‘I’m glad you rang,’ Emmett said, following the man back to his expansive office and plonking himself down on one of the plush armchairs. ‘I’ve spoken to Mrs Knowles – Abbie’s mother – and she’s quite . . concerned. What can you tell us about her movements of late?’
The director smiled, his thin lips curling upwards.
‘Well, as I already said, she was one of our interns, and she’d been stationed on the reception desk the past few days. As you know we were left short-staffed after that unfortunate incident with our previous secretary.’
Beside him, Emmett saw Steven scowl.
‘She was in yesterday?’
‘Yes, I believe so. I remember she arrived quite late, but then, she always seemed a little lax with punctuality, so there was nothing unusual about her behaviour, if that’s what you mean.’
‘And there was nothing visibly wrong? She didn’t seem upset or anxious?’
‘Not that I noticed.’
‘Did she leave with anyone?’
For some reason, Geoff appeared to blush, before quickly composing himself.
‘No. I can’t say that she did.’
‘And was there anyone here that she was particularly friendly with? Co-workers she might associate with outside of the office?’
The director twiddled his fingers before answering.
‘I don’t believe so. No.’
‘Did you notice anything unusual about her mannerisms in the last few shifts? Was she taking any personal phone calls during work hours? Did she seem preoccupied with something going on in her life?’
‘I really wouldn’t have a clue.’ Geoff raised his hands, as if summoning a higher power. ‘As you can see, my office is a long way from her desk, and I certainly don’t have time to monitor all our admin staff.’
‘Okay, well, if you think of anything else, please let me know.’ Emmett hoisted himself up out of the deep chair. ‘We’ll take a quick look at the security camera before we leave.’
‘Of course.’ The director smiled, then suddenly asked, ‘This latest incident, this . . disappearance, if you like. It won’t make it into the press, will it? It’s just not a great look for my business . . ’
Emmett gritted his teeth. ‘That’s really not my highest concern at this stage.’
As they headed back through the office, Emmett had the odd sensation of being watched. Scanning the sea of bent heads at desks, he eventually made eye contact with the woman he knew to be Sally.
‘Hello,’ he whispered, leaning over her small cubicle. ‘Do you have time for a quick chat?’
The woman’s gaze darted to the director’s office, before returning to Emmett. ‘I have a call with an investor in about ten minutes, so it needs to be quick.’
‘I’m just wondering what made you so worried about your colleague Abbie Knowles? Are you aware of any troubles in her life?’
Sally’s mouth twisted. ‘There’s nothing specific. In fact, I don’t know her very well at all, I just get the sense that she’s a bit . . well, a bit lost really.’
‘Lost? What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know how to explain it exactly. Most of the other women don’t like the way she dresses, and flirts with all the men here, but I think she’s sad – and lonely. She seems a little desperate: so eager to please.’
‘I see.’ Emmett lowered his voice. ‘And when you say she flirts with the men here . . is there anyone she’s especially friendly with?’
Sally shifted uncomfortably, and Emmett again noticed her eyes darting to the executives’ offices.
‘I know she was having a bit of a fling with one of the senior staff members, his name’s Marcus Weighton. He’s best buddies with Geoff, and a real piece of work too. I wanted to warn her off him, but it didn’t feel like my place to intervene, and I don’t think she realised we all knew.’
‘Right.’ Emmett glanced at Steven, who already seemed to be scouring the office, as though he’d recognise this mystery man. ‘And is Marcus here today?’
Sally popped her head up over her cubicle, looking around quickly before ducking back down. ‘I can’t see him, no.’
‘Do you mind taking a quick look at this for me?’ Emmett pulled out his phone and found a still shot of the security footage from the nursing home. ‘Could this man be Marcus Weighton?’
The woman squinted, little wrinkles forming on the bridge of her nose as she considered the picture. ‘I’ve never seen him dress like that, but it could be.’
‘He resembles that sort of figure? That height?’
‘Yeah, definitely.’
‘Okay, thanks for your help.’ Emmett indicated for his colleague to follow him back towards the reception area.
After collecting what little surveillance footage there was, they stood at the vacant reception desk, waiting uselessly for assistance.
Eventually, a stocky man with an absurdly trimmed moustache waltzed past, almost brushing Steven aside.
‘Oh, excuse me.’ Emmett called him over, flashing his police badge. ‘We were just waiting to get some details from one of your staff members, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone who’s able to assist us. Would you mind looking up the phone number and home address for Marcus Weighton?’
The man scrunched his forehead, as though greatly perturbed, before dropping his laptop bag dramatically on the desk before them.
‘I suppose so,’ he muttered, tapping the computer keyboard aggressively.
‘Has he been in today?’
‘Haven’t seen him.’
The grumpy man scribbled some details on a piece of paper. Emmett’s hands turned clammy.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Steven murmured, as they rushed back to the elevator. ‘We’re heading to St Kilda?’
Emmett nodded, waiting for the doors to close before speaking. ‘Marcus Weighton has a direct link to Rosemary Norman, he fits the physical profile of the man seen at the nursing home and he lives in the area where we know our two murdered women were last seen.’
Steven’s eyes were wide. ‘And now there’s another woman missing.’
‘Yes.’ Emmett’s stomach churned. ‘We need to hurry.’
The sheets underneath her were damp and sticky. How long was he going to leave her here for? Was this it?
Abbie tried again to wiggle into a more comfortable position, but the rope was cutting into her wrists, making even the slightest movement painful. She’d tried, unsuccessfully, to get whatever was wrapped around her head off, so that she could at least see where she was, but she’d only managed to suck the material into her mouth, making her feel like she was suffocating.
She was having intense dizzy spells too, and even though she knew she was lying on a mattress, at times it was as though she were doing cartwheels through the clouds, with no idea which way was up and which way was down.
How had this happened?
All she’d wanted was to have an honest relationship, to sit down and work out a future for herself and her little boy. She’d never imagined things would end like this.
What could she have possibly done to deserve such torture?
As more tears dribbled hopelessly down her cheeks, Abbie gave in to her despair. What would happen to her? And, most importantly, where was Spencer?
At first, she’d been able to hear the sounds of his laboured breathing, his soft crying and even, at one point, his cheeky laughter. But for a while now she’d heard nothing, the silence more terrifying than anything she’d endured so far. Where was her son? What had he done with him?
She closed her eyes as she wet the bed, yet again. It was hideous, and humiliating: her clothes sticking to her, sodden and smelly.
Abbie howled, her tears turning to pleas for help, before strange, guttural groaning rolled from her mouth. For the briefest of moments, she was sure her prayers had been answered, hearing male voices somewhere nearby. But then they vanished. She was completely alone. No one was coming for her; no one would miss her.
She ki
cked her legs furiously, the action, though futile, providing some sense of relief.
She wiggled her wrists again, before giving up. What would it be like for Spencer to grow up without her? Would he discover their true relationship? Would he forgive her for abandoning him?
Sometimes, Abbie thought, as a tear rolled onto her lower lip, it was as though her son knew of the secret bond they shared, moments when he’d look up at her with those big, wide pupils. Mum, his eyes would say.
She moaned. Just when her life was getting back on track, she was about to have it all taken away – her last moments to be spent in a pool of sweat, blood and urine.
The sound of heavy, slightly uneven footsteps from outside caused her to stiffen. She froze, barely breathing, blood pounding in her ears. He was coming – the sound of the key turning in the lock was just audible over the thumping beat of her heart.
As she lay there, bracing herself for what was to come, Abbie squeezed her eyes shut and imagined she was holding on to her son, the small body snuggled tight against her chest.
A blast of cold air hit her as the door swung open. The man’s footsteps neared.
She pictured her son’s face, his soft cheeks and blond curls, his pale lips and gentle smile. In her hands she felt his tiny fingers wrapping around hers, just the way they had when he’d first arrived into the world.
Why had she let him go? Her chest heaved, as something cold was placed around her neck. It was too late for regrets now.
With heavy breathing upon her, Abbie felt the last of her tears spill across her face.
She hadn’t been the best mother, but she had always loved her son. And she knew she could do better – if only she was given the chance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Marcus Weighton’s apartment was exactly as Emmett had expected – on the top floor of a towering new residential complex, directly opposite the iconic St Kilda Esplanade.
‘His views must be amazing,’ Steven marvelled, as they stepped out of the elevator and onto the fourteenth floor.
‘Yes.’ Emmett twitched anxiously. Should I have organised backup? There was nothing he could do now.
Pressing his ear against the door, he listened for any signs of activity.
‘Anything?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he whispered.
There’d certainly been muffled noises of some description, but whether they were coming from beyond Marcus’s door, or from another apartment, was impossible to tell.
‘Let’s just hope we’re not too late.’
He rapped firmly three times. Nothing.
‘Mr Weighton? Are you there?’
Silence.
‘Anyone home?’
Damn.
‘Shall we try the neighbours?’ Steven suggested.
‘I suppose so.’ Emmett’s shoulders slumped. They were up against the clock, but with no warrant and no way to see into the apartment, there was little more they could do. ‘Hello.’ He nodded to a man carrying bags of grocery shopping. ‘Have you seen anyone coming or going from apartment 14J recently?’
The man blinked vacantly before yawning and shaking his head. ‘No, sorry, I haven’t. But I’m on night shifts at the moment, so I’m a bit out of whack.’
‘Do you know the person that lives there?’
‘Nup.’ The man jiggled one of the bags restlessly, then gave up and placed it on the ground. ‘I don’t really know any of my neighbours. Everyone here keeps to themselves. That’s what I like about this place.’
Emmett passed him his card. ‘If you do see anyone enter that apartment, call me immediately.’
‘Sure.’ The man looked at the card in bewilderment.
After trying several more doors, they headed back down.
‘Do you want me to call Marcus’s mobile again?’ Steven asked.
‘Might as well.’ Emmett sighed as he watched his colleague press his phone to his ear. Where the hell is he?
‘It went straight to voicemail.’ Steven shoved the handset back in his pocket, shaking his head despondently. ‘You don’t suppose this morning’s press conference has scared him off?’
‘What?’ Emmett’s tone was unintentionally curt.
‘I was just thinking he might have seen himself on the news and gone into hiding . . ’
Of course. Emmett’s face fell. He’d known they should have held out a bit longer before releasing that footage, but he’d felt pressured by the more experienced homicide detectives.
‘You’re right.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘All we’ve done is alert Marcus that we’re onto him.’
‘Do you want me to chase up the others and see what background information they’ve managed to find? That might give us an idea of where he’s gone.’
‘Yes, and make sure they’ve cross-checked his name with those old school records. I’ll bet that Mr Weighton is a former classmate of Tom Norman.’
‘And should I head back then?’ Steven hovered anxiously in front of him.
‘I suppose so.’ Emmett hesitated, scanning the immediate vicinity. ‘I’ll wait here until I can get a patrol to sit off this address – just in case he shows up.’
‘Okay.’ Steven started to walk away, then turned suddenly. ‘We’re not making a mistake – are we?’
‘A mistake? What do you mean?’
‘Well’ – the young officer looked down sheepishly – ‘I’m just thinking, what if the disappearance of Abbie Knowles isn’t actually connected to our murder investigation at all? What if her working at the same place as Rosemary Norman is just a coincidence?’
Emmett frowned. In the distance a roller-coaster clanged as it dipped and rose along its tracks, the evening session at Luna Park getting busier. He dismissed the worry.
‘For one, I don’t believe in coincidences,’ he said, pulling out his notepad. ‘And secondly, even if it did turn out that she wasn’t connected to our investigation, she’s still a missing woman. And missing women don’t seem to be faring too well around this neighbourhood, do they?’
Cindy trudged through the shopping aisles, halfheartedly grabbing the odd canned or boxed item and popping it into her trolley.
As her feet led her to the frozen section, she considered the endless packets of chips, battered fish and meat pies. She had no intention of even perusing anything that resembled fresh produce.
‘Can I have this one, Mum? Please?’ Nicholas waved a box of something sweet.
‘Sure.’
He returned moments later.
‘And this?’
‘Okay.’
‘These come with a free toy!’
‘Fine.’
As her son skipped away, Cindy looked down at the junk food they were quickly accumulating, guilt getting the better of her. She sighed, and began removing unnecessary items; going shopping immediately after losing one’s job was clearly not a wise move.
‘What about . . ’
‘That’s enough.’ She grabbed the bag of chocolates from Nicholas’s sweaty grip and put it aside. ‘You don’t need more treats. And I’m taking these out too.’
Her son frowned as he watched his bag of gummies being abandoned by the frozen vegetable cabinet.
‘But you can keep the biscuits.’ Cindy patted him on the head.
From all accounts, Nicholas had endured a bit of a crummy day too. He’d complained bitterly about missing out on his sports class, an injustice only narrowly overshadowed by the loss of his favourite red pencil sharpener during art.
‘I hate Liam,’ he’d insisted earnestly, as they walked from the school gates that afternoon. ‘He broke it on purpose.’
‘Darling, that’s not a good thing to say. He’s your friend, you can’t really hate him.’
‘But I do hate him. I really do.’
Cindy had heard herself saying all the right things about acceptance and forgiveness, while silently agreeing wholeheartedly with her son. She knew what it was like to really hate someone, and Michael had stolen far more than
her favourite item of stationery.
‘Hey, look, squeaky toys!’ Nicholas picked up a rubber pig from the pet section, pressing on the animal’s rotund stomach, and giggling at its noisy groan. ‘Can we get one of these in case Dad lets me get a dog?’
‘We’re not getting a dog.’
‘But Jake has a dog, and Blade has a dog, and Tim has a . . well, he has a goldfish and it’s not very fun to play with, but . . ’
‘I said no.’ Cindy began pushing her much lighter trolley towards the checkout, then stopped when a thought occurred. ‘Actually, do you want to go and see some bunnies? I know a fun place where there’s lots of wild rabbits. They run around all over the place and they’re really cute. We could even get a hot chocolate afterwards . . if you behave.’
Nicholas dropped the squeaky pig in excitement and dashed down the aisle.
‘I’ll get some carrots,’ he called back.
Parking in the multi-storey carpark, well away from the red-brick building that was no longer her proud place of employment, Cindy suddenly felt foolish. What if she bumped into one of her former colleagues? Or worse, Vania?
She shook her head. It was late; they’d all be gone. And besides, she had nothing to be ashamed about.
Squeezing her son’s hand, she led the way down the dark stairwell, and out into the hub of shopping arcades.
‘Look!’ Nicholas pointed to an interactive play village, full of blue Smurf figurines. ‘Can I have a turn?’
‘Of course.’
As Nicholas cautiously assessed the blue people, Cindy noticed a familiar face grinning from the middle of the village.
‘Hey!’ Jordan waved enthusiastically. ‘Can you take a photo of me sitting next to Grouchy Smurf?’
‘Sure,’ Cindy said, delighted to see him again. ‘Smile.’
Jordan didn’t smile, instead folding his arms across his chest and furrowing his brow. ‘I’m trying to look like Grouchy. I’m not supposed to smile.’
Cindy chuckled. ‘Fair enough. We’re heading up along the bike path now, to have a look at the rabbits.’
Jordan tilted his head in confusion.
‘And the trains,’ Cindy quickly added. ‘We’ll look at the trains too. Did you want to join us?’
Sticks and Stones Page 29
