The Girl Remains (Detective Corban)

by Katherine Firkin

  She switched her attention back to the present. Beside her, Dean was breathing heavily, staring off into the distance.

  ‘Have you heard?’ she eventually whispered, shifting so that she met his gaze.

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘They’ve found bones. On the beach. What if it’s . . .’

  ‘You’re back to this shit again?’ Dean took a slight step forward, his expression sour.

  ‘I just worried that . . .’

  ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ He stopped, aware his voice was too loud. He composed himself, almost whispering. ‘She’s been gone for years. She’s not gonna suddenly turn up now, is she?’

  ‘But it could be her. It’s the right spot.’

  ‘That’s enough.’ He raised a hand, eyes narrowing. ‘I’ve wasted years on you and your bullshit. Now you think you can just drop in unannounced with this? She’s gone, alright? It’s over.’

  Scarlett’s stomach churned. ‘I’m just trying to protect you.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Dean hissed. ‘We all know the only person you’ve ever worried about is you.’

  A rush of air left her body. Unfair. And not entirely true. Scarlett scratched around for some way to salvage the situation, but it was too late.

  ‘How about you get back into your fancy car and clear off?’ Dean’s face hardened. ‘And the next time you’re thinking about paying me a little surprise visit . . . Don’t.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘So good of you to join us.’ Bryce adjusted his watch deliberately as Emmett entered the large glass office. ‘This is DSC Lanh Nguyen. He’ll be assisting you in the short term.’

  Emmett dropped his bag by the door and sat on the couch, discreetly eyeing the detective. Lanh was young – in his late twenties or early thirties and probably quite new to the Cold Case Unit.

  ‘I’ve taken the liberty of filling him in on the basics of the case, but it would be helpful if you could run through your own briefing, given you’ve had the head start on this.’ Bryce strummed his fingers on his desk. ‘I presume you’ve spoken with forensics?’

  ‘Yes.’ Emmett stupidly tugged at the cuffs of his shirt as he sat up straighter. ‘The remains are with a forensic anthropologist who’s conducting a full examination. They agree the bones appear to be human, but they’re hesitant to rule conclusively until further testing is done. Obviously it would be helpful if more of the skeleton was found, so I’ve been coordinating with the Sorrento Crime Investigation Unit to conduct searches around the area this morning. We’ll also be getting assistance from the Dog Squad.’

  ‘I see. And what about the case files? You’ve started going back through those?’

  ‘I have.’ Emmett hesitated, as an image of Cindy peering over his notes popped into his mind. ‘As you’d expect, there’s a huge amount of information in there, and I was hoping to go through some of the interview tapes today.’

  ‘Anything that’s struck you so far?’

  ‘Only that the girls’ story seems utterly implausible,’ Emmett shrugged. ‘For a start, how many teenagers do you know who decide to “take a walk” in the middle of the night?’

  ‘You think they were meeting someone?’

  ‘Possibly – or they had something silly planned, like drinking or smoking, or maybe some kind of dare or prank. But seriously, how did all three of them manage to lose contact with each other? What were they doing out there that caused them to separate?’

  ‘They’d be with boys,’ Lanh chimed in for the first time. ‘They would have been meeting boys.’

  ‘That thought has certainly crossed my mind too,’ Emmett agreed, noticing his new partner’s toffee accent, his assured manner. ‘But so far I’ve only read the summary – I haven’t gone through the official statements or listened to the interviews.’

  ‘You have photos of the bones?’ the young detective asked to no one in particular.

  Bryce shoved a folder at Lanh.

  Emmett watched his colleague flick through the images. He remembered his wife’s excited face as she’d shown him her own shots. At what point would he tell her that she was right, that the remains were human? He squeezed his palms together. He couldn’t worry about that now.

  ‘This is a roo.’ Lanh closed the folder dramatically.

  ‘What?’ Bryce’s tone was curt.

  ‘This is a roo. A kangaroo. This isn’t human.’

  ‘The forensic specialist was fairly certain . . .’ Emmett looked to his boss for help. But the superintendent was distracted, gesturing to the door behind them. Emmett turned to see Calvin Briggs and another detective madly mouthing something from outside.

  ‘What is it?’ Bryce urged the pair to come in.

  Calvin’s face was flushed. ‘We just ended our video call with Jimmy Lucas’s parents in Lindfield, as you suggested. It turns out that Jimmy did mention meeting someone by the name of Hargreaves. So perhaps our new lead isn’t a dud after all.’

  ‘Great. Have you got onto uniform?’

  ‘They’re heading to Hargreaves’ last known address as we speak. I’ve also got Ambers and Lauriston going back through the old CCTV tapes to see if there’s any other sighting of this man around the King Street area on the night Jimmy disappeared.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Bryce’s cheeks rounded. ‘Keep me updated.’

  Emmett forced himself to smile as Calvin and his colleague left the room. He’d been the one to set up the interview with Jimmy’s parents; he should have been the one delivering that news.

  ‘Animal bones are often confused with human remains,’ Lanh continued, as though no interruption had occurred. ‘Wouldn’t it be prudent to wait for the report from forensics before dedicating precious resources to this?’

  Bryce scowled. ‘Are you telling me how to run my unit?’

  ‘No.’ Lanh brushed away an imaginary hair from his forehead. ‘I just meant we might be better utilised elsewhere.’

  ‘You’ll be better utilised back in uniform if you keep that attitude up.’ Bryce slapped his hands on the table. ‘What are you two still doing here anyway? You could learn something from Briggs and his team. Get moving. This case won’t solve itself.’

  As she waited in the lobby, Scarlett attempted to smooth the front of her dress with the palms of her hands. Damn it. She caught sight of herself in a reflection. The rest of her wasn’t looking much better, she realised, tucking stray strands of oily hair back behind her ears.

  The morning had been a flurried panic, waking up on her couch to discover she’d overslept, an empty bottle of wine sitting tauntingly nearby. How had she let herself get into such a state? Bloody Dean.

  After changing clothes and dabbing some deodorant under her arms, she’d grabbed her work jacket, reattaching the stupid name tag her boss insisted she wore under the logo of his real estate agency, before running out of the house, hightailing it through the city to her first appointment. She felt revolting.

  ‘You must be Scarlett?’ A flamboyantly dressed man with neon pink loafers appeared before her. ‘I’ve heard only good things.’

  She shook hands, flinching as her sweaty palms made contact. ‘Shall we get straight to it?’

  The bright loafers led her up a grand staircase and along a hallway, where full-length mirrors confirmed that at no angle did she look acceptable.

  ‘We’re off to the left here.’ The man gestured for her to go ahead of him.

  ‘Wow.’ She stepped inside. The apartment was enormous, with high ceilings and exposed beams – the sort of urban oasis she’d always imagined of city living. ‘And you have a view of the park!’

  ‘The Fitzroy Gardens,’ the man corrected.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Scarlett felt herself blush. She’d intended on researching this property the previous evening, but that was before her night had been hijacked . . .

  ‘Through here is the kitchen with a separate dining area. As I’m sure you can see, I’m a bit of a post-impressionist fan.’ The man stood smugl
y in front of a giant artwork. Some random landscape. She stared at it for what seemed like an appropriate amount of time.

  ‘Then over here is the master bedroom, and off to the side is my favourite space – the sunroom. Not many apartments have such a luxury these days.’

  ‘No,’ Scarlett whispered, as she took in the setting: the old-fashioned wicker rocking chair, the collection of high-end magazines deliberately splayed across a glass reading table, and the generous oval windows, which again offered uninterrupted views of greenery. ‘It’s so lovely and peaceful.’

  ‘Not on Friday and Saturday nights!’

  ‘Oh?’

  The man’s face fell and she knew instantly that she’d made a terrible faux pas.

  ‘Because of the football crowds that plague our neighbourhood. They’re massive during the AFL season, as I’m sure you can imagine given the MCG’s just around the corner . . .’

  ‘Right, of course.’ Scarlett scrambled for something intelligent to say about the iconic stadium, but her mind was blank.

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ the man crossed his arms, all signs of enthusiasm now well and truly gone, ‘but you are familiar with this area, aren’t you?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ she heard her voice at least an octave too high. ‘East Melbourne is one of the most sought-after precincts. The cafes, the gardens, the . . . sporting events.’

  ‘Terrific.’ The man extended a limp hand and guided her back to the hallway. ‘I have a few other agents to meet before I make a decision, but I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Wonderful. I look forward to working with you.’

  Scarlett waited until the bright loafers had disappeared behind the closed door before dropping her head to her hands. What a disaster.

  After running the gauntlet of mirrors on her own, she left the building and found a bench outside, where she pulled out her phone to check her next appointment.

  Can we talk?

  She stared at the message. An unknown number. It was Dean. It had to be.

  Her fingers hovered over the phone as she considered her reply. Was he feeling guilty for his late-night rant? Or had something more come out about the bones on the beach?

  Scarlett flipped to her internet browser, doing a quick search of news stories. Nothing beyond what she’d seen the previous day. The tension in her jaw lessened.

  I can call tonight.

  She shrugged as she sent the message off into cyberspace. It seemed the appropriate mix of curt yet still polite – not overly interested; not particularly keen to engage. Scarlett opened her calendar, happy to see she had time for a coffee, and some research, before visiting her next property.

  I meant in person.

  The response flashed on the screen.

  Despite herself, a tremor of excitement struck. Of course she hadn’t intended on reigniting any sort of relationship with Dean, but she didn’t regret it either. She was more than capable of keeping things strictly platonic, and whatever intentions he had for their meeting would surely be a whole lot more interesting than another night in front of the TV nursing a glass of wine and a bowl of instant noodles.

  Sometime this weekend?

  Sweet.

  The reply was immediate.

  Scarlett shivered, replaying their brief embrace, the feeling of his chest against hers, his rough hands holding her tight. Stop it. She hoisted herself up off the bench and headed towards her car.

  Unlike the obnoxious man she’d just met, Dean came without any pretences. He was the same guy she’d met and fallen head over heels for all those years ago. But that didn’t mean she could simply forget all that had passed.

  She hugged her arms across her waist.

  There was a reason they’d been forced to part ways all those years ago.

  She needed to tread carefully.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The office at the back of the church was dusty and dark, and Daphne stood at the small window, wheezily breathing what little fresh air slipped in through the narrow opening.

  This had been Robert’s domain – this musty, uninspiring room the one place her late husband had allowed himself to indulge in time alone, away from the prying eyes of the congregation. She’d rarely stepped foot in here herself, and it was the final space that required her attention now that the new Reverend had officially set up residence.

  She sniffed, moving to the desk and shifting a stained mug aside so that she could sort through the papers it had been resting on. Robert hadn’t been the tidiest of men, and she probably should have accepted the many well-meaning offers of assistance in packing his belongings, but it was something she wanted to do herself: a final act of servitude to the man she’d loved ever since first locking eyes with him so many, many moons ago.

  Daphne smiled sadly, flicking through the letters her husband had apparently deemed worthy of keeping. Most were notes of gratitude – thanks for the service, the wedding, the funeral, the guidance – some were reflections on spiritual matters, and others were letters seeking advice. She paused, clutching the pile of papers before cautiously moving them to the black garbage bag. It was hard to let go of anything with Robert’s name on it, but she wanted to take as few belongings as possible to her next home: the spare room at her sister’s house.

  ‘You doing alright in there? I’ve made us a spot of lunch. I thought you might like to take a break and join me?’ It was the new Reverend’s wife, a decent enough woman who had been more than sympathetic to her slow pace of moving, and yet Daphne felt herself recoil at the intrusion.

  ‘That sounds lovely. I’ll just be a moment.’

  Quickly scanning the rest of the room – the stack of folders on the filing cabinet, the few cardboard boxes in the corner, and the overstuffed bookcase – she slumped. There was still so much to go through; it was impossible not to feel overwhelmed.

  She picked up a book from the shelf, flipping through the pages before putting it back. In his prime, her husband had been a voracious reader, always hunting out new treasures from the local op shops or second-hand stalls that were held on the Sorrento foreshore in the summers, and even organising a weekly reading group for lovers of historical fiction. A heaviness settled on her chest. That was in the good times, before things had changed. Daphne allowed herself only a moment to sink into the darkness – recalling how Robert’s faith and trust in their small, seaside community had been so shattered. They walk among us. His sad words rang in her head.

  ‘I’ve heated up the leftover roast. Come and have some while it’s still warm,’ the Reverend’s wife called again.

  Daphne shuffled to the door, stopping briefly to peek inside the cardboard boxes she was yet to unpack. More books. She sighed, closing the lid of the first box and moving to the next. Still more books. She let her eyes briefly drift to the heavens. Did you even get to read all these, you silly old sod?

  Then she opened the third box. How odd. She pulled at the worn fabric, revealing a youth-sized mottled jumper, pink-and-white, with a nasty stain ruining much of the material. Underneath she found jeans. White runners. Sparkly floral socks.

  Daphne dropped the clothes back in the box and closed the lid.

  Why had her husband kept a child’s soiled garments in his office? She stood for a moment, staring at the box, before hurriedly leaving the room. Someone must have left them at the church by mistake, she realised, as she followed the aroma of grilled lamb out to the kitchen. They were probably intended to be donated to charity.

  ‘Then all of a sudden there was this scream, this shriek. It was . . . I don’t know how to describe it really, but it kind of cut right through me, if you know what I mean? I dropped to the ground. I was so scared.’

  ‘Was the voice male or female, do you think?’

  ‘Female – I guess . . . I don’t know . . . It was high-pitched, really loud.’

  ‘And you’re sure it was a human sound? Not an animal?’

  ‘I thought it was human, but I don’t know.’

&
nbsp; ‘Okay, so you dropped to the ground. What happened next?’

  ‘I curled into a ball. I was terrified. But then I heard these noises, like rustling in the bushes and breathing and stuff. I don’t know if I was imagining it, but I thought someone was near me. I got scared. So I started to run.’

  ‘Where did you run to?’

  ‘Back to where my friends had been, but . . . they’d just completely vanished, they were gone. I looked everywhere, I called out their names, but there was nothing. I didn’t know what to do . . . I felt so helpless . . . I . . . I’m sorry . . .’

  ‘It’s okay, Gypsy, just take your time.’

  ‘I knew they wouldn’t have left without me unless something bad had happened.’

  ‘You were at the lookout at this point?’

  ‘I was standing at the lookout, and then I saw footprints that led down towards the ocean, so I followed them.’

  ‘Footprints?’

  ‘Yes, two sets. They headed towards the stairs that take you onto Koonya Ocean Beach. I only went a little way down though because I was too scared, and I couldn’t see anything anyway.’

  ‘Because it was dark?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yet you could see footprints on the ground?’

  ‘Up the top on the lookout I could see the prints, because the moon was out. But once I left that area it was pitch black.’

  ‘Right. And there were no lights on anywhere around you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And there was no one else around? You didn’t ever actually see anyone else, either at the lookout or on the beach?’

  ‘No. I saw no one. But I heard noises.’

  ‘What did you do next?’

  ‘I ran back up the stairs. I was getting really panicked at this point. I just kept searching for my friends, yelling out their names and stuff. But after that I can’t say exactly what I did. I got confused – everything started to look the same.’

  ‘How did you get home?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Can you try to remember? This is very important.’