The Girl Remains (Detective Corban)

by Katherine Firkin

  At least a dozen uniformed officers came next, batons held high and protective shields across their faces. Was this a raid? Why had they waited for Warren to come home? Cindy looked around, still pinching herself that she was the only media there.

  And who were they? She noticed the pale blue jumpsuits hanging back. Forensic specialists. She took a quick photo. They must be waiting to search the property.

  ‘Keep moving, right this way.’ Her husband had returned, his voice noticeably different. Gruff. Blokey.

  She stayed to the side, a frenzy of clicks as she tried to record the fast-moving scene: Warren Turton being brought out in handcuffs, face pale and eyes wide, flanked by the two detectives.

  As he was led around to the van, Cindy took a quick second to check her work, crouching down on the ground and flicking back through her viewfinder. Had she got the shot? Yes. She zoomed in on the image, thrilled with what she’d captured. In that split second, Warren had looked directly at her, his eyes lasered down the camera, a piercing, angry stare. It was front-page material.

  She was just standing up, moving further back to calmly capture the aftermath, when she heard the commotion.

  ‘Hey! Stop! There’s a kid there!’

  Tobias was dashing from his car, charging into the mix of police and detectives, batons and shields. Cindy looked to the tree stump, the vacant lot. Empty. Shit.

  She ran to the other side of the cars, horrified to find her son gripping on to the legs of Emmett as he tried to secure the prisoner in the back of a van.

  ‘Dad! Dad! What are you doing?’

  ‘Nicholas, get back!’ she yelled, aware of the angry looks from dozens of officers.

  ‘Is this your child?’ An older officer started approaching, clearly preparing to admonish her. But it was the look of utter humiliation from Emmett that hit the hardest.

  ‘You brought our son to a police raid?’ he hissed, after picking Nicholas up and carrying him to her, away from the turmoil.

  ‘I didn’t know it was a raid,’ Cindy stammered. ‘And what else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just leave him at the school.’

  ‘I trusted you to be discreet.’ The stinging words left his mouth without his lips appearing to move at all. ‘We’ll talk about this later.’ He turned and walked away, over to the female detective who was standing at the edge of the driveway watching the whole thing with obvious bemusement.

  Cindy tensed, immediately deciding she didn’t like the woman. But there was worse to come. Oh no. Her heart sank as she watched Tobias make his approach, marching up to Emmett and pointing back to her. He’s telling him about the photos I plagiarised.

  Cindy grabbed Nicholas by the arm and retreated to the tree stump in the vacant block. ‘You stay with me from now on.’ She bounced him on her lap, half-heartedly snapping whatever images she could from the one vantage point.

  She’d prefer to just give up, pack everything away and make a mortifying withdrawal. But the damage was done.

  ‘Are we going to the beach soon?’ Nicholas asked, still buzzing from all the activity and the unexpected sighting of his dad.

  ‘Soon, darling.’ Cindy whispered. ‘Just let Mummy finish up here and then we can get some fish and chips.’

  They took Warren to the Sorrento cells, the former schoolteacher unresponsive as he was being led in.

  ‘Is there anyone you’d like us to call?’

  ‘Do you need access to specialists?’

  ‘Any medication you require?’

  Aside from one particularly aggressive snort, he stayed silent, his cocky yet disinterested demeanour remaining.

  ‘I think he’s in shock,’ Bianca sniggered, as they took over an office at the back of the police station.

  ‘Well that makes two of us.’ Emmett sifted dazedly through his folder of paperwork.

  ‘You okay?’

  He pushed the folder away and rubbed his eyes. Was he okay? He exhaled loudly before sipping at his plastic glass of water. Things had moved so quickly since finding Cecilia’s sock at Warren’s place that afternoon. They’d had no choice but to seize the item and arrest him, not able to take the chance he’d destroy the crucial evidence if they waited. But what did it mean for their undercover operation? And all other leads they had up in the air?

  ‘Emmett?’

  It was a rare thing for his colleague to use his first name, and the softness with which she said it caught him off guard. ‘I think I’ve compromised the investigation,’ he blurted out before he could stop himself.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve messed up.’

  Bianca said nothing, waiting for him to go on. He tugged at his shirt cuffs, noticing a building tension at his temples.

  ‘I told my wife there’d be some sort of activity at Warren Turton’s house this evening. I tipped her off. That’s why she was the only media there, getting photos.’

  ‘Okay . . .’

  ‘And I just found out that she was the person who got those images of Cecilia’s remains plastered all over the news.’

  ‘The photos from the gravesite? How? Was she there? Did you give them to her?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Emmett scoffed, anger rising. ‘But that’s just the thing – they weren’t even her own shots. They were taken by that young officer Haigh from this station. He’d shown them to her in confidence, and she went and sent them out as her own.’

  Bianca’s eyes widened. ‘Wow. Alright, that isn’t great.’

  ‘No.’ Emmett shook his head. ‘And the worst part is, she didn’t even have the gall to tell me – just let me carry on like a complete moron while my entire investigation was thrown off-kilter.’

  ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t have seen it that way.’

  ‘Really? How would you see it then?’

  Bianca sighed, a gentle smile hitting her lips. ‘You know, I’m really not qualified to speak on behalf of your wife. My suggestion right now is that you put it behind you and focus on what’s important. Overall, it’s been a productive day. Now let’s go nail this bastard, make sure he stays behind bars for the rest of his life, and then later on we can discuss all your terrible failings as a husband.’

  For some reason, her dry humour had the right effect, and Emmett found himself almost laughing. ‘Yeah, alright then. But shouldn’t we wait until forensics have done a full sweep of the house before we start the interrogation?’

  Bianca shrugged. ‘I’m not sure that’s necessary. We’re not really expecting them to find much, are we? We already have the smoking gun.’

  ‘True. But I’m still keen to get a look at his electronic devices, and I’ve also asked them to collect soil samples from around the property. Hopefully they’ll match the samples found on Cecilia’s remains, or at least confirm the presence of ammonium nitrate within his grounds . . . But you’re right, we can always pause the interview if needed.’

  ‘And the line-up’s still getting organised?’

  ‘Yep.’ Emmett rubbed his forehead. He’d almost forgotten about the woman who’d sighted the ‘lurker’ out at Dogs Head. ‘Brabham is making arrangements with the witness and as soon as she’s able, we’ll have Warren participate in a formal line-up.’

  ‘Great.’ Bianca stood up. ‘So, what are we waiting for?’

  With an overly dramatic sigh, Emmett dragged himself up from his chair. As pleased as he was to have Warren in custody, he wasn’t looking forward to what would likely be a lengthy interrogation.

  ‘Come on then, old man,’ Bianca smirked. ‘Let’s get this case closed once and for all.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The light was fading fast, her only company an ever-increasing cluster of winged bugs that seemed determined to harass her. Pippa swatted at the insects again, eventually deciding to give up and call it a night. She got to her feet, moving stiffly away from the fence she’d been sitting on and swinging one strap of her backpack around a shoulder.

  A deep despair flooded her body. An entire day.
Wasted.

  She sighed, wiping the back of her nose with a sleeve. Her decision to sit off Leicester Reyes’ home all day had turned out to be a poor one, but she’d been so sure that his visitor would leave. She sniffed loudly, walking to the other side of the dirt road and glaring at the unwelcoming house beyond the metal gate.

  She’d arrived there a little after midday, having endured an awkward breakfast in Tobias’s small kitchen, where they’d carefully avoided any further mention of why the policeman had been snooping through her things, or why she’d been collecting news articles on the Cecilia May case.

  When it finally seemed appropriate to leave, she’d headed straight to Koonya Avenue, rushing to the home of the former sergeant – almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of meeting someone who could finally help her.

  But she’d noticed the car immediately, the two-door coupé parked inconsiderately across the driveway, leaving her only just enough room to squeeze past and wriggle through the gap in the gate.

  A quick peek into the back garden had confirmed her fears: the sergeant wasn’t alone. She’d been forced to retreat, tiptoeing back down the side of the property and waiting for hours in the growing cold, perched uncomfortably on the wooden fence opposite, praying pathetically for either Leicester or his female visitor to emerge from the house. Neither had.

  The worst part was that she’d recognised him – the broad-shouldered man with the distinctive knuckle tattoo, the very man she’d collided with that first day out on the cliff when she’d tripped and hurt her knee. What a shame she hadn’t known who he was back then when he’d caught her; it would have been the perfect opportunity to engage with him.

  Pippa rubbed at the skin around her eyes, which was feeling raw and itchy. Lights had just gone on in the front rooms, illuminating the windows in a yellow glow. There was every indication that the former sergeant and his guest were settled in for the evening. She’d have to rethink her plan for tomorrow.

  She turned to walk back to her crash pad, ready for another night of trespassing in the comfy holiday home. But the screech of tyres accelerating on dirt caused her to stop.

  Instinctively stepping to the edge of the road, Pippa watched as a convoy of cars appeared from atop the hill, speeding down the steep slope and past her, leaving a cloud of dust hanging in the air.

  She coughed. Had the police suddenly rushed in and arrested Warren? That seemed the only plausible explanation for the marked van that had whirred by, followed closely by a procession of white cars.

  But did that mean he’d been taken away for good now? Or would she get a chance to speak with him again?

  Pippa stared vacantly up the hill. Before she could think better of it, she found herself heading up the incline, her feet slipping on the uneven surface. Why not take a quick look at Warren’s place, now that the police were gone?

  The chaos at Warren Turton’s was over as quickly as it had begun, and by the time Cindy had started ingesting her photographs, the house had been left virtually abandoned, the forensic officers having packed up and left – nothing but the blue-and-white police tape hanging across the front yard to suggest the frenzy of activity earlier. And was Tobias even still there? She craned her neck down the street, no longer able to see the corner of the patrol car – he’d either parked further back after one of his bathroom breaks, or he’d gone for the day.

  Probably a good thing.

  With her laptop balanced precariously across her thighs, Cindy flicked through the dozens of photos she’d taken, selecting the few that were worthy of publication and moving them to a separate folder. Her excitement at having the exclusive photos was overshadowed by her run-in with Emmett and she really just wanted to be done with it.

  ‘Look, Mum, I made the whole fort!’

  Nicholas had resorted to building sandcastles out of dirt, her son somehow able to entertain himself with nothing but soil and shrubbery.

  ‘That’s wonderful, honey, it looks great.’

  She felt bad. Not only had she embarrassed her husband at work, but she’d let down her little boy, the promise of dinner on the beach seeming less and less likely with every minute that passed.

  She sighed, clicking through the different images. Why had she become so obsessed with this case? It wasn’t like it was her lifelong dream to work in the media – or even to be a photographer. She’d stumbled into the field on a whim, yet for some reason the chance to get an exclusive shot had taken over all sense of rationality.

  Pathetic.

  The feeling clawed at her from the inside, as tears threatened to break. She pushed it away, quickly adding a few extra images for backup, and naming the folder: Warren Turton Arrest.

  She typed a hurried message to the night editor, and sent her work away.

  Who really cares, anyway? She packed up her laptop and slung her camera over one shoulder, moving further into the bushes to sit with her son. Her photos would be a big deal when they hit the news later that night: the papers would do front-page splashes with flashy headlines, TV reporters would breathlessly narrate the raids and arrest as though they’d been there themselves, and then everyone would forget about it, moving on to the next big story.

  How pointless.

  ‘Mum?’ Nicholas handed her a stone. ‘Do you think that would make a good decoration for my fort?’

  ‘Yes, darling,’ she chuckled. ‘I think it’s perfect. Would you like to get something to eat?’

  ‘Just a minute,’ he frowned, earnestly. ‘We still have the tower to make.’

  Laughing, Cindy dropped her things back to the ground and helped Nicholas complete his project, taking generous handfuls of moist soil from the ground and moulding it into something that almost resembled a castle.

  ‘Can you take a picture?’

  ‘Yep, but let’s be quick before the light disappears.’ Cindy shifted herself further to the back of the block so she could get Nicholas in front of his special creation. ‘Smile.’ She zoomed in.

  Hang on. She took the photo and lowered her camera.

  Who was that person lurking in the background, on the street outside Warren’s place? Had Emmett’s colleague returned?

  Shuffling forward, she peered through the shrubbery, dreading the thought of another embarrassing confrontation. No, she breathed a sigh of relief. The woman looked similar to the female detective she’d seen with Emmett – petite with dark hair – but she was younger, much younger.

  She took another photo, managing to capture the exact moment the woman ducked under the police tape, before darting hurriedly across the yard and disappearing to the side.

  Who was she? Cindy looked into her viewfinder at the shot she’d just taken.

  She was dressed casually. A local journalist perhaps? Cindy groaned, hoping it wasn’t.

  Doesn’t matter. I’ve already got my pictures in.

  She poked her head out of the bushes, glad there was no photographer or camera operator lying in wait – the reporter working solo.

  Seconds later, the slam of a car door sounded. Tobias Haigh came running along the road, looking in confusion in the direction of Warren’s house. He stood there a while, as though assessing whether he had in fact seen someone trespassing.

  Eventually, he moved forward; a slow, cautious approach.

  ‘Hello?’ he called.

  Cindy watched him manoeuvre under the police tape and walk across the lawn. She felt a flicker of pity for the young woman, who was probably at the front door, waiting for her big exclusive. Tobias wasn’t exactly feeling friendly towards the press at the moment.

  ‘Mum? I need to pee.’

  ‘Okay, darling.’

  She helped Nicholas collect the treasures he’d found – several stones, a twig, a leaf – and led him out to the street.

  As they left, she glanced over to Warren’s house, laughing as she imagined the confrontation happening somewhere on the grounds. It was a relief she didn’t need to face Tobias on her walk of shame from the vaca
nt lot to the car, and she wasn’t going to stick around to see the poor reporter marched out by the policeman.

  It was an opportune moment to make a quiet exit from the scene.

  She’d caused enough trouble for one day.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  There were only two interview rooms at the Sorrento station, and they chose the larger one, taking their positions behind a wooden table, its lacquer chipped and worn.

  Warren was escorted in by a uniformed officer.

  Emmett nodded to the prisoner, who’s only response was a sneer.

  With the usual legalities taken care of, and the tape rolling, they got straight into it.

  ‘You understand that you’re being charged with the murder of Cecilia Lee May?’

  ‘Righteo.’

  ‘You’re looking at serious jail time, Mr Turton, and of course, your willingness to cooperate may be taken into account during sentencing.’

  ‘You lot just keep going ’round in circles, don’t you?’

  ‘We have a witness who saw you at the gravesite of Cecilia May.’ Bianca cut in. ‘This person noticed you acting suspiciously immediately in the vicinity of where her bones were buried. How do you explain that?’

  ‘So now I’m not allowed to walk anywhere that someone might hide something?’

  ‘This witness described you as wearing some very distinct pieces of clothing. Shall I elaborate?’

  ‘Whatever floats your boat.’

  ‘A headlight. Reflective cycling gloves. A large black sports bag . . .’

  What was that look that crossed Warren’s face? A flicker of panic? We’ve got him. Emmett’s confidence grew. ‘You’re an avid cycler, aren’t you, Mr Turton?’ He took over once more, leaning in and smiling at the man across from them. ‘You’re often out on your bike, exploring the neighbourhood?’

  ‘You know I ride my bike. Ever since my fucking car got incinerated.’