by Perry, Kyle
‘What is it, Eliza?’
‘I do know who Jasmine was dating. But he couldn’t have been involved . . . he has an alibi, so I didn’t think I needed to tell you . . . He’s a good man, and —’
‘Who is it, Eliza?’
‘The teacher’s assistant . . . Jack Michaels.’
CHAPTER 20
CON
‘Thank you, Eliza. Let me know if you think of anything else.’
Con ended the call, resting his shoulder against the Masons’ front door, having just stepped outside to take the call.
Jack Michaels was dating Jasmine Murphy. Why didn’t I interview him sooner? Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .
But seriously, what the hell is wrong with this town?
Gabriella and Con had arrived at the Masons’ house only ten minutes earlier, and only then heard about Madison’s video giving out her address. Mrs Nelly Mason was in hysterics, terrified someone was going to kidnap Madison.
‘That stupid channel,’ she’d kept wailing.
Con re-joined Gabriella at the kitchen counter. It smelled of detergent and red wine. He sipped the coffee Nelly Mason had handed him, which had a faint soapy taste. Mr Bruiser, the trembling little whippet, was adding his own incessant yipping to the mix.
Jack Michaels, he thought again. Surely Detective Coops interviewed him. Did I miss the report?
He vaguely remembered someone at the car park mentioning Jack Michaels that first morning. Was it a parent? A search volunteer? Or Tom North himself?
When the girls were walking back from the camp, Jack had been at the front of the group and far from the action, but he still should have talked to him. Would he even have known what questions to ask? There was just so much going on, so much material coming into his inbox, and there were only so many leads Con could follow. Had he made a bad mistake?
I’m an idiot, he thought angrily. Jack Michaels was the one who found Eliza!
He wondered how he could tell Gabriella without Nelly or Madison hearing.
‘I’m sure Kevin will be back any minute,’ Nelly Mason was saying, fluttering around the kitchen, her platinum bob flicking as she cleaned things that already looked clean to Con. ‘I know you have so much else to do, but I will feel safer once Kevin’s home.’ It was the fifth time she’d told Con and Gabriella that. She glanced out the window. ‘Do you want tea or coffee?’ She saw the cups in front of them and gave a hysterical chuckle. Mr Bruiser kept yipping.
‘Could you take a seat, please?’ said Con, setting aside the coffee.
‘Of course,’ she said, sitting down beside him, a saucepan still in her hands.
‘Can you think of anyone other than Mr Murphy those condoms might belong to?’ said Gabriella.
‘No one,’ she replied instantly. ‘My Cierra wasn’t seeing anyone. I knew she always had bit of a soft spot for . . . Jasmine’s dad . . . but I would never have guessed —’
‘Is there anyone else she might’ve told who she was sleeping with? Or anyone who might know?’ said Gabriella.
‘No one,’ said Nelly.
‘Gee, thanks, Mum,’ came Madison’s cold voice. She was in the lounge, just off the kitchen, on her laptop. She had told them she was editing a memorial video for Georgia and didn’t have time to talk to them. She wore a luxurious purple dressing gown and her hair was wet. ‘I’ve already told you: Mr Murphy wasn’t banging Cierra.’
‘Don’t say that!’ Nelly shrieked, slamming the saucepan on the counter. ‘He was always too friendly with you girls! And . . . how could you give our address to the whole world?’ She sobbed and ran to another part of the house.
Mr Bruiser yipped and raced after her, leaving a puddle of urine on the floor.
There was a moment of ringing silence.
‘The condoms don’t belong to Murphy,’ said Madison again. ‘He’s a good man.’
‘Then whose are they?’ asked Con. Of course, the whole point of their visit had been to speak to Madison again, but they’d tried to be subtle about it.
‘Why do they have to belong to anyone except Cierra? Why does everyone freak out about the idea of Cierra having sex?’ said Madison. ‘She’s sixteen. If they were found in a teenage boy’s room, you wouldn’t even blink.’
‘Your parents seem concerned about it,’ said Gabriella, arching her eyebrow.
‘And again, if she was a boy, they wouldn’t care. Dad would be proud. I’m telling you: it’s not important. And Murphy has nothing to do with it.’
‘If you know something, you should tell us,’ said Con.
‘Because you’re doing such a great job with the info you’ve already been given,’ said Madison, flicking her wet hair back and fixing them with a stare. ‘Georgia is dead and you’re chasing up condoms and weed.’
‘Who did they belong to?’ said Con. He could hear Nelly’s sobs from next door. It meant she was in earshot – it was shaky grounds, but he was gonna run with that counting as her being present. ‘If it’s not important, why won’t you tell us?’
‘The person Cierra was sleeping with didn’t take her.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ said Con.
‘A rock-solid alibi.’ The face she made, just for an instant, confirmed it.
Time to take a risk.
‘She is sleeping with Jack Michaels,’ said Con. ‘And so is Jasmine.’
Madison’s face went slack. ‘What did you say?’
‘I just asked if —’
‘Who told you?’ She stood up, her hands balled into fists. ‘Who told you about Jasmine and Jack?’
‘It’s true, then?’ said Con, avoiding Gabriella’s curious eyes: he hadn’t had time to fill her in.
‘Jack was up with Mr North when they disappeared,’ said Madison. ‘There are plenty of witnesses.’ She bared her perfect white teeth. ‘You will not pin this on him.’
‘The condoms didn’t belong to Jack Michaels?’ said Con.
‘For the last time: the condoms belong to Cierra.’ She sat back down. ‘Dad might be a while: he’s up there on the mountain, actually helping, unlike you two. You should head off and, I don’t know, contribute to the investigation, maybe?’
‘Is that what the fight was about, up at the campsite?’ said Gabriella quietly. ‘Was it about Jack? Did one of the other girls threaten to expose him? Did someone else like him?’
Madison pulled out her phone. She ran her hands through her brushed hair, so it looked like she’d only just got out of the shower. A few seconds later she spoke to the front-facing camera.
‘Hello, Instagram Live, Facebook Live, or whatever platform you’re watching this on. I want to thank everyone for their support today. It has been . . .’ Her voice caught. ‘Knowing that our friend is gone . . . knowing that Cierra and Jasmine are still out there, and even Bree . . .’ Perfect little tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Thank you to all the brave volunteers who are out there searching. I wish there was more that all of us could do, except hope . . .’
Con glanced at Gabriella, sensing danger. He stood up to leave, but Gabriella remained, leaning back and crossing her arms.
‘How could she not tell us about this?’ she hissed at Con. ‘This is major.’
‘I want to thank everyone for their kind words about Cierra . . . and yes, I’ll talk about it again: a video has gone viral, showing my dad at Jasmine Murphy’s house. He was accusing Jasmine’s dad of sleeping with my sister. As I’ve already told you all, that is unequivocally untrue. My sister’s sex life is no one else’s business, and has nothing to do with her going missing, but blaming Jasmine’s dad . . .’ She shook her head. ‘How do you think Jasmine would feel, hearing that her own father was being blamed for taking her? Please, share your messages of support for Murphy, using the hashtag “#JusticeForMurphy”.’
Con grabbed Gabriella’s shoulder, trying to pull her out of her seat, but she knocked his hand away.
‘We should go,’ said Con.
‘I’m not gonna be bullied,’ said Gabrie
lla. ‘Besides, you’re the one who said she’s hiding something. I bet she’s hiding more.’
‘I’m streaming this live because I have something else to share . . . you see, since the discovery of those condoms in my sister’s room, we’ve seen police resources used to falsely arrest an innocent man and, what’s more, the detectives responsible for finding our girls have come here, to my house, to ask about those condoms again. As though having sex is some dirty thing, and that’s the reason for Cierra going missing. We are women: we own our bodies. It is normal for us to have sex!’
She tapped the screen, switching to the back camera, angling her phone towards Con and Gabriella. ‘Say hello to Detective Badenhorst and Detective Pakinga. My sister has been missing for thirty-six hours and they’re chasing up condoms. If anyone out there knows how to lodge complaints against dodgy police, please let me know in the comments.’
‘We know Madison is hiding something from us,’ called Gabriella suddenly, addressing the camera. ‘Someone out there knows what it is. We need to know what Madison isn’t telling us. Don’t be afraid: come forward and let us know. Help us find the girls.’
Madison gasped, furious, and switched the camera back onto herself. ‘See? They want to turn us against each other. Just tonight I’ve heard them accuse our teacher’s assistant, Mr Jack Michaels, of being involved. There are thirty eye witnesses to vouch that he didn’t take them. He was the one who actually found Miss Ellis, wounded on the trail. Don’t let them make up another suspect. Justice for Murphy! Justice for Jack! Bring our girls home!’
Con pulled Gabriella away and down the hall, before she could say anything more. ‘Why the hell did you do that?’ he demanded as they left the house, desperate to get out of there.
‘She’s not telling us something. We both know it.’ Gabriella stalked along the paving stones, bristling like a cat. ‘The little bitch. She wants to try and paint us as the villains – she wants to play the victim? Oh, she’ll see what we’re capable of, just you wait . . . Did you see the way she loosened the dressing gown and then pulled the camera back, so everyone could see she was barely wearing anything underneath? It made it look like we’d just dragged her out of bed, or from the bath, or . . . something equally creepy.’
‘We need to speak to Jack Michaels,’ said Con.
‘Yeah, and he’ll know we’re coming now.’
‘We can use that,’ said Con. ‘We might just need to bend a couple rules.’
‘Done. I don’t care, as long as we find out what Madison is up to.’ Gabriella pulled the driver’s side door open.
A text message came through on Con’s phone: Hello, this is Pastor Hugh again. Please call me when you can. It is a matter of some urgency.
Con quickly texted his reply: Sorry, will call soon. Can you text what this is regarding?
Ignoring the journalists trying to get their attention, Con climbed into the passenger side and they sped off. It began to rain again.
CHAPTER 21
MURPHY
Murphy, Butch and Skinner sat in the cushy couches around the fireplace in the shed. The other two were taking long drags from their joints and relaxing. Skinner didn’t know, but the one they’d given him had been painted in angel dust. Once they’d pumped Skinner full of the stuff they planned to interrogate him. Or it could go terribly wrong and he’d try and kill them. They had to wait for it to kick in and see.
Murphy scrolled through the comments on the video posted by the Justice for the Limestone Four Facebook page. It was surprising how many people he’d known his whole life wanted him dead. His mind went to the Glock hidden in the back of the couch he was sitting on; maybe he should keep it with him from now on.
Catching MMMMadisonMason’s comment, he clicked on her page, and saw she was streaming a live video.
‘Knowing that our friend is gone . . . knowing that Cierra and Jasmine are still out there, and even Bree . . .’
Jasmine, where are you? I’m coming for you, I promise.
Butch and Skinner had gone quiet, listening in. They both cheered when Madison declared Murphy’s innocence. At the mention of Jack Michaels, Murphy felt a flash of anger. Butch spat on the floor, and Skinner looked sheepish.
When Madison flipped the camera to show the detectives, and Detective Pakinga called for someone to come forward about whatever Madison was hiding, Butch roared. ‘How dare those pigs say that about the poor girl!’
‘Shut up, dopey,’ said Skinner, punching his shoulder. ‘We’re listening.’
Madison again declared Murphy and Jack’s innocence, and then the stream ended. The sound of the fire crackling and Butch taking deep draws on his joint filled the silence.
‘Well,’ said Skinner, ‘someone is on your side. Her support should go a long way. But I wonder why someone is trying to pin it on Michaels?’
‘One of the only men in this town who couldn’t have done it,’ muttered Murphy. ‘Vouched for by all the little schoolgirls. But I wouldn’t argue with someone who wanted to set that mob onto him.’
‘You’re still sore about the seeds, are you?’ said Skinner, overly casual.
‘Of course we bloody are,’ said Butch, glaring fiercely. ‘You know how long it took Dad to breed our strain? There’s a reason you can sell for so much – because it’s bloody good. Jack bloody well stole our seeds and you bloody let him!’
‘I didn’t know he would, did I! In his defence, he got rid of them all – he’s always asking to buy more weed,’ said Skinner. He held up his hands to cut off the protest he knew was coming. ‘I know, I know – I haven’t sold him any, have I? But he’ll just get it off someone else. Tom North and him are good mates, and Tom buys more than enough from me.’
‘Then stop selling it to Tom,’ said Murphy.
Skinner laughed, but it was forced. ‘You wanna lose that much income? Honestly, Jack made a mistake – a stupid mistake – but he’s good now.’
‘We welcomed him into our house. We treated him like a little brother,’ said Butch. ‘And how did he repay us?’ He stood up, staggered, sat back down. He swiped at something in front of him.
‘Everyone goes a little crazy over money, Butch, and we all know he was struggling for it.’ He eyed Butch uneasily. ‘Mate, you’re burning yourself.’
Butch stood again, chest puffed up. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Bloody hell, mate. What have you got in that thing?’ Skinner snatched the joint away from Butch’s finger and licked it. ‘You put angel dust on this thing. How much?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ said Butch, scowling at the wall. ‘Although . . . that would explain the freaky shit I’m seeing.’
‘I think you’ve had enough.’ Skinner opened the fireplace and tossed it in.
‘Hey,’ roared Butch.
‘I told you the other night not to go to heavy on the stuff: even that tiny bit made you aggro.’
‘Come off it. Weed never makes me aggressive,’ said Butch, standing over Skinner.
‘But angel dust does a bunch of crazy shit.’ Skinner glanced at Murphy. ‘Murphy, help me calm him down, would you? Shit, you haven’t had some too? You were bloody scary the other night.’
‘Butch, take a seat,’ said Murphy.
Butch sat back down, ‘Where’s my phone? I’m calling someone over.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ said Murphy to Skinner, ignoring Butch. ‘All I did was fall asleep.’
‘Fell asleep.’ Skinner laughed. Butch was on his feet again and lumbering around the shed, muttering to himself and scowling at the walls. ‘You went apeshit, bro. Started talking about your dead wife and Jasmine.’
‘What?’ said Murphy. ‘I don’t remember any of that.’
‘Amnesia, mate. It’s part of the package with angel dust. We thought you’d gone to bed, or maybe you were off somewhere still chatting with your dead wife. Didn’t Butch find you on the ground? You probably passed out. You weren’t naked, were you?’
Murphy’s mind
spun back. Waking up to Butch’s voice, freezing and wet on the ground, wrapped up in his hunting jacket.
Butch yelled at something invisible. ‘I can’t breathe, I need water.’ He smashed the line of empty beer bottles they’d built over the course of the night.
‘Butch, mate. It’s alright,’ said Murphy.
‘I’ll go get some water,’ said Skinner, ducking out of the shed.
‘There’s bloody tiger snakes climbing up the walls again,’ said Butch, tears forming in his eyes. ‘I bloody hate the bloody snakes, mate. Where’s Jasmine gone? I can’t lose her . . .’
Butch slumped into Murphy’s arms and began blubbering into his shoulder. ‘I gotta tell her I’m sorry. I’m so sorry . . .’ His hands gripped Murphy’s back. ‘There’s a bloody demon hanging from the ceiling. He’s showing me his ass. I’m gonna kill him.’ He pushed Murphy aside and groped for something that wasn’t there.
The door flew open and Skinner pushed a bottle of water into Butch’s hand.
‘Potion . . .’ moaned Butch. He began drinking the water, then nestled into the couch, still seeing things that weren’t there.
Murphy glanced at Skinner. He looked a little guilty – Murphy didn’t know if it was from remembering the incident with Jack or because of the angel dust, but one way or the other, Skinner was off balance. Murphy grabbed his arm and dragged him outside. It was now or never.
‘I need the list,’ Murphy said, without preamble. ‘Everyone around here you sell our weed to.’
‘You know I can’t do that,’ he said. ‘Goes against my code. Distance keeps politics out of it, stops people from going to the cops if things go south. You’ve got enough heat on you with that corrupt copper watching your every move. And everyone knows it. No one would buy your product if it wasn’t for me in the middle.’
‘Someone you sell to was in Cierra’s room —’ began Murphy.
‘I watch the news too, mate. She was taken from a mountain, not her bedroom,’ said Skinner. ‘Mate, your bush bud is the best around, so there’s a lot of people on my lists.’