Into the Fog

by Sandi Wallace

  ‘Thanks, Franklin.’ The caller’s laugh held a nasty edge. ‘You proved me right and fucked up. Thought it was just a matter of time before Eddie Knight’s golden boy showed his true colours.’

  Franklin listened to Bull Jenkins laugh again. His gut tightened.

  ‘Sickie? You’ve got to be joking. The world and his dog knows about the kids missing from your precious little camp in the bloody hills and you conned Brockie to cover your shift. Diarrhoea? You’ll have it when I’ve finished with you. Word of warning, mate. If your arse isn’t here in Ballarat for your next shift on Tuesday, you can kiss CI goodbye.’

  Jenkins disconnected and Franklin stared at his phone, wondering if he had ruined his chances of joining the ranks of detective.

  ‘Jesus, that’s all we need.’ Manthorp ran fingers through her short hair, furious. ‘Well, it took them a bit longer than we’d expected, but the media has linked our case with Zena’s.’

  He didn’t need to ask who Zena was. Every person in Australia not living under a rock knew about her. Every cop station had received regular bulletins on the missing teen over the past four months. She’d vanished from the township of The Basin, between her home and the school bus stop about a three-minute walk away.

  Her hometown was at the foothills of this very mountain. They had previously thrashed out the possibility of a connection between their case and Zena’s, then shelved it while they put their energies into interviews. Until now.

  Sam called out, ‘The local Leader broke the story again.’

  ‘It’s all over the TV and radio too,’ the sarge commented.

  ‘I suppose anything that gets people’s attention, even if it’s way off-beam, might help.’

  Franklin shot Sam a sceptical look, but she missed it because her eyes were fixed on her computer.

  ‘Quote: “Police sources have confirmed they are considering a connection between the unsolved disappearance of The Basin schoolgirl, Marzena ‘Zena’ Betka, aged thirteen, and three Daylesford children missing from Mount Dandenong.”’

  They’d processed the similarities and differences between the two MISPER cases. Franklin had chewed it over a little more since, still deciding the differences won. But he went through it again.

  Zena: aged thirteen, the middle child of three sisters, vanished alone. Hannah: aged twelve was with her two younger brothers. It was far riskier to lure or abduct and hold three children than one. Then again, she’d apparently intended to go without the boys.

  Will the three-for-the-price-of-one be a bonus for Hanny’s predator?

  Franklin grounded himself. He had to put emotion away and use his brain. He went back to the facts.

  Based on photos, Zena was a brunette, wore hair, makeup and clothes with sophisticated style. She could pass for eighteen, whereas Hanny’s tomboy image suited her age.

  Even though their disappearance was probably incidental to their sister’s, he shouldn’t forget the boys. Franklin pictured Riley and Cooper. Their sister’s hair was sandy-blonde; both boys were almost white-haired – like she’d been at their age. Five-year-old Cooper’s hair was feathery and reached to his shoulders. He was almost too pretty for a boy. His seven-year-old brother Riley was a little more rough-and-tumble but still good looking.

  A pervert’s wet dream. And if he’s not into little boys, he could always pass them on.

  Franklin groaned internally. He had to stay objective.

  Brunette versus fair-haired.

  Polish parentage versus the Savage kids’ Anglo-Saxon descent.

  And Zena went missing—or was abducted—within a stone’s throw from where she lived, whereas Hannah, Riley and Cooper seemingly ran away from a police camp nearly 200 kilometres from home.

  Franklin’s insides twisted. The proximate location of the disappearances and closeness in the girls’ ages worried him. Strangely, so did the fact that both lived with their natural mother and stepfather.

  Coincidence? Unconnected?

  Uneasy, he thought the differences just outweighed the similarities.

  Dean Pickett peered over Sam’s shoulder. ‘Police sources. Huh.’ He dripped sarcasm. ‘Everyone knows that’s journo speak for we made it up.’

  Sam stiffened. Before knowing Georgie, she might’ve been ignorant enough to tar all journalists with one brush too. Cynicism about journos and lawyers was instilled into newbies at the academy. But the ferret was a confirmed idiot for saying it aloud with Georgie in the house.

  He read on. ‘“Investigators will also examine possible links to the abduction and murder of Betty Tan, a thirteen-year-old girl from Melbourne’s outer east.’”

  Manthorp interrupted. ‘Thousands of kids go missing from Victoria every year, but the media loves to speculate about connections to Betty Tan. They picked it up when Zena went missing and now they’ll thrash it again. You watch, the next report will suggest the Savage children could be more victims of the notorious Dr Brutal.’

  She held her head with both hands. ‘Betty’s murder was ten years ago and raking it up without anything concrete won’t help any of these poor families.’

  Pickett mumbled something.

  Sam said, ‘Sorry?’

  ‘And it won’t help the investigators who worked the case,’ he said. ‘These media ghouls never give a toss about that.’

  Franklin stepped forward. ‘Hang on there.’ But he stopped and Sam saw that Georgie held his arm.

  She seemed calm. ‘Most journos respect the line between solid reporting and sensationalism.’ Her eyes flashed and Sam wondered how angry she really was. ‘You often find it’s editors who add the shock factor. It sells…and keeps the big bosses happy.’

  Pickett tossed his head.

  Jules said, ‘Right. Enough time wasted. Let the search begin.’ She skimmed over their faces, stopping when she spotted Kat. ‘And sorry, but no travellers on this one. You, Josh, Georgie…stay here.’

  She frowned. ‘As a matter of fact, where is Josh?’

  Kat’s face drained and Georgie answered, ‘Gone for another look outside.’

  Sam intercepted a loaded glance between them.

  Jules might have seen it too because she said, ‘Dean, I want to start my next round of interviews with Josh. Make sure he’s available.’

  At 6.28pm, only thirteen minutes had ticked by since the search party had left, but it seemed like thirty to Georgie. She paced, while Dean Pickett and Ty Long worked their phones running checks for their boss, and Kat monitored the social network sites.

  She needed to work off her anxiety but had no function. Even the housekeeper had refused her help. Dinner was ready but those in the house couldn’t stomach it. The rest were busy combing the Agterops’ quarters.

  For what? Obviously, they all hoped the kids would be found safe and sound. But why would the caretaker and his wife hold them if not for twisted reasons? Unless they thought they could give the Savage kids what their dysfunctional family couldn’t.

  There’s dysfunctional and dysfunctional.

  Yes, the kids had grown up in a broken home. Yes, their dad had cleared out before Cooper was born and when Riley was too young to remember. And yes, there was friction between Hannah and Duane. But everyone spoke well of Ness. Even Hanny’s friends asked after her when Kat called – that was a testament to good parenting, surely? And Duane seemed to be a caring fiancé and father figure in the family.

  But Georgie couldn’t ignore the horrifically high number of cases of violence against kids committed by the mother’s new partner.

  She jumped when her mobile rang, nerves jittering until she saw her caller’s name. It was Bron, begging an update.

  Georgie answered on autopilot, while an idea took seed. She cringed after hanging up, realising she hadn’t said goodbye.

  She hesitated for half a second, wondering if this would open Pandora’s Box, then dialled out.

  He answered on the second ring. ‘Gee! It’s been a while.’

  Georgie cringed: he wa
s right. She’d left it too long, finding it easier to dodge the past than juggle it with her new life.

  ‘Have you –’

  Suspecting where he was headed, she cut him off. ‘Matty, I need a favour.’

  ‘So this isn’t about AJ?’

  Of course she couldn’t change subject on the crime reporter.

  ‘You know he’s back?’

  Somehow, she contained her panic.

  He’s back? Why?

  She sounded almost normal with, ‘Really? Anyway –’

  ‘You know he wants to –’

  ‘Matty, this isn’t a personal call.’

  Shit. Two for two. First, she’d hung up on Bron. Now, she’d insulted Matty after neglecting him since New Year.

  But he said, ‘Okay. Fire away.’

  Georgie exhaled, relieved. ‘Thanks, mate. After this is over…let’s grab a beer.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You know about the missing Daylesford kids?’

  ‘Yeah.’ His casual tone dropped. ‘I’m on the story.’

  She’d anticipated that.

  ‘This’s off the record for now.’ She outlined her connection to the case and the little they knew.

  Matty whistled. ‘And?’

  ‘I need a favour.’

  She told AJ’s brother what she wanted: everything he could dig up on the Savage family, Duane Smith, Elke and Willem Agterop, Patrick and Catherine Belfrage, Zena Betka’s disappearance and any other cases with similarities, no matter how tenuous.

  The cop network was aiming to squeeze them out of the investigation and Georgie had no pull with them anyway. Despite agreeing that some journos erred towards sensationalism or over-competitiveness, those with media cards were their own family, with reach across Australia, and Georgie was one of the clan these days. Her old friend Matty had earned chief crime reporter status with the Herald Sun because he was a clever investigator with integrity. What he couldn’t discover from the archives, police sources, other media and the public probably wasn’t worth knowing.

  It was just a matter of whether he could get the information fast enough to help Hannah, Riley and Cooper.

  Chapter 22

  Hannah

  ‘Can’t believe you’re still out of it. Bitch.’

  Hannah felt a shudder through her body and figured the man who’d spoken had kicked whatever she lay on. He sounded really dicked.

  She tried to think, but it hurt. Like the feeling of swallowing razorblades when she had tonsillitis, except it was her brain that throbbed. She was pretty numb everywhere else. And her eyelids were concrete blocks. Nothing was going to open them.

  ‘Bitch. I haven’t gone to all this trouble for a dead root.’

  Hannah heard the man walking around the room. He mumbled, swore, burped and got angrier by the minute. She recognised a noise as him crushing a can. A second later, it banged on the wall above her, fell and skidded over the floor. She made herself stay very still. It was hard because she wanted to curl into a ball and cry.

  The sound of his footsteps faded. So did his voice. She vaguely knew that he was still there, but her body was shutting down.

  He doesn’t want a dead root, so I’m safe while I’m out of it.

  She let herself slip away.

  Matty had better connections than she did and was only extending or fast-tracking what the paper was paying him to do with the inside information she’d provided. But just because she’d sicced the best crime reporter in Victoria and possibly Australia onto the case didn’t mean Georgie would sit on her hands.

  She was skilled at finding people who didn’t want to be found. And at this stage, they had only identified one person outside of those at Mount Dandenong who needed scrutiny – the kids’ biological father. So she’d tasked herself with tracing Richard James Savage.

  From her stint at the law firm—a lifetime ago nowadays—Georgie knew it was relatively common for one parent to disappear after an acrimonious breakup.

  She didn’t like to generalise on gender, but often the mother received custody while the judge granted the father occasional access, along with a regular child-support bill. He might start with best intentions to support his child, before falling on hard times. Or he may never intend to pay. Either way, one short-paid or missed instalment soon became the norm.

  Georgie had seen the pattern numerous times. After angry communications from the ex, followed by solicitor’s letters and the threat of further, very costly legal proceedings, the dad fell off the radar. He left his job and address, dumped his phone, changed his car, ceased using his credit cards and email address, didn’t vote or pay tax.

  But, somewhere, somehow, sometime, he usually stuffed up. He used his old Medicare number, bumped into a mutual acquaintance or needed a credit check for a finance application…and they had him.

  This case wasn’t about money but the lives of three little children, so they couldn’t lay the groundwork and wait for something to eventuate. They—she—had to make it happen ASAP.

  Georgie cracked a small smile. This was how she could contribute to the search.

  She plugged away at her computer, virtually oblivious to the return of the despondent search party. Hardly touching the meal Franklin pushed in front of her. Barely hearing the conversations around her. Vaguely noting Josh stalking out of a heated discussion with the detectives and Jules Manthorp watching him go, rubbing her lip thoughtfully.

  ‘C’mon, Georgie.’

  She swivelled away from the computer screen. Her eyes were strained and she blinked rapidly looking up at Franklin.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Pack your stuff. It’s time to go.’

  Fatigue showed on his face with a few extra lines and stubble, but both suited him, gave him a rugged sexiness. After finishing his shift at midnight, he’d ridden through the storm to Mount Dandenong, then worked through the whole day – he should be dropping. But years of living with shift work and unplanned overtime had obviously hardened him up better than her years of partying. Without having to glance in a mirror, Georgie knew she looked rough.

  And she still didn’t know what he was talking about.

  He must’ve read her confusion. ‘We’re relocating…staying at Ando’s tonight.’

  He leaned closer, until his breath wisped her neck. It felt nice.

  His voice low, he added, ‘Manthorp thinks it’s just overnight but Ando said we can stay until this is over.’

  It’ll only be over if the kids are found. Dead or alive.

  Day THREE

  FRIDAY 30 SEPTEMBER

  Chapter 23

  Hannah

  She was pretty sure it was night-time because everything was black except for a strip of light down low. Something about that was weird, but she couldn’t seem to think straight.

  Maybe she wasn’t awake but dreaming, like an epic nightmare, because her palms and head were sweaty and her heart thumped in her chest. She was shivering hard too.

  Then she heard people laughing and other noises she couldn’t work out. For a few seconds, Hannah thought everything was okay after all – Riles and Coops were just mucking around and she was in bed.

  But her teeth started to chatter again. It was freezing. Her head whirled.

  This is bad. Am I sick? Where am I?

  She jerked, thinking her bed faced the wrong direction. She felt uncomfortable but normally loved bed, was sort of sore but in a fuzzed-around-the-edges way.

  She heard more laughter. Mum wouldn’t let Riles and Coops play when they were supposed to be asleep. It didn’t sound like them either. It was deeper and kind of ugly.

  Hannah was confused about everything. And cold. Totally cold.

  Ando had turned in early, warning them they’d need their wits and energy for tomorrow…which was now today. Lunny had taken her advice and disappeared into her spare bedroom. But the rest of them had gathered around the fireplace, intermittently talking until midnight. Then they’d stretched out on camp beds and the couch in the SES officer�
��s lounge room.

  No one settled easily. Bed springs squeaked as they tossed and turned. Grunts and soft sighs mingled with pops from the fire. But eventually, rhythmic breathing surrounded Georgie.

  She couldn’t turn off her brain, frustrated at her stymied computer searches and too tense to sleep. She checked the time on her mobile.

  It can’t only be 2.12am!

  She tucked the phone under her pillow, knowing it wouldn’t be long before she needed to look again.

  If she hadn’t been staring at shadows on the unfamiliar ceiling, wishing she could be with Franklin, feeling his skin on her skin, wishing harder that the kids would soon be safe, she may not have noticed Kat sneak out of her bed.

  But she heard the slow unzip of a sleeping bag and the give of springs as the girl rose. She clocked Kat’s hesitation before she tiptoed to the window and sank onto one of the chairs facing outwards.

  Georgie followed her movement by rolling onto her right shoulder. This room and the kitchen were on the second storey – for the views, Ando had said, admitting that curtains would keep the warmth in but she preferred to put on another layer of clothes and let the outside in.

  Georgie must have dozed off shortly after that. When she jolted out of the beginnings of a black dream, Ando was beside Kat.

  Kat spoke softly but the storm had abated and without the sirens and traffic noise that Georgie was accustomed to in Richmond, her voice carried.

  ‘– yeah, it was a few months ago.’

  Ando murmured something and Kat nodded.

  ‘She’d paid out on her brothers at the boxing studio. So I pulled her aside and asked why she was being such a cow to them…it’s better to be straight with Hanny.’

  Ando’s head bobbed.

  ‘She kind of huffed and said, “Duane. He’s gonna marry Mum in a couple of months and wants to formally adopt us.” I asked if that was such a bad thing. She said, he’s five years younger and I said, who cares these days? She admitted then that she doesn’t hate him or anything, and Riles and Coops are cool with the idea. Then finally she said, “He wants us to change our surname…to Smith” and I got it.’