Sticks and Stones

by Katherine Firkin

  ‘I suppose just keeping busy.’ Owen shrugged. ‘I have parent–teacher interviews tomorrow night, so I guess I’ll go back in to work.’ He paused, his composure threatening to break. ‘But I’m just so terrified that something bad has happened . . ’

  ‘I understand.’ Emmett nodded, hearing himself deliver several useless platitudes.

  Thankfully they were interrupted by a lithe figure appearing at their table.

  ‘This is Detective Jacquie Cruz. She’s very experienced at missing persons cases. You’ll be in great hands.’ Emmett stood up. ‘And this is Owen Peters – he’s actually a teacher at my son’s school.’

  Owen mumbled a greeting of sorts, shaking hands nervously.

  When the teacher seemed settled with the new detective, Emmett excused himself.

  ‘Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.’ He smiled at Owen, before hurrying out of the cafe and back inside the glass entrance of the police headquarters. He nodded to a guard as he passed through the security gates and made his way to the rear elevators.

  He and his small team were in the middle of a double murder investigation and, as bad as he felt about it, he had to put Owen Peters, and his missing girlfriend, out of his mind.

  ‘Okay, what have we got on Daniel Norman?’ Emmett found Bianca and Ted in the conference room, surrounded by paperwork. ‘How’s it all looking?’

  ‘Not good,’ Ted answered glumly. ‘There’s no unusual activity in his bank accounts, no records of property ownership, no matching DNA on the jewellery and we have absolutely no reason to place him in St Kilda on the Saturday night that his sister was killed.’

  ‘Nothing at all?’ Emmett dumped his bag on a spare chair.

  ‘No. We’ve been on the phone with neighbours to see if anyone remembers seeing him coming or going that day, but it hasn’t produced much.’

  ‘And neither has my search through the nursing home staff records,’ Bianca muttered. ‘I’ve gone over both permanent and temporary workers, and the background checks haven’t revealed any prior criminal histories.’

  ‘Right . . ’ Emmett looked at the folders piled on the table. What was he missing?

  From the whiteboard behind him he could sense the dead women looking at him, their bright eyes watching every move.

  ‘There is some good news,’ Ted continued. ‘The autopsy results for Natale Gibson have come through. The time of death has been put between 3.30 p.m. and 5.30 p.m. on Friday July 19. Like Rosemary, the cause of death has been identified as strangulation – she has the same uneven markings around her neck.’

  ‘The steel wire that’s not perfectly flat,’ Emmett murmured, shaking his head.

  ‘Exactly. And the same thing with the cuts on her body: postmortem injuries that didn’t actually contribute to her death.’

  ‘Did the killer clean up with bleach again?’

  ‘Traces of hypochlorite were found on the victim’s body,’ Ted read from his notes.

  ‘Well, that’s something.’ Emmett rested a hand on the table. ‘So we know the two victims had both recently visited the nursing home in Flemington, and we know that pieces of their jewellery turned up in Tom Norman’s bedside drawer. If it wasn’t impossible, we’d say the killer was Tom. But if it’s not Tom . . ’

  His colleagues shifted in their seats, as though waiting for the big reveal.

  Emmett tapped his forehead. He had nothing. It had to be Daniel, didn’t it?

  ‘That footage from the nursing home sounds promising,’ Bianca prompted.

  ‘Footage?’ Emmett hesitated, before remembering seeing a message come through from Steven, while he’d been downstairs sitting with Owen Peters. ‘Oh, yes. Tell me about that.’

  ‘Apparently there’s security vision of an unknown man visiting Tom on July 10, at the same time that Rosemary Norman was there.’

  ‘They’re seen together?’ Emmett felt his chest pound.

  ‘Well, no. But Carter tells me he watched this man enter Tom’s room just a little after Ms Norman had gone in, and she then leaves alone. So we can assume the two had some sort of interaction.’

  ‘Okay . . ’

  ‘This man then returns to the nursing home on the morning of July 16, and is seen having a lengthy conversation with a female carer in the courtyard.’

  ‘Don’t tell me.’ Emmett’s pulse was now racing. ‘Natale?’

  ‘It appears that way.’ Bianca nodded. ‘Management have identified Ms Gibson as being the carer in the footage. But that’s not even the best bit . . Carter found vision of the same man returning to the nursing home just three days ago.’

  ‘This past Thursday?’ Emmett’s mind was working furiously. He’d visited Tom only a day earlier – when he’d first noticed the wooden bracelet left in the drawer. ‘He came back to leave Natale’s necklace!’

  ‘It’s certainly a possibility. But no one at the nursing home knows who he is. Carter and Williams are on their way back now, so we’ll be able to run his image through our database. We’ve also kept Daniel Norman in custody in the hope he may recognise the man.’

  ‘Otherwise you might want to consider releasing the vision to the public,’ Ted added.

  Emmett bit his lower lip. ‘Let’s wait to see what leads we can establish ourselves first. I don’t want to risk our killer going into hiding, unless we absolutely have to.’

  ‘Yes, that’s my concern too.’ Bianca nodded. ‘And is it worth getting Brian Gibson or Natale’s parents to view the footage as well? If this is someone Natale knew, he may be related to the family.’

  ‘Good idea . . ’ Emmett fiddled with his phone, distracted by a message that had popped up on his screen. He stared at it, panic rising.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Bianca tapped him on the arm.

  Emmett forced his face to relax, a nervous chuckle escaping from his lips.

  ‘It’s probably nothing.’ He looked from one homicide detective to the other. ‘I’ve just got a message from a school parent saying Nicholas hasn’t been picked up from a play date. Apparently, Cindy was meant to collect him a few hours ago, but she hasn’t showed up and they can’t get onto her. They seem a bit worried.’

  ‘Go.’ Bianca’s expression was grim.

  ‘But we’re finally making progress, and I’m sure my wife’s just running late . . ’ Emmett’s words were not convincing, even to him.

  ‘We’re perfectly capable of handling things here,’ Bianca insisted. ‘Just go.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  By the time Emmett pulled up outside the familiar blue fence of his happy home, he’d given in to full-blown panic. Behind him, Nicholas was fast asleep on his booster chair, his little body slumped against the side of the door, exhausted after a big afternoon playing with his friend.

  Where was Cindy?

  Emmett was heartened somewhat by the sight of his wife’s car in the driveway, but there were no lights on inside, and she’d failed to answer his multiple calls.

  ‘Come on, little one.’ He lifted his sleepy son out of the car, and hoisted him over his shoulder.

  Nicholas grunted indistinctly, snuggling into his dad’s neck.

  Closing the gate behind him, Emmett considered the dark porch. Was this how Brian Gibson had felt as he’d made the lonely trip home from the holiday program with his two young children? He shook the thought aside. What had happened to Natale was tragic, but this was different.

  Balancing Nicholas with one arm, he retrieved his house keys. The lower lock turned but the front door wouldn’t open, suggesting the top latch had been secured from the inside.

  ‘Damn.’ Emmett popped his son down on the doormat. ‘Wait here a moment.’

  Following the deck around to the side of the property, he tugged the sliding door, happy to discover it was unlocked.

  He stepped inside.

  ‘Hello?’

  Emmett flicked the lights on, crossed their small living room and entered the kitchen.

  His eyes imm
ediately fell on Cindy’s black handbag and keys, which were strewn casually on the table, the sand that was littered across the floor. Why was there sand? Had his sick wife been to the beach?

  ‘Come in.’ He unlocked the front door from the inside, gently leading Nicholas to the nearest chair. ‘I’m just going to find Mum and then we’ll get you to bed.’

  The stairs creaked as he made his way to the second level, the knot in his stomach tightening as he approached their bedroom and saw the door was slightly ajar.

  ‘Cindy?’

  In the darkness he could make out his wife’s body lying motionless across the bed, one arm dangling over the edge of the mattress.

  Emmett flicked the light switch on. ‘Honey?’

  ‘Whaa . . ’ Cindy’s groggy voice seemed like it was coming from somewhere far away. She rolled over slowly.

  A surge of relief rushed through Emmett. ‘You’re okay?’

  ‘What?’ Cindy sat up, wiping her puffy eyes. Her hair was frizzed up like a lion’s mane.

  ‘Are you okay? What’s happened? I had to collect Nicholas from Susan’s place. I’ve been so worried.’

  Cindy squinted, her eyes adjusting to the light.

  Emmett could see her forehead was damp; she looked feverish.

  ‘You’re still not well?’

  She shook her head. ‘I took some painkillers and some cold tablets but I think they reacted badly with the wine . . ’

  ‘Wine?’

  ‘I had lunch with Michael – my old photography tutor – but I shouldn’t have drunk anything. I feel shocking. What time is it?’

  ‘Just after 10 p.m.’ Emmett joined her on the edge of the bed, letting her nestle in against him. ‘I ran out of the office when I heard you hadn’t collected Nicholas – I couldn’t help thinking the worst.’ He laughed at his own foolishness. ‘These cases must be really getting to me.’

  Cindy pecked him on the cheek. ‘I’m sorry to make you worry. I don’t know how you do it. Has the brother been charged?’

  ‘Daniel Norman? No.’ Emmett sighed, any sense of relief he’d been feeling quickly evaporating. ‘It’s actually not looking like he’s our man. In fact, it looks like someone else has been visiting Tom Norman.’

  ‘Someone else has been leaving the jewellery?’

  ‘Exactly. Daniel mentioned seeing a photo displayed in his brother’s room that wasn’t there before – he said the picture was of a schoolfriend that Tom used to know.’

  ‘How odd,’ Cindy muttered, rubbing her sweaty brow. ‘Do you think someone saw the article in the newspaper, and it prompted them to visit their old friend?’

  Emmett paused. He hadn’t thought of that possibility. It actually made sense. But then what was the motive for murdering Rosemary and Natale? And why would the killer leave a photo of himself? ‘If we find the person who left the jewellery, we’ve found our killer. Of that, I’m certain.’

  Cindy yawned loudly, then let her head rest against his shoulder. As she snuggled in, Emmett could feel her chest beating rapidly.

  ‘So why did you have lunch with Michael?’ He couldn’t help sounding jealous. ‘I thought you were going to stay home today.’

  Cindy sat up, stiffly. ‘He told me he wanted to meet urgently. I thought it was something to do with my work, but I think he might have had the wrong idea . . ’

  ‘Wrong idea? Nothing happened between you two, did it?’

  ‘Of course not.’ His wife’s lips clamped together. ‘Everything’s fine. A bit awkward, but fine.’

  ‘Okay. Good.’ Emmett paused, an uncomfortable tension settling between them. ‘And I hope you’re not planning on going into work tomorrow?’

  Cindy grunted. ‘I really should – I haven’t been overly productive the last few days. But I might give myself another day to recover. I’ll see how I’m feeling. Nicholas has his parent–teacher interviews on tomorrow night anyway, so it’d be easier to stay home.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Emmett felt himself slump. How on earth would he make it to that?

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Cindy patted him on the arm. ‘I’m not expecting you to be there. I’ll report back on everything I’m told.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Is Nicholas in bed?’

  ‘No, he’s downstairs. I wanted to check on you first.’

  As though on cue, a loud thud sounded, followed by a shrill wail.

  ‘Nicholas?’ Emmett dashed back to the kitchen.

  His son was lying in a heap next to the table, looking confusedly from the chair to the polished floorboards. He’d fallen asleep and tumbled off.

  ‘Come on, then.’ Emmett scooped him up.

  After tucking Nicholas into bed, he gave Cindy a quick kiss on the forehead and made sure the side sliding door was locked.

  Then he drove slowly back towards the police headquarters, watching lights go out in homes, the clock on his dashboard ticking ever closer to midnight. He pictured Cindy and Nicholas sleeping soundly. If only everyone was so lucky. He cringed.

  Somewhere, out there in the darkness, his son’s football coach would be sitting in an empty house, waiting desperately for the phone to ring.

  Had he done the right thing by reassigning that case?

  Emmett swallowed a lump in his throat.

  Had he done enough for Owen Peters?

  Abbie hovered uncomfortably by the door of the school portable, shifting from side to side. She peered in again, checking she wasn’t mistaken.

  Spencer’s class was definitely not there.

  Damn.

  Despite setting her alarm early, and rushing for the bus, they’d managed to get to the school late, and Spencer was now anxiously bouncing beside her.

  ‘I’m going to be in trouble,’ he moaned.

  ‘Are you sure there wasn’t some sort of excursion today?’ Abbie checked through the trail of angry text messages from her mother. She’d mentioned the dreaded parent–teacher interviews several times, but nothing about an outing that morning.

  What was she supposed to do?

  Abbie looked around the empty yard helplessly. She’d always felt there was some sort of invisible set of rules for how one should operate within school grounds – a secret understanding that she’d never been privy to. The successful students seemed to know the code implicitly, never setting a foot wrong, always heading the right way to class, speaking the right way to teachers and completing assignments in the right manner.

  She sighed. Here she was again. The wrong place at the wrong time.

  ‘Are you okay?’ A matronly woman with glasses approached.

  ‘I can’t find the prep class.’ Abbie hated how foolish she sounded. ‘They’re normally in this room – I’m not sure where they’ve gone.’

  ‘Don’t they usually have sport up on the oval on Monday mornings?’

  Abbie felt herself shrink. ‘Oh, of course.’ She laughed as though this had simply slipped her mind. ‘Thank you.’

  She waited until the woman was gone, before bending down and whispering to Spencer, ‘Which way is the top oval?’

  He pointed to a patch of green in the distance beyond a large concrete play area, where a squadron of little bodies was lining up.

  ‘That’s your class?’ She took Spencer’s hand and began heading towards the oval.

  ‘Come on, blue team, get yourselves sorted. Hurry up.’ The sports teacher sounded exasperated. ‘Okay, on your marks, get set, GO!’

  A rush of feet bolted across the grass, and Abbie couldn’t help but laugh as she watched several boys jostling over the finish line.

  ‘That looks fun.’ She looked down at Spencer, suddenly realising that he was inappropriately dressed.

  ‘We didn’t bring your runners,’ she whispered, just as the sports teacher caught her eye.

  ‘Hello.’ He waved them over. ‘You must be Spencer’s mother?’

  ‘Umm . . ’ Abbie stepped forward, unsure how to answer this in front of Spencer. ‘Sorry we’re late.’
/>   Up close, she noticed dark patches under the teacher’s eyes; his body slouched in a way that suggested he wasn’t overly enthused about being there.

  ‘You don’t have your sports uniform?’ He looked at Spencer.

  ‘No, Mr Peters.’

  The teacher sighed. ‘Well, I suppose you can help me keep score.’

  Abbie waved limply as her son was stranded uselessly by the edge of the oval while the other children played and laughed.

  She was a hopeless mother.

  Hurrying back past the portable classrooms, she checked the time and then sprinted to the tram. She was terribly late for work – hopefully no one had noticed.

  They had.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ A man Abbie didn’t even know barked at her the moment she stepped out of the elevator, his angry voice accompanied by the sound of multiple phone lines ringing throughout the office.

  Damn.

  Abbie dashed to the reception desk, flinging her bag down and reaching for the phone. She just missed it.

  Another line rang. She grabbed the receiver and cradled it in her neck, trying to stall the person on the other end as she waited for her computer to start up.

  ‘We might be able to do Thursday morning . . just let me see . . ’

  By the time the calls calmed down, Abbie was completely flustered. It hadn’t helped that Sally – who was usually so nice to her – had warned her that the company director had missed an important phone conference, and was now furious. It also hadn’t helped that Marcus had walked by her desk twice already, without even acknowledging her.

  What was he doing?

  Abbie fiddled with her left earring, carefully freeing the stray lock of hair that had somehow got caught in the gold hoop. She knew it was important to remain professional in the workplace, but his behaviour was more than that; it was cold.

  She pushed her chair back, finally allowing herself to escape the reception area and get a quick tea from the kitchen.

  Her heart plummeted when she found Levi and Tony standing in front of the fridge.

  ‘Abbie!’ Levi smirked, his eyes flickering to Tony before settling back on her. ‘How was your weekend?’