by Sarah Bailey
She narrows her eyes, clearly considering. ‘Maybe. He’s been yelling a lot more out in the yard and banging that bloody clothesline. And he’s always fighting with Abbey about something. She’s a smart girl, despite everything. I reckon that probably pisses him off.’
‘How did the argument end on Saturday?’ asks de Luca.
Jacqui kills her cigarette and toys with the packet, passing it back and forth between each hand. ‘Matty and I hung up, and I refilled the bird feeder so I could keep listening to the carry-on from over the fence.’ She lifts the cigarette packet to her mouth and purses her lips to pluck out another smoke. ‘Abbey said something like, I don’t care what you say! And there was a sound like a slap. And then Dan called her a bitch. He said it a few times. Dot cried out again for them to stop. I wondered if maybe Abbey’d hit him—that’s the impression I got, but she’d be brave to do that, wouldn’t she? I saw her a few minutes later zooming past on her bike, all dolled up, heading out to that party, I suppose. She has the most beautiful hair, god love her.’
Jacqui waves a waft of smoke from her eyes and tugs on her own pitiful ponytail. ‘I hope Daniel didn’t do something to her. I’ve always said the man needs to be locked away before he does real damage.’
‘You didn’t see him leave the house after that?’
‘No, but my room’s at the back, and my ex used to say I sleep like a log.’ Jacqui pauses, scrunching up her face. ‘A car stopped at the end of the street at some point. I got up to go to the loo and heard it, just idling. It only had its parkers on, which I thought was weird.’ She holds up her hands. ‘I didn’t see it, so there’s no point asking me what type of car it was.’
‘But you say the headlights were off?’
‘Yep.’
‘What time was that, Jacqui?’
She squints at me. ‘Just after one in the morning? I thought it was late for someone to be dropping Abbey home. I’m pretty sure I heard the car drive off again a few minutes later.’
De Luca’s gaze is on the floor.
‘Jacqui, were you home yesterday morning?’
She nods.
‘What time did you get up?’
‘Oh, well now, it probably wasn’t until about seven. I’m usually up a bit earlier but I had a few wines after dinner and needed my beauty sleep.’ She pats her face and laughs.
‘Did you see any cars coming or going after you got up?’ asks de Luca.
‘Don’t reckon so. Apart from you two arriving, that’s been it over these past few days. It’s not exactly main street out here.’
‘Thanks for talking to us, Jacqui,’ I say, standing up. ‘Please call if you think of anything else, okay?’
‘I know where to find you,’ she says cheerfully. ‘I used to be up at the cop shop all the time with my ex.’
She swivels the cigarette into the crowded ashtray and walks us out, her narrow hips creaking.
‘It’s a shame really,’ she says thoughtfully. ‘Dot and I were great mates. She used to pop in here when Abbey was little, and we’d watch her tear around the yard. But then Dot had the twins. These days I barely see her unless she’s on the way to clean the rentals at the caravan park. If I’m out front I give her a wave and say hello, but we don’t have much to talk about. My useless husband ran off with some tart a few years ago, thank goodness, but poor Dot seems to be stuck with hers.’
Tuesday, 12 April
11.22 am
De Luca and I knock on the door of the house opposite Jacqui’s, rousing a weedy young man called Leo from bed. He’s so stoned he can barely string a sentence together amid his dog’s incessant barking. After establishing that Leo was away on the weekend and asleep all yesterday morning, we make a hasty retreat, the pungent smell following us up the driveway.
A heavily tattooed man in his late fifties answers the door at the remaining house. ‘JC,’ he says, thrusting out his hand with a wide grin, ‘just like the lord.’
He tells us he was at the Parrot Hotel until roughly 10 pm on Saturday before he walked home. He didn’t hear anything during the night, and he only found out Abbey was missing on Sunday afternoon when the street filled up for the search.
‘I often see Dot crying.’ JC shakes his head, his colourful arms crossed over his bulging belly. ‘She’s always coming down the street crying with her cleaning bucket, him still yelling at her from the house.’ JC chews a nail and sighs. ‘I’m old enough to remember her crying as she pushed her babies in a pram. Nothing changes—Daniel’s as slippery as an eel, and Dot’s too scared to say anything.’
‘Did you see any cars coming or going yesterday morning?’
‘No, can’t say I noticed anything. But I’m out in the back garden a lot of the time so probably I’m not much help to you.’ He gives us a canny look. ‘Is this about that young boy that died? I heard about that.’
We thank him and leave.
De Luca calls Grange from the car while I stand on the street in front of the Clark house and call Lane.
‘Hey, Gemma.’
‘Yes, hi.’ It takes me a moment to process his casual tone. ‘Did the techs find anything?’
‘Yep, a wad of cash in a biscuit tin.’
I try not to leap to conclusions. ‘How much?’
‘Almost six grand. That could mean Rick was involved in something off the books, right?’
‘It screams of drugs but it could be anything. Stolen goods perhaps or maybe just cash in hand jobs. And it might be Aiden’s cash. It was pretty hard to get a read on him yesterday. Can you review both of their finances and see if things line up?’
‘Can do.’ Lane sounds out of breath, as if he’s walking. ‘It’s gotta be dodgy—they wouldn’t have that kind of money lying around if it wasn’t suss.’
‘Maybe.’ I think of the look Aiden cast at the house yesterday and wonder if he knew about the money. ‘Was there anything else?’
‘A few old phones stashed around the place but no SIMs.’
‘That’s pretty standard. Fingerprints?’
‘Dunno, they’ve dusted everything but they said it wasn’t looking positive, so I guess we’ll have to wait. They said there weren’t any prints on the ruined photos and they don’t think they can tell us anything else.’
‘That’s interesting. If Rick did it, surely there’d be prints.’
‘I guess so.’ Lane sounds distracted.
I picture the phone numbers I saw on the floor in Rick’s bedroom. ‘Lane, I took a photo of a piece of paper with phone numbers on it in Rick’s bedtoom. I assume it’s still there but I’ll text it to you just in case. Can you make sure all phone numbers from the house are recorded and that we work through the contacts? That goes for all the phones. I want to know everyone Rick had contact with over the past few months.’
‘Yep, no worries.’
‘Still no sign of a weapon?’ I ask.
‘No weapon.’
‘What about Bruce Piper, did you take his statement?’
‘Uh-huh. He checks out. I spoke to the other neighbours too. One lady reckons she heard something yesterday morning, but she assumed it was a TV. Another neighbour, at the end of the street, got up early to let his dog out for a piss and reckons he saw someone walking on the other side of the street just before six.’
‘Any chance of an ID?’
‘Nah, the guy was wearing a hoodie. He’s sure it was a male though.’
‘Alright. I know Damon was going to chase up footage but I doubt he’ll get to it because he’s following up Aiden’s contacts. Can you double-check there are no cameras in the streets around the Fletcher brothers’ place that might have captured something?’
‘No problems. Are you and de Luca still at the Clarks’?’
‘We’re about to head off. We just spoke to the three neighbours. One of them reckons there was a car in the street early Sunday morning.’
‘Really? Could they ID it?’
‘Unfortunately not. We don’t know if it’s linked, bu
t it’s something to go on at least. I can’t imagine someone would just randomly park here in the middle of the night. But perhaps they saw Abbey walking home and snatched her.’
‘Jeez. Yeah, maybe.’ Lane trails off, then asks, ‘Did Dot say Daniel was home when Rick was attacked?’
‘Yes, apparently as far as she knows he was here.’
‘Bloody typical.’ Lane hangs up.
The dial tone rings in my ear as I glare at my phone before shoving it in my pocket. Tommy Gordon must run a pretty casual ship, and I think I’m going to need a little bit more respect for hierarchy if this team will work the way I want it to.
I can see that de Luca is still on the phone, so I quickly call Vanessa. She answers out of breath. ‘Hi, Gemma. Don’t worry, everything is fine here.’
‘Ben’s okay?’
‘He’s fine. He’s really hit it off with Charlie. They’re playing outside right now. Do you want to speak with him?’
‘No, that’s okay. Just tell him I say hi.’
‘Celia said you were happy to stay with us. I’m so glad, Gemma—I really think that with what happened at the hotel this morning, it’s a good idea.’
I feel a flash of irritation. ‘I think it’s an overreaction but I appreciate it. I’ll try to be back by six. Can you let Ben know, please?’
De Luca is drafting an email on her phone when I get into the car. ‘The fireys didn’t find anything,’ she says. ‘They only searched the immediate area but there was an accident on the highway.’
I clip in my seatbelt. ‘Yeah, well, we don’t even know if it’s her blood.’ One of the Clark twins darts across their front lawn. ‘Any updates from Damon?’
‘None of Aiden’s friends have heard from him. Apparently he’s between jobs and was planning to work with Rick for a while but his old boss hasn’t heard from him either.’
I grimace in frustration: the last thing we need is another missing young person, willing or otherwise.
‘What about the caravan park? Did the manager get us a guest list? Is Robert Weston there?’
She continues typing on her phone. ‘Kate Morse said there was no Robert Weston registered to stay. But she only takes the details of those paying for a room, so he could be in one of the twin shares. Apparently something’s wrong with the sewerage system at the caravan park, and Kate was in the middle of trying to sort it out and couldn’t send through the list.’
‘But we need it.’
‘Yes, I know,’ de Luca says stiffly. ‘Kate told Grange she’d try to get it to him tonight.’
I laugh incredulously. ‘Did he make it clear it was urgent? Does this woman realise we’re investigating a murder?’
De Luca presses send with a flourish and faces me. On the crook of her elbow I spot a pinched scar; someone extinguished a cigarette there a long time ago. Further up her arm, under the fold of her blue shirt, is the edge of a similar scar. Her crystal eyes shimmer against her dark lashes as she shifts her arm away. ‘I don’t know exactly what Grange said, but Kate told him she’ll send everything through.’
‘Okay,’ I say, breaking the stare. ‘Well, let’s hope so. We need to get on top of it.’
She starts the car and the air con whirs to life; I turn it down a few notches. De Luca’s grip is firm on the wheel. I still feel ridiculously tired, and for the second time today a thought begins to take shape in my consciousness and then promptly disappears.
As we drive out of the court, I spot a white Mazda parked on the adjoining street. The driver’s window is down. Simon Charleston smiles and waves at me as we pass.
‘Do you know him?’ I ask de Luca.
‘That reporter? Yeah, a bit. He’s alright. He’s definitely not as bad as some.’
I look at her, surprised at this unexpected diplomacy.
‘So where do you want to start?’ she says. ‘At the house party?’ Her tone remains short; every word out of her mouth is strained.
I ignore her tone. ‘Yep, let’s start at the house party, then go to the police station and head to the vacant lot. I want to time and map out Abbey’s likely route on Saturday night.’
De Luca releases a long breath and eases the car right at the real estate agent. We pass a small high school, an oval and a kitsch outdoor pool complete with a dated Coca-Cola sign.
‘Is that Abbey’s school?’ I ask.
De Luca nods.
We drive for another ten minutes, passing sweet-looking houses and nature strips bursting with native flowers, before turning onto a wide residential street and pulling up in between two driveways. A few houses down a man is washing his car, large headphones clamped over his ears.
‘This is where the party happened,’ says de Luca. ‘The Kinlons live here—obviously the parents were away on Saturday. We’ve interviewed the sisters, Maggie and Beth, but they aren’t particularly close to Abbey and don’t remember her leaving. They don’t think they even spoke to her, though they saw her in the kitchen early in the night.’
Today the house and yard are silent, but it’s easy to envisage it crawling with teenagers.
‘Come on.’ I undo my seatbelt.
De Luca turns off the car and I get out, overwhelmed once again by the trill of insects. The heat hovers above the ground, swamp-like.
‘Is that where Abbey said her bike was stolen from?’ I point to the other side of the road.
‘Yep. She told Lane she left it next to a tree opposite the house. About a metre off the road.’
I move to point at the passage on the left side of the house. ‘And Rick said he was on the phone over there at the time Abbey left, right?’
‘Uh-huh. We checked his phone records—his sister, Belinda, called him just before eleven-thirty, so that adds up.’
‘Why do you think he’d lie about the bike?’
Her smooth brow furrows slightly. ‘Sorry?’
‘One of them is lying. Rick either saw her leaving on it or he didn’t. Let’s start with him. Give me a theory.’
For the first time today, de Luca seems unsure. ‘He wanted us to think Abbey wasn’t on foot.’
I look down the length of road. ‘Okay, why?’
She frowns. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What if he was the one who took her bike? We know they argued. Maybe he snuck out the front and hid it somewhere. Then, the next morning when her dad was banging on his door and screaming that she was missing, Rick decided to lie about it.’
De Luca looks sceptical. ‘Then where is it?’
‘I have no idea. Maybe he stashed it somewhere or chucked it over a cliff.’ I pause, thinking it wouldn’t be too hard to throw a body from one either.
‘Rick obviously had something to get off his chest when he called the station. Maybe this was it?’
‘Maybe. Hang on.’ I pick up the case file, pulling out the map of Fairhaven. ‘So, let’s say Abbey was lying and she left the party on her bike. Does that line up better with the timing?’
‘She got to the station at around 11.45 pm,’ says de Luca. ‘We don’t know exactly what time Rick saw her leave here, apparently when he was on the phone. I think the call with his sister began at 11.24 pm and went for about three minutes.’
‘That’s a pretty tight window.’ I look back at the map. ‘Could she have walked from here to the police station in that time?’
De Luca goes quiet for a moment. ‘Yes, if she cut through the bush track.’
‘Up there?’ I point to a strip of greenery at the end of the street.
She nods. ‘That’s part of the area that was searched on Sunday morning. Once of the theories was that Abbey might have come back to the party after she left the police station.’
‘Show me.’
The cicadas are almost deafening as we walk to the top of the narrow nature reserve. A thin uneven path snakes through the trees, littered with stones and gum leaves.
‘This takes you straight through to the street parallel to the station. If she went this way on foot, she could
easily have got there in fifteen minutes.’
I take in the wild tangle of bush. ‘But do you think she’d walk down here alone at night?’
‘I wouldn’t,’ says de Luca. ‘There’s no lights and there’d be animals everywhere. Spiders.’ She squints into the sun. ‘But Abbey fought with Rick. And she might have been drunk and feeling more reckless.’
I cast my mind back to house parties in high school. Nights were a blur until an adult appeared and forced a sharp snag of lucidity. Important life-changing moments happened without any fanfare. Things seemed critical and terribly trivial all at once. They were like stage plays: a giant thundering rollercoaster of emotions over the space of a few hours. Back then, it felt like everything important existed in a small fenced backyard beneath the stars.
‘So it’s possible she was telling the truth, discovered her bike was missing and went straight to the station on foot using this shortcut. But it’s also possible she rode her bike on the road.’
De Luca gives me a cautious nod.
‘Either way we can deduce that she didn’t muck around—she came straight from the party.’
‘Do you think there was time for her to run into someone and for them to take her bike?’ says de Luca doubtfully.
I head back toward the car. ‘It’s possible but it seems unlikely. And if that happened then why would she lie to Lane and say it was taken from the party?’ My stomach rolls uncomfortably, desperate for food. ‘Maybe she was embarrassed to say what really happened? Or scared to?’ Possible scenarios jostle for position in my mind. ‘But if she was scared then she wouldn’t have rejected a lift home. That doesn’t make sense.’
De Luca simply blinks. ‘Where to now?’
‘Let’s go past the station. We need to take the most direct route, the one you think it’s most likely Abbey took if she was on her bike. Then we’ll go to where the blood was found.’
As we pull away from the kerb, I notice a teenage girl in one of the second-storey windows. We lock eyes as she drags a brush through her long brown hair.
De Luca weaves us expertly down the streets: right, left, left, right. ‘The path comes out there.’ She points to the other end of the tree tunnel. We drive another few hundred metres and pull up outside the police station.
