by Perry, Kyle
But Butch still wasn’t home yet. Murphy would have to find him, instead.
CHAPTER 40
CON
Con stood in the steaming shower. The shaking had stopped, but the fatigue was still there. The faces of the Jaguar girls rolled across his mind, now joined by Georgia’s broken body and Bree’s bruised face.
He needed sleep.
He had to focus on Georgia and Bree.
Option 1: Bree killed Georgia and/or the other girls, then killed herself out of remorse.
Option 2: Someone killed Bree and hung her up to look like a suicide.
Option 3: Bree killed herself, believing it would protect the others from the Hungry Man.
Option 4: Madison had convinced both Bree and Georgia to kill themselves, and this has all been part of some sick, insane plot.
He thought back to the Honcho Dori Club. He thought back to Denni King. He thought back to the wooden statue tied to Bree’s wrist.
Chaotic Evil: the Hungry Man. Chaotic Evil: Madison Mason. Was there a difference?
There was banging on his hotel room door. He walked out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and opened the door.
Gabriella came stumbling in, arm raised in mid-knock. ‘Con, you toolbag, why don’t you answer your calls?’
‘Gabby, I’m —’
‘Madison killed Denni King,’ she said in a rush. ‘I saw the messages. On her phone. Madison convinced Denni to kill herself.’
‘What?’
‘Do I have your attention now, Cornelius?’
‘I’m listening,’ he said.
She refused to come further into the room and started bouncing on her toes as she spoke. ‘They were both part of something called the Kundela Game, a series of dares. Remember when we saw ‘kundela is the word’ on Madison’s sleeping bag? It has something to do with that. And, Denni was a woodcarver. And this,’ she held out the wooden statue that had been tied to Bree’s wrists, ‘Madison found in her room!’
‘How do you have that?’ said Con, taking it from her. ‘This is evidence. It should be with Forensics.’
‘It’s not the one from Bree’s body. Madison brought this to Eliza’s house today. She accused her of putting it in her room, but Eliza had never seen one before.’
Eliza Ellis appeared at the door. ‘Can I come in now?’
Con swore, clutching his towel. He grabbed his clothes off the floor and fled into the bathroom to change. When he came out in a white button-up, grey slacks and bare feet, the two women were sitting on his bed.
Eliza studied Con, expectant.
‘Look, Eliza, I’m sorry for lying about Cierra being found,’ he said.
‘I don’t forgive you. It was a cheap trick.’
‘No worse than covering for Tom,’ shot back Con. He sat in the chair by the desk.
‘That’s in the past now,’ said Gabriella. ‘We need to work together. I think Jasmine Murphy is still alive, and she’s in Limestone Creek. If Denni made these statues as protection, who else would have them but her friends? I’m sure it was Jasmine – she must have put it in Madison’s room.’
‘Wouldn’t it make more sense for it to be Bree?’
‘Only Jasmine or Georgia would have the foresight to go against Madison,’ said Eliza. ‘Given what Madison has on all of the girls – the nude photos, her influence with her YouTube channel – it would be a way to mess with her head. Madison’s all about the head games and power, right? Why not gaslight her? Disappear, using Madison’s own plot, but then pretend to go really missing, pretend the Hungry Man really did take them. Make Madison admit everything to her followers, put all her guilt on display.
‘Jasmine has always had a keen sense of justice – you should see her arguing with me whenever I give her or any of her friends detention. She’ll make a good lawyer one day,’ said Eliza.
‘But why would Bree have one of the statues?’ said Con. ‘I don’t accept the idea that all four of those girls believed in the Hungry Man.’
‘You’re not from around here, Con,’ said Eliza. ‘You don’t understand what it’s like, living in the shadow of these mountains, the 1985 disappearances.’
‘Yes, thank you, Eliza. I am by now keenly aware that I am not Tasmanian, nor do I live in Limestone Creek. Although I’d bet I’m having a pretty authentic experience . . .’
Con’s phone buzzed. It was Murphy calling. He answered instantly.
‘I’m out the front of the Inn. I need to talk to you.’ Something seemed wrong – Murphy’s voice was too flat. ‘I brought Madison’s USB drive.’
‘What’s happened?’ said Con.
‘Come let me in the side door. I’ll show you.’
‘Eliza and Gabriella are here.’
‘I don’t care, let me in.’
‘Murphy’s outside,’ said Con to the room. ‘Eliza, can you go find the side door and let him in? I don’t think he wants to be seen.’
‘Okay,’ said Eliza, still full of energy following their conversation – she jogged out of the room.
The moment she was gone, Con hissed at Gabriella, ‘Why the hell is she here?’
‘Because she’s a part of this,’ Gabriella snapped back. ‘You keep forgetting how strange this case is. Remember how Eliza was found? What Georgia saw?’
‘What she thought she saw! This isn’t the time to start bringing pet civilians into the investigation.’
‘Pet civilians? Then why is Jordan Murphy rocking up at your hotel in the middle of the night?’ demanded Gabriella.
‘Because he has actual evidence.’
‘And this statue isn’t? It’s the same as the one tied to Bree’s wrist!’
‘It tells us nothing. If you hadn’t handled it, we might’ve been able to dust for a print.’
She poked him hard in the chest. ‘Don’t you dare, Badenhorst. Madison and Eliza had both already touched it. Don’t you dare: I’m just as much a detective as you are. Don’t take your testosterone out on me.’
‘Is this a bad time?’ said Eliza wryly from the doorway.
Murphy stood beside her, his face haggard and pale. The smell of spilled beer and a strange foresty smell came into the room with him.
Con reached for his laptop. ‘Show us, Murphy.’
‘Show us what?’ said Gabriella.
‘It’s a USB drive Madison gave to me. She and Jasmine made these videos . . .’ Murphy handed the USB to Con. ‘Butch raped her mum . . . Sara . . . my wife. Butch is her real father.’
‘Butch?’ said Eliza, horrified. ‘He raped Sara?’
‘What?’ said Gabriella.
‘And now I don’t know where he’s gone . . .’ said Murphy, voice flat. ‘But I came here because otherwise I’ll kill him.’
‘Good for you, Murphy,’ murmured Gabriella.
‘She’s still your daughter, mate, no matter what,’ said Con firmly. He put the USB drive into the port. It opened to show the six video files. ‘Have you watched them all?’
Murphy nodded once, then hesitated. ‘Well, actually . . . no. Not the last two.’
‘Let’s start from the top, then,’ said Con.
The others crowded around as they watched the videos.
By the time the fourth video ended, with Jasmine asking Murphy to cut Butch out of his life, Murphy’s eyes were wet, his teeth bared in his beard. Every breath seemed to physically hurt him. ‘I think Butch took the girls,’ he said. ‘He knew where the Fisherman’s Hut was: we’re the ones who showed it to Jack in the first place. I think he knew Jasmine was going to tell me what he did to Sara, and so he killed her to keep her quiet.’
‘Murphy . . . I don’t think that’s likely,’ said Gabriella. ‘Butch has had plenty of times to hurt Jasmine if he wanted to. Besides, you both have an alibi.’
‘No,’ said Murphy. ‘We don’t. I don’t know where I was when the girls went missing: I was high on angel dust.’
Gabriella’s eyebrows flew up. She turned to Con and mouthed, ‘What th
e fuck?’
Con shook his head. ‘Butch was there when Constable Cavanagh came to your house to get you: I know, I read the report, and then talked to her about it myself.’ Gabriella tried to catch his eye again, but Con put his hand up. ‘I don’t believe Murphy did it, Gab.’ Con clicked on the next video.
Jasmine spoke to the camera.
‘If you’re watching this, it’s been six months. No, we weren’t taken by the Hungry Man. We left of our own accord. And these are our reasons why.’
The video cut to Georgia, sitting on the same bed. She sat up proud, her glasses catching the light. ‘People say that teenage girls are helpless.’
The video shifted to Bree, long blonde hair and blotchy face. ‘That we are weak.’
Cierra, with a blue wig. ‘That we’re nothing but a pretty face.’
Back to Jasmine. ‘Everyone assumes that if four girls go missing, they must have been taken. They couldn’t possibly have left for their own reasons.’
Bree: ‘Isn’t it strange that a whole community will come to the rescue when a girl is missing, but when she’s right in front of you, crying out for help, no one gives a damn?’
Cierra: ‘So we disappeared. Because we chose to.’
Georgia: ‘My whole heritage is ignored, and no one gave a damn about my museum. Now that people think I’m dead, my vision is alive. That’s what it means to be a teenage girl.’
‘She didn’t intend to die,’ said Gabriella softly.
Jasmine: ‘When my mum died, my dad went a bit crazy: depressed, anxious. He lost his job, our house. People avoided me in the street because they didn’t know what to say. My dad turned to his criminal brother for help, because everyone else abandoned us. I had to move into the house of a drug dealer. I watched my dad, once happy doing landscaping like he loved, become one too, just to provide for us. Now that I’m missing, you’ve all rallied around him again. Why is it that a missing girl is so much sadder than a dead wife? Why did no one in this town reach out to him when they saw him struggle to keep his job, struggle to help me?’
‘Fair to say Jasmine got that one wrong,’ said Con.
Murphy snorted.
Jasmine: ‘But where were all of you when my uncle raped my mum?’
Cierra: ‘Where were you when a teacher seduced me, snuck into my room to sleep with me, then said no one would ever believe me? I was too scared to do anything. I didn’t want anyone else getting hurt.’
Georgia: ‘Where were you all – so in love with justice – when I tried to honour the First Peoples of this place?’
Bree: ‘Where were you when I tried to tell you that my best friend, Denni, was going to kill herself? Where were you when the same thoughts came into my head?’
Cierra: ‘Down in the towns, they hide and wait. Up in our bedrooms, they hide and kill.’
Georgia: ‘The world’s hungry men, who treat girls like strays. Who’ll silence their cries and make them obey.’
Bree: ‘Don’t believe what the adults say: we teenage girls can find a way.’
Jasmine: ‘Join the movement and disappear, and see what they do when we are not here.’
The video cut to Madison, on her bed, with the four girls on either side of her.
‘Teenage girls of the world: join the movement. Pack a bag, take a tent, and go missing for a week. Make the people in your life appreciate you, get them to see you for who you are. This is the Hungry Man movement. #HungryManMovement, #JusticeForTeenageGirls. #TheKundelaGame.’
The video ended.
None of them knew what to say. It was like the aftermath of a bomb.
‘There’s one more video,’ said Con eventually.
‘What Bree said about Denni,’ said Eliza, struggling to get the words out. ‘No one . . . I had no idea Denni was suicidal. Who did Bree tell?’
‘I think I need a moment,’ said Gabriella.
Murphy leaned over them all and clicked play.
It was Jasmine, in a light blue Billabong jacket and hiking tights. She was in a different bedroom, much less lush than Madison’s; Con assumed it was her own.
Murphy moaned. Jasmine was dressed in the same clothes she’d been wearing in that video Madison had posted the school bus, the first day of the camp. This must have been what she was wearing the last time Murphy saw her.
‘Hi, Dad.’ She smiled, but she had been crying. ‘I asked Madison to give this to you six months after we go missing. I’m sorry it’s not sooner, but I couldn’t risk you ruining what I’m trying to do here. I’m sure you’ve watched the other videos, but always remember you’re still my dad. Mum made me swear never to tell you, but . . .’ She began crying. ‘I confronted Butch, and he had the balls to tell me that Mum came on to him. He said that she gave consent, that she wanted it. Both of us know Mum would never do that.
‘He couldn’t even apologise! So this is how I’m getting back at him. I want the whole world to know what he did. To understand what Mum had to suffer through in silence. And I want you, Dad, to leave Limestone Creek. Get out of his house, get far away from Butch, and get a job somewhere else. I’m going to stay away for a year – yeah, I’m dedicated now to a full year – and then I’ll come find you: I’ll send a postcard to the Limestone Creek Police Station for you, with the time and place to meet me. I’m planning on being near Port Douglas, so, if you want to make things easier for both of us . . . find a house up there! Find a job. Start a new life. Get away from Butch, and weed, and Limestone Creek.
‘This is the most important thing I’ll ever do: we have to try and make a difference, while we have Madison’s channel. Don’t worry about a thing – I’ll see you in six more months, I promise: one year to the day since we disappeared. If it helps, just imagine me sitting on a tropical beach!’ She winked. In the video, Murphy’s voice came from the other side of Jasmine’s bedroom door. ‘I’m just making an Instagram story, Dad! I’ll be out in a sec. Love you!’ She looked down at the camera, winked again, then kissed the lens.
The video ended.
Everyone looked at Murphy. A suite of emotions played out on his face, pain and hope and anger and sorrow. To see his daughter so optimistic, so full of the belief it was all going to work out exactly as she’d planned, to have her lay it all out so honestly . . . Con couldn’t imagine the pain in Murphy’s heart right then.
Finally, Gabriella said, ‘And yet, something went wrong.’
‘Don’t say that,’ growled Murphy.
‘Madison is to blame,’ said Eliza.
‘We’ll talk to Madison. Tomorrow,’ said Con firmly. ‘Right now, we all need to sleep as much as we can. It’s the middle of the night, and we need to be thinking clearly tomorrow.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Today.’
‘Alright. Eliza, you can stay in my room if you want,’ said Gabriella.
But Eliza was now paying attention to Murphy. He was still looking at the last frame of Jasmine’s video on the computer screen.
‘Don’t worry about him: he can stay here. I’ll sleep on the floor,’ said Con. He moved to the wardrobe and pulled out the spare pillows and blankets.
‘We’ll see you boys soon, then. We’ll be back here at nine sharp,’ said Gabriella, and she and Eliza left the room.
Murphy wordlessly took the pillows and blankets out of Con’s hands, spreading them out on the floor. He climbed under the covers.
‘How . . . how are you feeling?’ said Con.
‘Like I need a drink.’
‘Feel free,’ said Con, gesturing at the bar fridge.
Murphy pulled out all the bottles, eventually settling on wine straight from the miniature bottle. He handed another to Con.
Con hesitated, then took a drink too.
The men drank in silence. Murphy lay back on top of the covers, an open bottle beside him, and soon was alternating between snoring and turning fitfully.
Con took his medication, flicked off the lights, stripped out of his clothes, and climbed into bed. When he finally fell asleep, he dreame
d of the Jaguar girls.
CHAPTER 41
CON
Con’s phone buzzed at eight. It was the commander calling.
‘We’re going to the Wilkins farm. Meet me in the lobby in fifteen,’ she said, hanging up before Con could speak.
Con glanced across at Murphy on the carpet, still asleep. Con tiptoed into the shower, running over the events of the previous day.
Teenage girls are maniacs was his conclusion.
Murphy was still sleeping when Con left, taking the laptop and USB drive. Agatha would surely want to see for herself.
She was waiting for him in the lobby, tapping her foot, and together they walked to his car. Con gave her a quick summary of the videos, then passed her the laptop to watch them while he drove. But before he could start the car, she handed him a two-page typed summary of the findings from Bree’s autopsy and the forensic examination of her clothes and possessions.
‘Horse chestnuts in the tread of her boots, concrete dust in her clothes . . .’ he said. ‘Do we know anywhere that’s under construction? And horse chestnuts . . . I’m sure I’ve seen them somewhere . . .’
‘We’ll ask her parents,’ said Agatha.
It took them ten minutes to reach the entrance of the Wilkins’ farm, a long tree-lined driveway, by which point Agatha had finished the videos.
‘Oakdale,’ read Con, as they passed a wooden sign. Just beyond the trees, cows dotted the paddocks of a massive farm that reached right to the bushland of the Tiers.
‘Do you think Butch Murphy had anything to do with the girls going missing?’ said Agatha.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Con. ‘But at this point, who knows?’ They crossed a stone bridge over a creek and came to the house itself. ‘Bloody hell. It’s like a palace.’
The three-storey Wilkins manor was square and white, with balconies and columns, and a modern art installation of metal flowers and a water feature on the front wall. The building was sleek, stylish, the household of a rich family: Con remembered reading, early on, that the Wilkins’ beef farm was extremely successful. At least seven cars were parked in the expansive driveway.