bit of an enigma around here, but I’ve seen you coming in and out.’
‘Yes.’ Cindy forced herself to laugh. ‘I’m trying to capture all the different precincts in the Docklands, like the tourist hub and the Moonee Ponds Creek. But I’m a bit dependent on the weather holding out.’
The woman chuckled. ‘You can’t have had much fun this week. I feel like it’s rained every day!’
‘Mm.’ Cindy pushed a chunk of cake around her plate.
She was just pulling out her phone to decline an offer of lunch with Michael, when her colleague continued.
‘Actually, weren’t those two murdered women found somewhere by that creek? You know, the ones that have been all over the news?’
Cindy raised her eyebrows. She knew they were found in the Docklands, but she hadn’t stopped to consider exactly where.
‘I didn’t realise that. What part of the creek?’
‘I’m not sure exactly. Have you seen any police around?’
‘No . . ’ Cindy thought back to her drizzly walk with Michael, and their unusual encounter with Jordan, who’d been so desperate for her to join him in photographing trains. Don’t bother going too much further up that way. There’s lots of homeless people, and it gets a bit grubby. Her tutor had warned her away. But how much further would she have had to walk to come across the crime scene?
‘Well, I don’t suppose you’d be wanting to photograph that anyway,’ the woman snorted. ‘Two dead bodies and a whole lot of police tape is hardly a good look for the area.’
‘No,’ Cindy agreed, distracted by another thought. Jordan was always hanging around that area. Could he have seen something?
When the woman finally diverted her attention to someone else, Cindy sat her phone on the table, searching for information on the murders. A news article referenced the Macaulay train stop. The trains never run early at Macaulay Station, but this one did! Jordan’s earnest words rang in her ears.
Cindy opened her maps. Macaulay Station sat directly underneath the Tullamarine Freeway. She zoomed in. There was the creek, running parallel to the train track.
‘I’d better keep working,’ she murmured to no one in particular, before standing up and throwing her plastic plate in the bin.
Leaving the staff room, Cindy headed straight to h
er desk, grabbing her camera bag and slinging it over one shoulder.
Her flushed reflection stared back at her from inside the elevator, and she placed a palm on her sweaty forehead. She was so hot. Hopefully the drugs would kick in soon.
Turning left out of the building, she followed the bike path that dipped down to join the creek.
She hadn’t intended to be outside today, but now she desperately wanted to find her young friend.
Her mind was racing.
If you come to Macaulay Station you can get really good pictures.
It wasn’t impossible that Jordan had seen something.
‘Okay, grab something to eat and then let’s get started.’ Emmett looked at the meagre plate of pastries he’d bought from the coffee shop downstairs, hoping the quick sugar hit would be enough to keep his small team going through what was turning into another long, busy day.
Once they were settled, he cleared his throat.
‘This morning Tardio and I conducted a formal interview with Daniel Norman. He was not able to provide any reasonable alibi for the Saturday evening when his sister was murdered, or for the Friday when Natale Gibson disappeared. His best recollection is that he was watching football on television at home during the two-hour window when Rosemary was killed, and that he was again at home on the afternoon that Natale vanished. He has no one who can verify this.’
Emmett paused. In front of him, Bianca leant over to compare notes with Ted.
‘Given this result, we will continue to monitor Daniel Norman as a potential suspect. Are we able to get our cyber team to go through his online history, Medhurst?’
Ted raised a thumb.
‘And how have we been going on the victims’ background checks?’
Morton licked his fingertips before wiping his hands on his trousers.
‘Nothing much to report. No criminal records, nothing in their work history . . I think Carter was doing the rest?’
Emmett looked to Steven, who was staring determinedly at the ground. It was obvious the young policeman hadn’t recovered from the grilling he’d received over the debacle with Rosemary Norman’s phone.
‘Carter?’
‘Yes.’ Steven coughed awkwardly. ‘I’ve gone through most of the financial records and there’s not much in it. I’m almost finished with their educational backgrounds.’
‘Okay.’ Emmett frowned. He was still furious with his young colleague. ‘Now we’ve had quite a good response from the public following yesterday’s media conference . . Tardio, did you want to go over that?’
‘Sure.’ Bianca took the liberty of standing up and joining Emmett at the front. ‘Since yesterday afternoon we’ve had numerous calls into the hotline to report sightings of both our victims in the days prior to their deaths. Medhurst and I have been combing through these, and one we are extremely interested in is an anonymous taxi driver who told operators he picked Ms Norman up from Flemington on Saturday evening, and dropped her off at Acland Street, in St Kilda. Unfortunately, it appears the taxi was simply flagged down off the street rather than being booked, and the caller didn’t leave his details.’ Bianca flicked through her notes. ‘The reason we’re so interested in this call is because the suggested route matches the recorded movements of Ms Norman’s phone, which was shown to have left Flemington at around 6 p.m., when it then started pinging through West Melbourne and the city, before registering in St Kilda. Given we know Ms Norman died between 7.30 and 9.30 that night, we can presume she was killed somewhere around that Acland Street area. Medhurst is going to cross-check these movements with phone data from both Daniel Norman and Natale Gibson, and he will let us know straight away if there are any similarities.’
‘Check Brian Gibson’s phone records as well,’ Emmett said to Ted, who made a note.
‘Have you got onto the taxi operators?’ Morton splayed his legs wider across his chair. ‘They all have cameras these days.’
‘Yes, thank you, Morton.’
Emmett noticed Bianca try to conceal a grimace.
‘We have contacted taxi operators, and they are all cooperating with our requests to access their security footage. We are also going to conduct a doorknock of the Acland Street area immediately after this meeting.’
Morton patted his stomach. ‘What about Rosemary’s phone?’
Emmett watched Steven shuffle uncomfortably.
‘We’ve had a fairly significant development on that front.’ He took over from Bianca. ‘Carter and myself will be meeting with a person who claims to have Ms Norman’s phone later this afternoon. We have arranged backup from uniform around the area, and we are confident of retrieving the handset. If we do, that could be our biggest lead so far. I’ve alerted forensics to the possibility of having this evidence as early as this afternoon, and they’ll be ready to begin testing immediately.’ Emmett turned back to Morton. ‘Williams, what’s next on your plate?’
The detective yawned and stretched his arms behind him. ‘I’ll need to go over some of my notes and then I’ll help Carter with the education checks.’
‘I won’t need help. I’ve already done most of it,’ Steven snapped.
‘Okay . . ’ Emmett looked at his notes, pondering the best way to use the free detective.
‘We could really use an extra person with our doorknock.’ Bianca shuffled forward again. ‘It shouldn’t take more than a few hours, and the more help we have the quicker we can get it done.’
Morton shook his head. ‘I’d be happy to help, but I’d only hold you up. I need to go over these notes first.’
‘Nonsense.’ Bianca couldn’t contain her sly smile. ‘How long could that possibly take? We’ll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes.’
They’d gone through their plan several times, but still, Steven was anxious.
It didn’t help that his boss had barely spoken during their short drive out to Flemington, and now, as they pulled into a park directly opposite a rundown chicken shop, the policeman felt like he was going to burst.
‘Stop jiggling your legs like that,’ Emmett suddenly snapped, without looking from the windscreen. ‘You’ve been fidgeting the whole trip.’
‘Sorry.’ Steven planted the soles of his feet firmly on the floor.
Emmett sighed. ‘Look, I know I’ve been giving you a hard time, but you need to focus now. If you get this phone for us, nothing else will matter.’
Steven nodded mutely, but he knew the knot in his stomach wouldn’t ease until the vital piece of evidence was safely in his hands.
‘Any messages?’ Emmett tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.
‘No.’
‘Okay, I might go in. Remember to let me know of any updates.’
Steven watched as his boss slipped out of the car, looking both ways before dashing across the road and entering the fast-food restaurant.
Through the finger-streaked windows he saw him stroll up to the counter, ordering a large meal before casually claiming a table by the door.
Steven peered down the busy road, observing mothers pushing prams, and tradies knocking off for the day. No one seemed particularly interested in the chicken shop.
Checking the time on the dashboard, he leant back in his seat, closing his eyes and again mentally rehearsing his conversation with the mystery person. He wiped his brow. Every time he played the scene in his head it always ended with the person darting for the door, too quick for either him or Emmett to catch – the precious handset disappearing for good.
He opened his eyes and forced himself to take a long, slow breath.
It will be fine.
But as the agreed meeting time came and went, Steven’s anxiety increased. Was he in the right place? He checked his phone.
Finally, some contact: Bit late. B there soon.
Steven bit his lower lip. What did soon mean? Five minutes? Half an hour? One hour?
He looked through the chicken shop windows to his boss, who was struggling to drag out the consumption of what must no
w be a very cold meal.
No problem. Let me know when you’re here.
Propping his handset conspicuously on his lap, he flicked the radio on, then turned it off. There was no point trying to relax. He just had to ride this out, anxiety and all.
From the left of the road, the mothers pushing their prams were returning, each with extra little helpers. Up the side of the restaurant, three schoolboys meandered, kicking a soccer ball.
Steven watched them for a while, marvelling at their agile frames and chuckling as he remembered having to play soccer against a similarly fit group of newly arrived refugees when he was a junior officer, their fast footwork too much for his self-taught technique.
He turned his attention back to the schoolboys, before suddenly realising that only two of them were now marching up Mount Alexander Road. Where had the other gone? Steven craned his neck. The third boy, the tallest of the lot, had ducked into the chicken shop.
Tingling, Steven sat up: a rush of energy kicking his body back to life. But he slumped back down in his seat when he saw the teen had gone to the counter, ordering himself an unhealthy snack to eat on his way home from school, no doubt.
As he waited, a worrying thought started to niggle. What if the message was a hoax? What if the person never had any intention of turning up? He checked his phone again, surprised to see that a new text message had arrived.
Here. Where r u?
With clammy palms he leant forward over the glovebox, squinting to see inside the shop. He was sure that the only person inside the store, other than his boss, was the schoolboy he’d watched enter just a few minutes ago.
His breath quickened. Could that be him? It must be.
Coming now.
With one last big gulp of air, Steven left the car, drew his shoulders back and stalked across the road.
It will be fine.
He checked his reflection as he pulled at the grubby door handle, ignoring Emmett and heading straight to the teenager, who was sitting facing him, slurping a soft drink.
Sticks and Stones Page 20
