‘God knows why I’ve kept this all these years.’ Gemma could hear it was a struggle to speak. ‘I thought perhaps you might like it, Miss Lincoln,’ she breathed.
Gemma saw that it was a photo of her father, taken, she imagined, in the early years of his marriage, when he was a leading and respected psychiatrist developing his theories about mental illness. She looked at his handsome features, the thick, brushed-back hair, the hint of a smile, the way his head was cocked forward as if he were about to say, ‘Have I got something to tell you!’ She handed it back. ‘I don’t think I want it.’
The two women sat in silence for some time, the framed picture on a small table between them.
‘You said that you had something important to tell me. Concerning my family.’ Feeling extremely tense, Gemma deliberately relaxed her neck and shoulders, loosening the tightness, breathing deeply.
‘You will remember,’ said Dr Wylde, ‘how I told you there had been another woman involved with your father at the same time I was.’ She laughed. ‘I was so jealous of her then.’
‘Yes,’ said Gemma.
Outside, lorikeets screeched and both of them watched as a flock screamed and fought over the red blossom fronds of a rainforest tree at the end of the garden.
‘I didn’t tell you everything,’ said Rowena Wylde. ‘I mentioned the affair and that the woman had suicided.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t mention the baby.’
Gemma stiffened with shock. ‘There was a baby?’
‘I can’t even imagine what jealousy feels like now,’ said Dr Wylde. ‘But back then I found out the woman’s name. Kingston. Beverley Kingston. The family lived at Hargreaves Street, Paddington.’ Her drawn face lifted in a half smile. ‘I know that because I went through your father’s pockets once when he was visiting me here and found a letter from her. That’s how I found out about the affair and the baby.’
‘And when was this?’ said Gemma, her voice trembling. She felt her world had changed yet again, swung off orbit into a new and alien trajectory. ‘I mean,’ she whispered, ‘how old would Kit, my sister, and I have been?’
‘You were only a little thing.’
‘So the child would be younger than me?’
‘You’re thirty-seven? Thirty-eight now?’
Gemma nodded. ‘Nearly thirty-nine.’
‘So she’d be—’
‘She?’
‘Oh, yes. It was a girl.’
Gemma felt something move in her heart. Another sister. A woman who’d be thirty-three or four. She tried to imagine her. Would she have the Chisholm jaw and thick tawny hair like she had? Or would she favour the Lincolns’ pale skin and fine dark hair?
‘Let me get you a whisky,’ said Dr Wylde. ‘My physician told me not to drink and I said, “Why? Are you worried about my health?”’ She laughed.
Gemma wanted to be out of there, fast, out of that house, away from the woman who had known her father in such a way. She wondered if her mother had known about this Beverley Kingston and her pregnancy. Perhaps the reason for the fight her parents had on the day of her mother’s death was about her father being involved with two other women—the woman she was sitting with now and the suicided Beverley Kingston. She suddenly felt nauseous and stood up. ‘I must go.’
Rowena Wylde remained seated as Gemma walked to the doorway. ‘Are you sure you don’t want that photograph of your father?’ She called after her. ‘If you ever find your half-sister, don’t you think she might like to see what her father looked like?’
Gemma paused, irresolute. Finally, she came back into the room and took the photograph from Rowena Wylde, slipping it into her briefcase.
Dr Wylde returned to her chair and Gemma let herself out and into the brilliant, hot summer day. She stood a few seconds, blinking tears away.
•
She was hardly aware of driving and was halfway across the Harbour Bridge when her mobile rang. It was Kit.
‘Thank goodness you’re home at last,’ said Gemma. ‘I need to see you now. Can I come round?’
Kit was in her garden, dark hair tied back in a ribbon, cheeks flushed with the heat, cutting back a climbing rose that was threatening to take over the entire western wall. She kissed Gemma and glanced at her watch. ‘I’m expecting a client in twenty minutes.’
Gemma tried to sit down under the umbrella, but she couldn’t be still so she went to the pond and stood watching dragonflies hovering while Kit pulled her gardening gloves off and washed her sweaty face under the tap. ‘I’ve just come from Rowena Wylde’s place,’ she said, turning to Kit.
At the sound of the name of their late father’s mistress, Kit made a little exclamation of surprise and turned the tap off. ‘And?’ She straightened up, wiping her hands on a hankie.
Gemma took a deep breath. ‘Do you remember me telling you ages ago about the other woman our father was involved with? The one who was threatening suicide if our father didn’t leave our mother?’
Kit nodded. ‘Yes. One of his patients.’
‘Rowena Wylde told me that this woman had a baby girl. To our father.’
The two sisters stared at each other.
‘I wonder what became of her?’ Kit said eventually.
‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Gemma. ‘Maybe a grandmother brought her up?’
Kit sat down at the table. ‘Or she was adopted out?’
‘We must find her,’ said Gemma quietly, then dug around in her briefcase and pulled out the framed photograph of their father. ‘Dr Wylde gave me this.’
Kit took it, studied it, handed it back. ‘I’m not sure I’ve made my peace with him,’ she said as her doorbell rang. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she kissed Gemma and watched as she let herself out, then started to go inside.
‘I’m going to find her,’ Gemma said emphatically.
‘As long as she wants to be found,’ Kit called after her.
Gemma climbed into her car and found the address of Amy Bernhard’s mother. She needed to take her mind off her own family.
Five
Lauren Bernhard let Gemma in, barely glancing at her ID, and led her right through the house to an enclosed garden room surrounded by a verandah. ‘Until the detectives came round yesterday with Amy’s gold chain,’ Lauren said, ‘I could hope. There was always the chance that she’d turn up. Now the hope has gone. And I have a funeral to look forward to.’ She turned to face Gemma, who saw that behind the woman’s dark blue eyes lay an ocean of grief. ‘When she’s given back to me. They told me there wasn’t much of her left. Just her bones and some hair. And the gold chain.’
‘I’m so terribly sorry, Mrs Bernhard. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you.’
‘No,’ said the other. ‘You can’t.’
The back verandah had a clothes horse with some washing drying on it and a couple of cane chairs on either side of a square table.
‘Sit down,’ said Lauren and Gemma did. ‘Even though I know she’s dead now, I keep thinking she’s just going to run inside and slam the door behind her. I was always yelling at her not to slam the door.’ She brushed something from the surface of the table. ‘What did you want to ask me?’
‘Her father,’ Gemma said. ‘What sort of terms was she on with him?’
Lauren raised her eyes to heaven. ‘Him? Same terms as anyone was. Take a numbered ticket and wait your turn.’ Gemma saw she was gripping the sides of the chair. ‘Andrew’s not a bad man, he’s just a hopeless father,’ she said. ‘I divorced him years ago, when Amy was just a little thing. It’s tough for him, sure, but less so.’
‘So they didn’t see each other much?’ asked Gemma.
Lauren shook her head. ‘His new wife didn’t get on with Amy. She didn’t encourage any visiting.’
‘And your second husband? How did Amy ge
t on with him?’ Gemma asked, remembering what Claudia had said about Amy and her stepfather.
There was a long silence. ‘At first,’ Lauren said, ‘they seemed to be okay together.’
‘And then?’ Gemma prompted.
‘It’s hard to explain. But, to cut a long story short, they ended up fighting about everything. Arguing all the time.’
Gemma remembered Miss de Berigny’s remarks about two failed marriages.
‘And then, after he left and disagreed with the Family Court, he joined a lobby group,’ Lauren continued.
‘Can you tell me more about that?’
‘It’s a mob called Fathers for Family and Marriage,’ Lauren snapped. ‘They wear black and mask the lower half of their faces, just like the bad guys in the old cowboy films.’
‘I’ve seen them,’ Gemma recalled. ‘They lobby the Family Court and hang around the homes of their exes.’
‘That’s them,’ Lauren nodded. ‘They call it “vigiling for family and marriage”. I call it stalking. Eric really found himself when he joined them. Suddenly—and for the first bloody time, I can tell you—marriage was sacred. Now, it’s like he’s got religion.’ She appealed to Gemma. ‘Can you imagine what it feels like to have a dozen or so masked men dressed all in black standing outside your house?’
‘I can’t. But I know I wouldn’t like it one bit,’ said Gemma, the image disturbing. ‘I’d like his contact details, please.’
Lauren got them and Gemma copied the phone number and address into her notebook.
‘Anything else that might be helpful?’ she asked.
‘Only that there was a funny incident in October last year. Alistair from next door told me he’d seen a man in the bushes outside Amy’s room. I’ll bet it was one of those blackshirts. Could even have been bloody Eric. Although I think Alistair would have recognised him if that had been the case.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘Amy used to say the initials FFM stood for Fathers who’ve Fucked their Marriages. She could be quite outspoken at times.’
Gemma recalled the statistics regarding the prominence of stepfathers and de facto male partners in sexual and other abuse. ‘Did you report the peeping incident to the police?’
‘Yes, I did,’ Lauren said. ‘I spoke to the detective in charge of the case—he thought it might have been kids. He said they’d look into it.’
In light of the girl’s disappearance only a month or so later, Gemma hoped there’d been more action than the old ‘look into it’ routine. She’d definitely check it out. ‘What’s your next-door neighbour like?’ she asked.
‘Alistair? Oh, he’s harmless. Funny old chap. He’s lived alone since his mother died a few years back.’
Gemma made a note to call on him then returned her attention to her companion. ‘Lauren,’ she said, ‘help me. I need to find out what sort of girl Amy was.’
Lauren Bernhard closed her eyes for a long moment before speaking. ‘How can I tell you that? How can I tell anyone how she was?’ Lauren stood up. ‘Amy was my daughter.’
Gemma rose, too. Lauren briefly touched her arm. ‘Come with me.’
Gemma followed her upstairs until they came to a closed door with a folksy painted shingle: Amy’s Room. Lauren opened the door and Gemma followed her in.
Lauren sat on the bed. ‘Amy was this sort of girl,’ she said, indicating the room.
Gemma looked around. It was full of bright colours: a red and blue bedspread and, on top, four dramatic red and black velvet cushions decorated with the suits of cards—hearts, diamonds, spades and clubs. School banners and pennants, along with American and Australian heart-throbs of screen and television, adorned the bright yellow walls. Various pots of nail polish, lipsticks and lotions clustered on a small dressing table next to the window and a large portrait of Amy wearing an off-the-shoulder white evening dress hung over the bed.
Opposite the bed, a large teddy bear wearing an exotic feathered mask and draped with the Eureka stockade flag sat on a desk which also held pens, pencils and a large computer and keyboard. Below it was a box piled high with clothes. Lauren noticed her looking at it.
‘The police searched all that. And checked her emails and everything. But they didn’t find anything.’
‘This is a very well-equipped study room,’ Gemma said.
‘Yes,’ Lauren agreed. ‘I even got broadband on especially for her. She liked to be up with the latest. Andrew started helping financially last year. I had to ask him, but, to his credit, he came to the party.’
On the shelf next to the teddy bear stood a photo of Amy with a friend on each side, the girls’ arms around each other’s shoulders, laughing in the Australian sunlight, healthy beautiful girls with gleaming hair and perfect teeth. Gemma picked it up.
‘Claudia and Tasmin,’ Lauren said. ‘Thick as thieves they were. They did everything together. You know how girls of that age are.’
Gemma studied Tasmin Summers, now missing too. She was slighter, less developed than the other two, a sylph with glossy dark hair and strong brows.
‘Did Amy take anything with her that day? Apart from the usual school things, I mean,’ Gemma asked.
‘No, just the usual, although I noticed she’d taken her make-up purse. But that wasn’t really unusual. She sometimes took that.’
‘Nothing else? No extra clothing or anything like that?’
Lauren shook her head.
Gemma stood in silence, looking around the bedroom, taking it in. She was getting something of Amy’s flavour, her interests. Slowly she put the photograph down, glancing again at the exotic mask worn by the teddy. She reached over and touched it. ‘May I?’ Lauren nodded.
With its silver and black feathers spraying sideways in a starburst, the mask was designed to hide all the upper face and hair. Gemma held it up to her face in front of the mirror and an exotic bird-woman stared back at her, beautiful and a little sinister.
A silence seemed to spread like a ripple through the room until Lauren stood up, breaking the spell.
•
Back home, Gemma put the photograph of her father in the drawer in the hall table and closed it firmly. The portrait of her mother stood above it on the polished surface.
Later, after Angie had picked up her briefcase, Gemma sat in the last of the evening light, on the timber deck with her laptop, the purloined photocopied case notes in a pile on the wooden table, trying to bring her straying thoughts home.
She paused from typing up her notes from the edgy conversation with Claudia and the interview with Lauren Bernhard. Now she had the contact details of both Amy’s father and stepfather. She wondered how thoroughly either of these men had been investigated in the initial enquiry after Amy’s disappearance. Might a man who had a serious grudge against his ex-wife have something to do with the disappearance of her daughter? Statistically speaking, stepfathers and de factos were the most dangerous men in a young girl’s world. Such men accounted for a high percentage of sexual and other abuse—up to and including murder.
Gemma made a sketch of Amy Bernhard’s room, as well as she could remember it. She looked up from her notes. Normally honeyeaters flitted in the bushes near the edge of the cliff but they were finding their roosts for the night. Waves of anger and grief about Steve assailed her. She tried to black them out by thinking about her long-lost half-sister. What sort of friends did she have? Was she happy? Were there photographs of her with her arms linked around her mates? Maybe she was still living in this city. How had she dealt with the suicide of her mother? Did she even know about it?
Turning her focus back to the case of the two schoolgirls, Gemma considered the similarities linking them. They were best friends and both students of Netherleigh Park. In victimology, Gemma knew, every tiny thing was important.
She read over her notes again and reflected on the interview wi
th Claudia. The girl was rattled. She definitely knew more than she was letting on—of that, Gemma was certain. A few more shakes and maybe she’d drop off the branch.
She settled down to read more of the photocopies of the ‘borrowed’ witness statements. As she read, she started to get an even clearer picture of the relationship between Amy, Tasmin and Claudia. According to all the witness statements, the trio were inseparable. They go everywhere together, Gemma read.
I catch the same bus. They always sat together on the bus and if anyone tried to sit up the back in their places, they just weren’t allowed. Last time I saw Amy was when we were going home on the first of December and she was huddled up at the back of the bus with Tasmin and Claudia as usual, giggling together like they always do. Next day, I heard she’d left the school grounds some time during the morning of the second of December. I don’t know any reason she might have gone missing.
Gemma put the witness statement at the back of the folder. I must talk to Tasmin’s family, she thought, pulling out the next one, another student.
My name is Tiffany Louise Brown and the last time I saw Amy Bernhard was the morning of December second when we were at the bus stop. The bus was quite crowded that morning. Amy is in the same class as me, but we do different level Maths. Someone told me she’d gone missing from the school grounds that morning. I can’t think of any reason why she might run away.
Gemma remembered that Tiffany was the name of the girl who’d showed her the way upstairs at the school, and who’d said somewhat resentfully that Claudia did everything extremely well. She made a note of Tiffany Brown’s address then read the next statement.
My name is Sandra Margaret McCauley and I teach History and English at Netherleigh Park. On the morning of the second December I was on playground duty during morning break. Usually, there are two of us, one to cover the back playground area and one for the side nearest Koolah Avenue, but I was covering both areas as Miss Handley had called in sick. I didn’t see Amy Bernhard leaving the school grounds, but it would be quite easy for any student to slip out during the morning unnoticed. People are often coming and going from both entrances during the day.
Spiking the Girl Page 8
