‘Yes!’ Jordan beamed, leaping over Handy Smurf, and almost collecting a young girl in the process.
Strolling along the path, Cindy was relieved to discover that the rabbits were only too happy to put on an evening show, bobbing up from the tall grass on one side of the track and sprinting across to the other, and she laughed as she watched Nicholas chase after them hopelessly with his carrots.
‘Why won’t they eat them?’
‘Maybe try leaving a small piece in the grass over there. They might be frightened.’
As she waited for her son to tire of his new game, Cindy turned her attention to Jordan, gently broaching the topic of the murdered women being found near Macaulay Station.
‘Did you ever notice anything suspicious around there?’ She lowered her voice, conscious of keeping her conversation out of Nicholas’s earshot.
Jordan shrugged. ‘I saw the police. And the men in orange.’
‘Men in orange?’
‘They were searching for something. They walked in lines. But it was annoying because they taped off part of the track and I couldn’t get good photos of the evening trains.’
‘Would you mind if I had a look at your photo gallery?’
‘You want to see my trains?’
‘Yes, the photos of the trains. And anything else you took too.’
The boy happily passed her his phone, peering over Cindy’s shoulder and commentating on every picture.
‘That’s the express train, that’s the city train – it’s always busy – that one is usually late . . ’
Cindy flicked through as quickly as was polite until, finally, she came to a very different image.
‘Oh.’ She felt her heart freeze.
‘What is it, Mum?’ Nicholas had given up on feeding the rabbits, and was now tugging at her sleeve.
Jordan leant over and checked the screen, his face solemn.
‘That’s the angry man.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
‘We’ve had the warrant approved to search Marcus Weighton’s apartment,’ Bianca barked, before Emmett even had time to make it through the doorway. ‘Building management have a key, so I’ve sent Williams out to get it from their head office.’
‘Great.’ Emmett placed his bag on a spare seat, and joined his team at the table in the conference room.
He looked from the open laptops to the sheets of paper bundled in folders.
‘How’s it going otherwise?’
Ted rubbed his chin. ‘We’re getting quite a good response to this morning’s press conference – lots of tips in to the hotline. Carter and I are following up any leads.’
‘Names?’
‘Plenty of people believe they recognise the man in the footage – but the problem is all the identities are different. And so far, there’s no one that matches anyone in our database. We’re about to start doing a ring-around to try and eliminate people.’
‘Has Marcus’s name come up?’
‘No.’ Ted ran a finger down a handwritten page of notes. ‘But keep in mind, most people are only just getting home from work about now, and may not have even seen the news yet.’
‘True.’ Emmett drummed his fingers on the table. ‘What about the background checks?’
‘He’s not in the system,’ Bianca said, still tapping away furiously at her keyboard. ‘I’ve made the usual inquiries, but haven’t got anything yet.’
‘And nothing further on Abbie Knowles?’
‘Nothing at all.’ Bianca’s eyes darted to her homicide colleague, the pair clearly sharing a similar misgiving.
‘What is it?’ Emmett pressed.
Ted lowered his head. Bianca twisted her mouth.
‘Are you sure that this woman has something to do with our murder investigation?’ she finally asked. ‘I mean, she’s not even the same profile as the other victims. She’s a good ten years younger than both Rosemary and Natale, and she’s got no known connection to the nursing home – which is where all the evidence has been leading us.’
Emmett clamped his lips. Follow the evidence. He heard her words ringing in his ears. But that’s exactly what he was doing.
‘You don’t think a second woman going missing from DGP Finance is a lead worth pursuing?’ His cheeks flushed. ‘Or the fact that a colleague of both Rosemary Norman and Abbie Knowles has identified Marcus Weighton as potentially being the man in the nursing home footage?’
Bianca’s nostrils flared, but her tone softened.
‘I’m just worried we’re wasting precious resources – and time – on someone who might have simply decided to get away for a few days.’
Emmett opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by a furious buzzing.
‘Sorry.’ Steven clumsily reached for his phone, swiping at it like it was a wasp and only managing to knock it further across the table, just out of his reach.
Emmett grabbed it and answered the unknown number on his colleague’s behalf.
‘This is Steven Carter’s phone . . Sorry, who is this?’
The shock must have been obvious in his voice, because he became acutely aware of all eyes suddenly upon him.
‘Oh, hello, Mr Weighton, thanks for calling us back. At the West Melbourne headquarters? Yes, that would be great. See you soon.’
After he hung up, his team sat in stunned silence, until Bianca could no longer contain her glee.
‘So Marcus Weighton isn’t hiding from us, then?’ she teased.
‘He claims to have been in meetings all day,’ Emmett muttered as he headed for the door, nausea building in his stomach. ‘But he’ll be here in about half an hour. Let’s see what he has to say for himself then.’
The cafe was closing up, so Cindy bought three hot chocolates in takeaway cups, and led Nicholas and Jordan to the waterfront. The boys chatted happily between themselves, leaving her to mull over her own worries.
Behind the Bolte Bridge, the sun was setting, the last hints of its light reflecting in golden rivers on the water below. What a dramatic day.
Cindy sipped her drink. She didn’t want to think about what the weeks ahead would involve: the empty hours alone at home, the restless nights . . but her memories of the immediate past were not much better.
‘Are you sure there are marshmallows in here?’ Jordan prodded the contents of his cup with the end of his plastic spoon.
‘They’re under the foam,’ Nicholas answered wisely, licking his lips.
Cindy turned to the boys.
‘Jordan, would you mind if we deleted those photos that you showed me?’
The teenager’s eyes widened, his body hunching forward so that his back arched, reminding her of a frightened cat. ‘You want me to delete my trains?’
‘No, not your trains.’ Cindy shook her head. ‘But could we get rid of those pictures of the angry man? I’d prefer no one else saw them.’
Jordan frowned, a hand protectively hovering over his jacket pocket, where his phone was kept. Then he shrugged. ‘I suppose so,’ he said, passing her the phone.
Cindy flicked through the photo gallery, her heart again pounding as she saw his pictures. Jordan hadn’t captured the killer in action – he’d photographed her, with Michael.
She scowled as she looked at the images; there they were, walking aimlessly along the bike path, admiring the view back over the Docklands, and huddled together under the freeway.
The one that upset her the most showed her perched on a concrete pylon, trying to photograph the herons. She was staring straight ahead, while Michael’s arm was wrapping itself around her waist. Like a python, about to strike.
It was confronting to see the two of them as an outsider might. So mismatched, so wrong.
After deleting them all, and triple-checking there weren’t any more, Cindy passed the phone back to Jordan.
‘Do you want to photograph trains with me tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think I’ll be in tomorrow. In fact, I probably won’t be back for quite
a while.’ Cindy smiled sadly, realising she might never see Jordan again. ‘But I promise I’ll keep an eye out for you the next time I’m here.’
Jordan looked to the water, his face fixed in concentration as he slurped the last of his hot chocolate.
‘I love trains,’ he eventually whispered.
When Marcus Weighton arrived at the station headquarters, Emmett watched Bianca reluctantly shake hands.
The man oozed sleaze, carrying his suit jacket ridiculously over one shoulder, his mouth set in a permanent smirk.
‘Thank you for coming in so promptly.’ Emmett led the way to a spare interview room, where he sat beside his colleague at a small table, and assessed the man opposite.
Marcus appeared to be aged in his early forties, with dark brown hair and a thin build. But was he the man in the footage?
Emmett frowned. He certainly could be.
‘So, what’s all this about?’ Marcus crossed one leg dramatically over the other, leaning back in the plastic chair. ‘The voice messages said it was something to do with Abbie Knowles? The intern at my office?’
‘That’s right.’ Emmett’s nose twitched as a heavy waft of cologne drifted across the table. ‘I understand the two of you were dating?’
‘Dating?’ Marcus scoffed. ‘Hardly.’
‘Well, how would you describe it?’ Emmett sighed.
‘We hooked up once. But it was a mistake. Nothing more to it.’
‘A mistake? How so?’
‘We went out – there were a few of us in a group – and everyone had a few too many drinks. She threw herself at me, and I foolishly went home with her.’
‘What night was this?’
‘Last Friday.’
‘Just four days ago?’
‘Yes. But I haven’t spoken to her since.’
‘Really?’ Emmett pressed. ‘Even though you worked in the same office?’
‘I managed to avoid her.’
‘How good of you,’ Bianca muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
Marcus sneered, undoing a cufflink as he settled back further in the chair. ‘I can do a lot better than women like Abbie Knowles, believe me.’
‘Regardless,’ Emmett cut in, determined to keep the conversation on track, ‘you say you went home with her on the Friday evening. Was that to her place or yours?’
‘Hers.’
‘And you left on the Saturday?’
‘As early as I could.’
‘Was her son there as well?’
‘What?’ Marcus looked genuinely perplexed. ‘She has a son?’
‘Yes.’
He shook his head. ‘I had no idea.’
‘He wasn’t there?’
‘No.’
‘And what happened on the Monday, when you were both at work? Did she try to speak with you?’
‘Of course.’ The trademark smirk returned as Marcus stroked his chin. ‘She’d been messaging me nonstop all weekend too. I couldn’t get rid of her.’
‘When was the last time you heard from her?’
Marcus pulled out his phone, theatrically swiping his fingers across the screen to unlock it.
‘It was late last night,’ he murmured, scrolling through text messages. ‘There you go.’ He pushed the phone across the table.
Emmett and Bianca both leant in.
Are you home? I have a little surprise for you.
Emmett frowned, looking from his colleague back to Marcus. What did that mean?
‘And you didn’t respond?’
‘Of course not.’
‘You weren’t interested in what this “surprise” might be?’
‘Hardly.’
‘She didn’t turn up at your place?’
‘How could she? She didn’t even know my address.’
There was a knock at the door. As Bianca went to attend to it, Marcus leant towards Emmett.
‘Listen, are you going to tell me what all this is about? Is Abbie accusing me of something? Because it’ll be lies, whatever she’s saying, don’t listen to a word of it.’
‘No, she’s not accusing you of anything . . ’ Emmett paused, stopping to read the slip of paper that his colleague had just passed him.
Nothing significant found in the search of Marcus’s place, Steven’s jagged handwriting read.
Emmett sank in his chair. Why couldn’t he catch a break?
‘Do you have someone who can verify your whereabouts last night and today?’ He forced himself to remain composed.
‘Absolutely.’ Marcus’s grin widened. ‘I had a mate drinking with me at home most of last night, and today I’ve been in back-to-back meetings. I’ll get you the details.’
‘Terrific,’ Emmett muttered.
His investigation was going nowhere.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It was nearly 8 a.m. when Emmett finally dragged himself out of bed, tiptoeing past his son’s bedroom and down to the kitchen.
Flicking the kettle on, his eyes landed on Nicholas’s school report cards, which had been left neatly stacked on the table since Monday night. He quickly flipped through them, laughing at the generous comments about his boy’s love of art and sport, and his ‘eagerness to take on leadership roles during group activities’.
My little bossy boots. Emmett smiled, pushing the report cards away.
He’d really hoped he would have this investigation wrapped up by now, if not for the sake of the victims’ grieving relatives, then for his own family. How many more milestones was he going to miss?
He sighed, pouring himself a mug of instant coffee.
It had been a particularly rough night, with Cindy’s intermittent sobs echoing throughout the darkness. And even when she had managed to sleep, he hadn’t.
He slumped down at the table.
His wife had been so proud of her new photography job, and he didn’t like to think that she might deteriorate back to where she had been in the months after Nicholas’s birth: teary, lonely and utterly depressed.
How could they just terminate her position like that? The buzzing of his phone interrupted this train of thought.
‘Hello, Detective Corban speaking.’ He took a sip of coffee as he waited for the unknown caller to respond. ‘Oh, Detective Cruz! Good to hear from you.’
He’d meant to phone Jacquie yesterday to see how the investigation into Owen Peters’ missing girlfriend was going.
‘We’ve done a full sweep of the area between the medical clinic and her home in Moonee Ponds, and we’ve found a good deal of security footage.’ The detective’s words were slow and measured. ‘We know that Charlotte got within about a kilometre of her house before disappearing.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, so we’re wondering if she met up with someone local.’
‘Right . . ’ Emmett clicked his tongue, considering this.
‘The thing is . . ’ Jacquie’s voice lowered, as though someone might be listening in. ‘Mr Peters mentioned some concerns about a former partner of Charlotte’s, but he was quite vague on the details, and a little sheepish about it all, so I wondered if you might know more about that?’
Emmett hesitated. Owen hadn’t mentioned anything to him about an ex-boyfriend, but then again, they’d never got into any intimate details.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you with that at all. What do you mean by sheepish?’
‘He was just a bit cagey about it – almost as though he was feeling guilty or embarrassed. I wondered if Charlotte might have been scared of this man. All Owen said was that he lived around the area and was unemployed.’
‘Okay . . But he wasn’t able to give you a name?’
‘No. He says he never met the man, and only knew snippets about his life from what Charlotte told him.’
‘What’s your gut feel?’ Emmett asked.
Down the phone, he heard the detective exhale.
‘I really don’t like to presume anything.’ She hesitated. ‘But I will say that I’m extre
mely keen to know who this former partner is, especially if he lives nearby. Given we know that Charlotte almost made it home, identifying him could be critical.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I’m actually heading to Mr Peters’ house now. Hopefully I can pry more information out of him. Although he doesn’t seem that comfortable opening up to me.’
After agreeing to keep in touch, Emmett hung up, staring numbly across the kitchen. Maybe passing the case over was a mistake? Owen had trusted him. He clearly wasn’t as comfortable with Jacquie.
Grabbing some clothes from the laundry and splashing his face with cold water, Emmett scribbled a quick message to his wife: Enjoy the day off, you deserve it! Let’s look for new job opportunities together later this week xo
Then he stepped out of the front door, and headed to his car.
At the first intersection he flicked the right indicator on just as he always did, before suddenly changing his mind.
Owen Peters lived in Moonee Ponds, only a couple of suburbs further out from the city. The detour wouldn’t cost him that much time, and he was certain that Jacquie would appreciate the support. It wouldn’t hurt to pay a quick visit.
Heading away from the city the traffic was light, and Emmett made good time, racing past the bright architecture of the Royal Children’s Hospital, beyond the entry to the Tullamarine Freeway, and along the now very familiar Mount Alexander Road.
He slowed as he neared the grotty chicken shop where Steven had met the teenager with Rosemary Norman’s phone.
What was his name again?
Emmett bit his lower lip.
Samir, that’s right.
As he passed the turnoff for the small building that housed the Flemington police station, he remembered the video they’d found on Samir’s phone, and the way the teenager had crumpled to the floor when questioned.
I wonder whether his friends were ever charged over the assault?
Emmett pulled up outside a block of four units.
Peering from his window, he tried to read the numbers on the letterboxes. Owen lived in unit 1D. It must be the one right up the back.
After typing a quick message to his colleagues to let them know he’d be late, he left the car and looked up and down the street.
Sticks and Stones Page 30
