by AK Leigh
Carrie replied, ‘Ah, so it’s unclear whether the suspect thought she was dead and tried to get rid of the body by tossing it in the river, or whether the killer knew she wasn’t dead and took her to the river to finish off the job?’
‘That’s right.’
Lizzie added, ‘So we need to figure out if this is a manslaughter or murder charge as well?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Is it known whether the river was the first or second location?’
‘The forensic and autopsy reports agree it was the second location.’
Interesting. That meant the murder had been carried out at one place and the body was subsequently moved. Lizzie pulled out the notepad and pen she always carried in her purse and wrote: Victim possibly hit on the head, causing unconsciousness. Killer probably took her to the river to hide or dispose of the body—unlikely that the murder happened at the river according to forensics and autopsy—causing her to die by drowning. Did the killer know she wasn’t dead before throwing her in?
Carrie asked, ‘Was it blunt or sharp trauma?’
‘Blunt.’
Which meant it was something like a baseball bat, smooth surfaced rock, metal pipe, or other unsharpened, though solid object that had knocked Maryann out.
Lizzie added the words ‘blunt trauma’ to her notes then peered up. ‘Any theories on why she was tied up?’
‘That is another odd part about this case. The educated guesses in the police reports have suggested it probably happened before the head trauma occurred. Maybe she wasn’t co-operating so she got hit on the head to settle her down? Having said that, there was no evidence of a struggle at the binding sites.’
‘Which means she didn’t fight against the bindings?’
‘Right.’
‘Which she likely would have if she’d been tied up while conscious?’
‘Yes.’
‘So it makes little sense that she was bound before the head trauma, and even less after it?’
‘That about sums it up.’
Lizzie jotted it all down, then looked up.
Carrie exhaled. ‘Fantastic. Another easy one.’
Nina shrugged, ‘That’s the reason they’re cold cases. If they were easy, we wouldn’t be investigating them.’
Lizzie gave a sarcastic chuckle, ‘Then why do we do this again?’
Nina smiled, ‘To help people like us.’
With a straight face, Carrie quipped, ‘What? One sixty-fourth Aboriginal people?’
Nina rolled her eyes, ‘Ha, ha. You know what I mean.’
‘Ugh. I know. You just sound like Lizzie saying it like that.’
‘Hey. What does that mean?’ Lizzie threw Carrie an unimpressed, though not angry, look. She knew Carrie well enough to know this had the makings of a joke.
‘Sappy.’
Lizzie grinned, ‘A little sappiness won’t kill you, you know?’
‘It might. Besides, we’re not the only orphans in the world.’
Nina replied, ‘Yes … but you know I didn’t mean that either.’
Their little sister always tried to lighten the mood whenever the subject of their parents came up.
Carrie responded with a sharp nod and looked away. ‘I know.’
A sudden sombreness enveloped them.
Nina cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, we’re getting off topic here again.’
Lizzie straightened, and asked, ‘Are there any suspects?’
‘So far the only suspect is the husband.’
Carrie scoffed, ‘Isn’t it always?’
Lizzie gave her sister a warm smile. She understood where Carrie’s disillusionment with love came from. To block any tension from arising, she mocked, ‘Hey, why don’t you leave the criminal profiling to me? That’s my area of expertise the last time I checked.’
It had the desired effect.
Carrie smiled, ‘Sorry. How about a question related to my field then? What did forensics say?’
Their little sister had qualifications in both Forensic Science and Forensic Anthropology. A fact Lizzie always found impressive.
‘Trace DNA, in the form of blood and skin cells, was found under her fingernails.’
‘But?’
‘It proved to be inconclusive.’
‘Bugger.’
‘Yep.’
Lizzie noted the forensic information on her pad.
Carrie said, ‘What else do you know?’
‘The husband has an alibi.’
‘Which I’m guessing is why he hasn’t been charged or arrested yet?’
‘Exactly.’
Lizzie asked, ‘Where was he at the time of the murder?’
One corner of Nina’s mouth lifted. Her eyes zoomed in on Carrie when she said, ‘His mistress’s.’
Carrie groaned, ‘Of course he was.’
A thought came to Lizzie as she scribbled the information down. ‘They could both be lying? Creating an alibi for each other? Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.’
Nina nodded, ‘That’s what I thought too. But I read through the paperwork. The initial investigation seems pretty solid. Other people—at least six guests—witnessed them at the hotel on the night Maryann disappeared.’
Lizzie suggested, ‘Hit man maybe?’
‘Or an enemy? Of the wife and/or husband? Could be a revenge attack?’
‘All possibilities that have been looked into. They’re all dead ends.’
Carrie asked, ‘Could it be lazy police work?’
‘Maybe, but I don’t think so.’
Lizzie hated the question she was about to ask, but knew it was highly likely to be the case. ‘Was there any evidence of sexual trauma?’
Nina gave a hesitant nod, ‘There was evidence of sexual conduct, but the coroner was unable to determine whether it was consensual or not. Semen for DNA analysis was not found, either because the assailant using a condom or the amount of time the victim was in the water before she was found.’
Carrie asked, ‘How long was that?’
‘About seventy-two hours.’
‘Was she clothed or naked?’
‘Another interesting factor. She was wearing a black dress but had no bra or underwear on.’
‘Ooh, that is interesting.’
As Lizzie added all of that to her notes, movement at her side made her tilt her face up.
It was the waiter. A male waiter. Great. She inspected the man. His dark blond slicked back hair, coupled with the too-confident grin on his lips, told her from experience they were in for a night of silly jokes and borderline inappropriate sexual innuendos.
In an overly enthusiastic tone, he said, ‘Your menus, ladies.’ Once he’d placed the brown leather menus in front of each of them, he smirked and said, ‘Might I suggest the triple smoked salmon for your main?’
Of course, he emphasised the word ‘triple’.
It had begun.
Nina crossed her arms in front of her chest. Things were about to get interesting.
Lizzie placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward just as Nina said, ‘If you can’t keep the pathetic triplet jokes to yourself, send over someone who can. Unless you’d prefer I discuss your rudeness with the manager?’
The waiter’s jaw dropped open; his face reddened.
‘And we’re vegetarian.’
Lizzie lifted a hand to her mouth, covering a satisfied grin. Carrie didn’t bother to hide hers.
The waiter stuttered a response, ‘In that case, uh, might I suggest the creamy mushroom, English spinach, and white wine risotto?’
Together, the three of them answered, ‘Sounds good.’
‘Can I get you any drinks?’
Nina replied, ‘Just water.’ When Carrie opened her mouth to add her preference, Nina cut in, ‘For all of us. Thank you.’
Lizzie didn’t bother to argue and neither did Carrie. Their big sister had made a decision and was enforcing it, which meant she had a good reason. They’d learned this when th
ey were young. Nina had always protected them and watched out for them, often acting like their second mum, despite them all being the same age—give or take three minutes, of course. At twenty, after their parents had been murdered, the mother instinct in Nina had grown even stronger.
The waiter collected the menus without another word and left.
Carrie said, ‘So … I guess we aren’t drinking tonight?’
Nina shook her head, ‘It’s not good to drink while we’re going over the facts of a case. If we can’t keep our heads clear for everything to sink in, we might miss something important.’
Carrie pouted but put up no fight.
Nina was right. It was imperative for them to have none of their mental faculties affected during the evidence gathering process.
Lizzie said, ‘Final question. Are we making this public or not?’
Sometimes they held press conferences to inform the public about the case they were working on. Other times, they didn’t. It depended on whether or not they thought an announcement would help or hinder the case.
‘I think this is a good one for the public to hear because there was such a media storm around it. The perpetrator has probably relaxed, thinking he has gotten away with the perfect murder.’ Or manslaughter. ‘This will be just the thing to shake him up. And a shaken criminal is a—’
Carrie cut in and finished the familiar quote, ‘A criminal who makes mistakes.’
‘Exactly.’
Lizzie smiled. They both knew their big sister’s lectures and favourite sayings well.
‘Tell me more about the forensics.’
As her sisters carried on with the conversation, Lizzie let her mind wander. There had been a murder. With no definite suspects, a small amount of evidence, and more questions than answers. It had been six months since she’d worked on a case with her sisters. A flurry of excitement at the prospect of a new one rippled through her stomach. She smiled to herself. The Farris Triplets were back in business.
Chapter 2
He reached for yet another brown cardboard box. The unpacking had grown tedious an hour ago. He grumbled under his breath, opened the box and dug around. As he reefed items out, he came across a familiar notebook. He touched the well-worn blue-and-white checked cover. He didn’t need to look inside to know the pages were starting to yellow.
He flipped it open and found the page he was after. His focus narrowed on an aged newspaper clipping, one he’d pasted inside years earlier. The headline read: Leads for Murder at the Lake Run Dry.
It still made his gut wrench. Why did journalists have to use such clichéd and insensitive references to crimes? Didn’t they realise they were dealing with real human beings? Real feelings? Real grief?
He continued reading: … the couple, and their ten-month-old infant daughter, Amelie, leave behind another three children: the eldest son, Gabriel, fourteen; daughter, Camille, eleven; and the youngest son, Jean-Paul, seven.
Nineteen long years had passed since the darkness of that night, but even at thirty-three years of age, it still felt like it had happened yesterday. Was it because of the lack of closure? Memories pushed their way to the front of his mind. As much as he hated to dwell on his parents’ and baby sister’s murders, sometimes he had no choice. Like now.
His childhood had been lonely and confusing. He’d had to grow up faster than any other fourteen-year-old in the neighbourhood. Even though he was thankful to his maternal grandparents for taking them all in, they had been unable to provide complete care for three emotionally scarred children due to their own health issues.
Many duties had fallen on his head: baby-sitting, bath times, homework, school uniforms, lunches, and sometimes dinner. And that was only on school days. If he hadn’t gone to bed exhausted most nights, he would have had time to miss and grieve his parents properly.
Had the memories of his parents and baby sister started coming so frequently over the last couple of years because his life had taken on a much slower pace?
Gabe swallowed the dryness from his throat and shook the recollections free, then turned to the back of the notebook. As expected, a folded piece of newspaper was tucked against the cover. He pulled it out, opened it, and read Three Times Three: Farris Triplets Solve Nine-Year-Old Cold Case Murder.
He’d seen the article by chance, during a weekend work conference six months earlier in Cairns, Far North Queensland—the town where the women lived and worked. He had studied that article at least a dozen times over the weekend. At first, it had been curiosity. What would make these women want to take on cold cases? Eventually it had morphed into ‘would these women take on my case’?
The thought came again.
He’d researched them to get the answer. There’d been lots of old newspaper articles about them on microfiche at the Cairns Library. The trio had quite a reputation when it came to solving cold cases. From what he’d seen, it was a rough seventy-five per cent success rate. Over at least twelve years, and almost as many cases. Impressive by any standard. The trio obviously worked well together. Police officers from New Zealand had even approached them for assistance.
He’d soon become intrigued to note they shared a common bond: murdered parents, with no leads on a possible killer. That fact had buoyed his hopes of gaining their assistance.
Until …
His eyes narrowed on the all too familiar sentence at the end of the article: Please note that the Farris Triplets do not accept private/unsolicited requests. All attempts to contact them by phone or email will be ignored.
Everything he’d researched about them thereafter had reinforced their strong desire for privacy. They had a strict no-contact policy. With their combined credentials and high success rate, he could understand why. They would be hounded ceaselessly otherwise.
He’d almost given up right there. Then he’d realised something … he could find nothing that forbade direct contact with the sisters. If he’d wanted to get them to take on his case he could try to approach them about it in person. The worst they could say was no. Surely they would feel some sort of sympathy and understanding of his situation. Why else would they take on these cases?
By the time the work conference was over, he’d made a firm decision. He was going to move to Far North Queensland, hopefully close to Cairns. He would ask for a transfer at work, locate the sisters, and solicit their help. He hated Perth; it was so far away from his surviving siblings, who both lived in New South Wales. He’d initially moved to the opposite side of Australia to get away from the memories that had started to haunt him, but they’d followed, and made his life miserable and just as lonely as ever.
Besides, he’d known it could be his last chance to get the answers he needed. Answers his brother and sister needed. Probably even more so than him. They’d been so young when their parents were killed. It had turned all their lives upside down and coloured almost everything from that moment on. Birthdays, Christmas, school plays weren’t the same.
The moment he’d returned home, he’d put himself forward for a transfer. It had been granted just over three weeks ago. He’d wasted no time arranging the move and had landed in Cairns the day before.
He inhaled. His studio-type apartment had a slight musty smell despite all the windows being open. The agent had told him the place hadn’t been rented for three months. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to make the staleness disperse.
He wrinkled his nose and returned his attention to the notepad. There was a colour photograph that accompanied the article on the Farris sisters. Three curly-haired, ash-blonde women stared back at him. Their sapphire-blue eyes sparkled as bright as their smiles. Though they looked similar at first glance, he had discerned the minor physical differences that made them unique at once.
Nina had a small cleft in her chin. Carrie had a brown freckle above her top lip, on the left side. And Elizabeth had slightly higher cheekbones. There was also a bump on the bridge of her nose. What childhood accident had caused it?
He smiled at the thought. His eyes had been drawn to the middle sister immediately. Like they were now. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. There was a soft, almost romantic, aspect to her expression.
If he’d told his siblings about it, they would have teased him about being in love with the woman. They’d often joked that he should have been born centuries earlier and worked as a troubadour, or been a courtly lover. Positions into which he could have channelled his tendency toward romance with abandon. That trait had gotten him hurt many times. It seemed natural to open his heart quickly in a relationship. He’d remained single for the past couple of years and remained aloof with women in order to protect his heart. But something about this picture … the women were so similar, yet Elizabeth had caught his eye. Was he starting to rethink his no-dating stance?
He’d said nothing about the Farris sisters or the main reason for moving to Cairns. There was no need to cause Camille and Jean-Paul unnecessary pain, or even worse, hope.
His attention went back to the photo.
She’s beautiful. That was obvious. All three of them were. Most people would consider what he was feeling to be a normal male reaction to an attractive woman. Or, in this case, three attractive women. Especially after such a long stint sans femme.
It was normal. Wasn’t it?
One particular fact lodged in his brain.
What was it about Elizabeth Farris specifically that elicited the reaction? Why did the other two cause nothing more than a general sense of awareness of their beauty? And now that he was here, in the same town as her, the sensation of being drawn to her as he stared at her photo was growing.
It wasn’t him ‘romanticising’, as his siblings would likely tell him. Otherwise why wasn’t he feeling it for the other two as well? They were identical, for crying out loud.
No, this was different. It felt … he couldn’t describe it. All he knew was it was something he hadn’t experienced before. Nor was it based purely on her looks. It was almost as if she’d set up a permanent home in his heart and refused to leave.
He sighed, ‘Get a grip, Gabe. You sound like a creep.’
