The Girl Remains (Detective Corban)

by Katherine Firkin

  After procrastinating a little longer, Scarlett eventually left the soggy toast and watery coffee behind and made her way back to the car.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  She clipped her seatbelt in and headed off, almost an out-of-body experience as she weaved her way through familiar roads, eventually turning onto the gravel path that used to bring so much comfort – the starting point for many happy adventures. Then so much pain.

  She refused to take in much as she drove on the uneven surface, not looking left or right; not remembering the thicket of tea-tree that she and Gypsy had hidden behind, scaring Cecilia as they’d leapt out, giggling and silly; not noticing that the old lady’s home a few doors from her dad’s had been pulled down, replaced with something more modern but less homely. She parked as close to the metal fence as possible, feeling giddy, sick and bursting with emotion.

  The gate was clicked in place, and it screeched and strained as she manoeuvred it, finally creating a gap big enough for her to wiggle through.

  Footsteps. The sound of the front door swinging open.

  He was standing on the porch now, rubbing his eyes as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

  She stared at him. Breathless. He’d aged so much. His head completely bald, his cheeks jowly. ‘Dad?’

  Her face crumpled at the sound of the word, a word she hadn’t heard pass her lips in more than two decades.

  ‘Scarlett!’ He jumped from the porch to the ground, skipping all the steps and wrapping her in an enormous bear hug.

  She nuzzled into his chest, allowing the protective embrace to swallow her up, her anger evaporating at his touch.

  ‘So, Nguyen’s really certain about this witness?’ Bianca flicked the lever at her side, sending her seat shooting backwards.

  ‘Careful there, Mrs Jetson,’ Emmett laughed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Jane Jetson? The Jetsons? You know, that cartoon show where the family was blasting off into space?’

  ‘I think you need to get out more.’

  ‘Yeah, alright.’ Emmett darted a sneaky sideways glance. How old was Bianca Tardio? He’d never really considered the question before. It was impossible to tell with women, but he’d be guessing she had at least a few years on him. ‘So I take it your mum and dad didn’t subscribe to the same school of parenting as mine?’

  ‘What school was that?’

  ‘The one where you left your child sitting in front of the TV for hours until they got so bored they fell asleep?’

  ‘Oh, stop it,’ she laughed, rolling her ankles and making the most of her new-found legroom. ‘You’re almost making me feel sorry for you.’

  ‘Well, someone has to.’

  ‘Anyway,’ the detective drummed her hands on her knees, ‘back to my question. Lanh is sure this woman’s memory is incorrect?’

  ‘He says so.’ Emmett sighed, adjusting his own seat so he could lean back a little. They were parked in an empty lot at the back of a supermarket in Rye. The drive there had been long and slow, and he was happy to stretch out as much as he could, now that there was nothing to do but wait. ‘I wish he wouldn’t go running around interviewing old witnesses while undercover, though. He’s supposed to be a hapless meter reader.’

  ‘He seems pretty adamant this bus stop sighting is significant.’

  ‘He’s probably right,’ Emmett shrugged. ‘But I can’t for the life of me work out how all this fits together. If we take his word, we’ve got someone in a white sedan collecting Cecilia from a bus stop, driving her . . . somewhere, and then she goes out with her friends for an evening walk that night?’

  ‘That someone has to be Warren Turton, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Presumably. But given his car ended up incinerated, we’re unlikely to ever have any evidence to prove that one way or another.’

  ‘And then you’ve got Scarlett dating Dean,’ Bianca prompted, having caught up on the development when she’d arrived at the station late that morning. ‘That’s quite the unexpected connection.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Emmett shook his head. ‘The Innisbergs are more involved in all this than we realised. But just how involved is anyone’s guess.’

  ‘And what of the ice queen?’ Bianca lowered her window slightly, letting a burst of cool air enter. ‘We haven’t heard much from her of late.’

  ‘No. I still want to get her and Scarlett in an interview together, but I can’t see when we’re going to make that happen.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about that now. We have enough dead leads to chase as it is.’

  Emmett laughed, his colleague’s dry sense of humour just what he needed. ‘Speaking of dead . . .’

  ‘Daphne Innisberg?’ Bianca pulled out her phone. ‘Funny you should mention that. I was speaking with the pathologist in charge of her autopsy just before we left. She’s making good progress, but there are no hugely startling discoveries so far.’

  ‘Drowned?’ Emmett pictured the body he’d seen lying in the hospital.

  ‘Yes, but there were also back and neck injuries consistent with a fall from a significant height.’

  ‘Nothing to suggest foul play?’

  ‘Not at this stage.’

  ‘Right. Well, where the hell does that leave us then?’ he slapped his hands on the steering wheel, an overwhelming anxiety taking hold.

  They settled into a comfortable silence, Bianca letting Emmett stew on his worries as she kept watch out the passenger side window, which faced the entry and exit of the parking lot.

  A strong breeze caused the car to rattle.

  ‘Frank and Joe’s Handy Plumbing?’ she read the branding on the small van that drove slowly towards them, then parked in the bay opposite.

  ‘That’s the one.’ Emmett gathered his things.

  ‘And we’re confident Warren is out for the day?’

  ‘Ambers is monitoring his movements through the tracking device we put on the bike. Plus, Lanh knows to warn us of any change of plans.’

  ‘Great.’ Bianca leapt out and led the way to the van, the side panel sliding open just enough for the two of them to slip inside.

  Emmett nodded to the small team within, recognising most of the officers. He took a seat and allowed his mind to empty as they headed off, feeling the sway and bump of the van as it navigated the short trip from Rye to Blairgowrie, and then to the house on the hill. Even though they couldn’t see out, it was obvious when they’d made it to Koonya Avenue, thanks to the hiss of gravel under the tyres. He waited until they’d cleared the steep slope before addressing the group.

  ‘Good to go?’

  Solemn nods all around.

  The driver had been instructed to park the van up the driveway of Warren’s property, well inside the grounds and away from too much neighbourly attention. Once all the checks were made, the lock technician was first to make an approach, carrying a small, cone-shaped device to the door and quickly gaining their access to the property.

  ‘All clear,’ he said, as he clambered back into the van.

  Emmett pressed his lips together, removing his outer jacket so that he matched his team in their navy polo shirts.

  ‘Ready to fix some pipes?’ Bianca elbowed him as they left the van, walking swiftly to the side of the property where one entrance was propped open for them.

  In the hallway, they slipped extra protective gear over their shoes, and then spread out, taking one room at a time, carefully lifting and inspecting items, everything to be left exactly as it was and anything important to be photographed rather than seized.

  ‘It’s rather sparse, isn’t it?’ Bianca joined Emmett in the front room, where he’d just worked his way around a worn orange couch.

  They shuffled through papers on a sideboard, bills and advertising mainly, nothing useful.

  ‘No photos or memorabilia displayed anywhere,’ she added, running a gloved hand along the top of a mantelpiece.

  ‘I’ll do the bedroom next.’ Emmett moved down the
skinny hallway. Though he was trying to keep an open mind about what they might find, he was anxious to know whether these black-and-yellow gloves or headlight might be anywhere – something that could potentially place Warren back out at Dogs Head.

  He reached the room at the end, observing with disappointment how the set-up was almost monastic – just the mattress on a frame with grey linen, a bedside table with a couple of novels stacked, and a small set of drawers. He checked under the bed and then sifted through an uninspiring selection of clothes. Aside from learning that Warren liked his colours to be neutral or muted, there was nothing to be gained.

  In the kitchen he saw Bianca and another officer carefully sorting through cupboards, so he left them and instead focused on the back of the house, where a white sliding door took him to a laundry room. It was a dark space with just the one window up high, allowing minimal light in. Emmett noticed one of the glass slats was missing.

  Against the wall at the side, an indoor clothes rack was propped up, and atop the washing machine was a laundry basket with a few items bundled together. Moving it aside and opening the top-loader, Emmett used a portable light to see into the depths of the well. It was extraordinary what he’d found people hiding in washing machines over the years: incriminating SIM cards, drugs, even an illegally imported reptile . . . but aside from some overflowing lint filters, Warren’s was empty.

  He bent to the floor where he’d left the basket. A set of sheets, an old towel, a pair of trackpants . . . What?

  A chill rushed through him.

  ‘Tardio?’ he called, bobbing up and almost colliding with his colleague in the doorway.

  Her eyes danced over the room.

  ‘Take a look in here.’ He lifted the basket up so she could see the item that had been tangled in with a flat sheet.

  Bianca’s stare widened. ‘It’s Cecilia’s other sock.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  She waited at the gates, phone in one hand, eyes scanning the grounds. Hurry up. Cindy peered at the many little bodies rushing towards her. She looked to the message on her screen again.

  Things have changed. We need more bacon.

  It had come through about twenty minutes ago, her husband not responding to her immediate follow-up call. What was happening out there? How much time did she have?

  A pair of twins zoomed past – excited squeals as they saw their mum, matching bows perched high on their heads bobbling in excitement. Cindy smiled. She’d always hoped for a girl.

  Finally, her little boy emerged.

  ‘Jake pushed me and I fell into the mud and then the teacher told us off and I got in trouble even though it wasn’t my fault . . .’

  Cindy bent down and kissed her dirty son. ‘It’s nice to see you too.’

  Squeezing his hand in hers, she walked him hurriedly to the car, clipping him in and warning him not to touch her camera equipment, which she’d carefully placed on the other rear passenger seat.

  ‘We’re going on a bit of an adventure,’ she cooed, checking the time on the dashboard clock and typing the directions in her GPS.

  Should she phone her editor? She’d been toying with the idea while she’d waited to collect Nicholas, but now that she was already on her way, she decided against it. No point getting his hopes up in case she missed whatever was going on. Besides, if he wasn’t going to give her any shifts of his own accord, she hardly owed him the courtesy.

  ‘How much longer?’ Nicholas groaned after only a short while.

  Cindy frowned, anxious to get there herself. The drive had been far slower than she’d expected, the Friday afternoon traffic causing havoc on the roads leading out of town. ‘Nearly there,’ she lied.

  Little feet kicked the back of her seat, but eventually he settled down again.

  ‘You’ll be able to see the ocean soon!’ Cindy was relieved to finally be on the exit for Jetty Road, just a straight stretch of coastal highway to go before they’d be in Blairgowrie. Nicholas didn’t reply. Still sulking. She rolled her eyes, pulling up abruptly at a set of traffic lights. ‘Come on, honey, don’t be like that—’

  Oh. She surveyed the drooling lips, puffed cheeks and lolled body. Fast asleep.

  Turning down the radio, she felt her shoulders relax, the pressure greatly reduced now that she didn’t have to worry about entertaining her son. He was always ratty after a full week at school, and the decision to bring him with her on what was ostensibly a work trip had seemed foolish, if not utterly stupid. But what choice did she have?

  She turned into Koonya Avenue, the residential street worryingly quiet. Approaching the house on the hill, she saw just one police vehicle jutting out from a neighbouring property, its front tyres pointed towards the entrance to Warren Turton’s place. She continued slowly, noticing the apparent desertedness of the suspect’s house on her left, and the lacklustre state of the cop car’s driver, the officer appearing as energetic as her son, slumped back in his chair.

  She drove on, unable to safely park or turn around on the narrow road. I’ve either missed the action, or it’s yet to happen.

  Reaching the other side of the street, Cindy followed a road to the right, eventually finding a driveway that offered enough room to navigate a three-point turn.

  By the time she was heading back in the other direction, a second police vehicle had arrived at the top of the crest. She pulled over onto a flat patch of lawn, watching the interaction. The officer from the first car was getting out, wildly gesturing to the two occupants of the second car. A shift swap, she realised, as the passengers changed places.

  But oh no . . . She recognised the slim figure of the young policeman, who marched confidently to the parked car and took his place in the front seat. Tobias Haigh was now on patrol.

  She cringed, waiting for the second vehicle to depart the scene. Oh well, she sighed, venturing up the hill and pulling up at enough of a distance behind him. That’s what you get for screwing people over. And had it been worth it? She frowned, unable to honestly tell herself it had. Her editor had been happy for that day only; there’d been no flow-on effect to further shifts or opportunities.

  She hesitated a moment, eyeing her camera on the seat beside her. As much as she’d like to stay hidden in the warmth of her car, she really needed to be in that vacant block directly opposite Warren’s house. From there, she had a clear shot into his property, and could see in both directions down the street. But that meant passing Tobias. And waking Nicholas.

  Bloody hell.

  ‘Okay, sleepy head,’ she whispered, leaning over and patting her son. ‘Time to get up.’

  Little sucking sounds came from his lips. She smiled, getting out of the car and walking around to his side.

  ‘Up you get.’ She unclipped his seatbelt and lifted the heavy body into her arms. He clung on tight, nuzzling into her chest. How much longer would she have these moments? She carried him like a koala, somehow managing to open the front passenger door, grab her camera with one hand, and shut the door with her hip.

  Approaching the police car, she put on her friendliest expression. Maybe he wasn’t mad at her, maybe he hadn’t even seen the photos—

  ‘What do you want?’ Tobias leant out the driver’s window, eyes narrow.

  Okay, so he was angry. ‘Constable Haigh,’ Cindy smiled. ‘It’s nice to see you again. This is my son, Nicholas.’

  ‘You have some nerve,’ the policeman muttered, shaking his head. ‘Do you think I’m an idiot?’

  She hesitated, shifting the heavy lump of child from one side of her chest to the other. Her back strained. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I sent the photos to my editor, just to show him what the scene was like. I told him they weren’t for publication but he went ahead and offered them to the news outlets anyway. It wasn’t intentional.’

  ‘Yeah right.’

  ‘I’d never do that deliberately . . .’ Cindy stopped, hearing the lies coming from her lips. So easy. So effortless. When did she get like that?

 
Tobias was doing a good job of maintaining a scowl, but behind the anger there was another emotion written across his face. He was hurt.

  ‘Hey,’ she bent down, still struggling to balance Nicholas and her camera, ‘you’re right. I did the wrong thing. I’m sorry.’

  He said nothing, but his expression softened – a little.

  ‘Mum.’ Her sleepy boy wrestled in his position. ‘Are we at the beach?’

  ‘Almost.’ She put him down, taking a soft hand in hers and walking along the gravel road, past the police car and towards the vacant lot. ‘First, we’re going to hang out here for a bit, and then we can go to the ocean and watch the sunset!’

  ‘Can I climb that tree?’ Nicholas perked up considerably at the sight of the overrun shrubbery.

  ‘Good idea,’ she laughed, happy he could keep himself entertained while she set her camera up to get some shots of the police car.

  They stayed there a while, close to an hour before the excitement of climbing and falling, scrummaging and foraging wore off. ‘I’m bored. Can we go to the beach now?’

  Cindy checked her phone. It was early evening, and so far the only action she’d captured was a quick snap of the man she knew to be Warren Turton, cycling up the road and into his house. No police interception. No movement from Tobias down the street. Nothing. She stared at her last message from Emmett, wishing it would transform into something more useful. Perhaps she’d mistaken his meaning?

  ‘Hey, look,’ Nicolas squealed, pointing to the left. ‘All those cars coming towards us, Mum!’

  The sudden arrival of white vans and sedans brought a rush of adrenalin. This was it. Cindy grabbed Nicholas firmly by one arm. ‘You need to stay sitting here, okay?’ She plonked him on the sturdiest tree stump. ‘Don’t move, don’t go anywhere.’

  The cars lined up in front of her, completely blocking her view of Warren’s house. She leapt out onto the road, moving to the side so she could capture the drama.

  The first person to emerge was Emmett, her husband casually strolling out of a vehicle and across the front yard, accompanied by a female detective. A rush of pride filled her as she watched him in action. In all his years of policing, she’d never actually witnessed him at work.