by Vicki Tyley
The unearthing of the nameless skeleton in the Yarra Ranges National Park so close to where Greg’s sister’s body had been found haunted Megan. Restless, she spent the next couple of hours traipsing from the computer to the television and back again. Each time she returned to the computer, she’d refresh the web page, but it never changed. From there, she’d walk back to the lounge and flick between the channels looking for news headlines.
Frustrated with the lack of information, she headed outside onto the balcony. With her arms wrapped around her body, she stared out into the night until the biting wind drove her back indoors.
The distinctive orchestral fanfare heralding the start of the late news brought Megan running from the study into the lounge room. She grabbed the remote control and standing less than a meter from the television turned the volume up full throttle, as if loudness equated with comprehension. She didn’t want to miss one detail.
CHAPTER 34
Days and nights melded into one, but Brenda was past caring.
Past feeling pain.
Past feeling cold.
Her father was calling…
CHAPTER 35
Greg pored over the morning newspapers spread across the desk in front of him. The pain at seeing Sam’s photo on the front page almost daily had dulled to a deep ache. If the photo triggered a potential witness’s memory of something seen or overheard – no matter how small – that might lead to his sister’s killer, then he could live with it.
The uncovering of a human skull on the edge of the search area the day after the news first broke about the discovery of the largely intact skeleton had prompted the police to expand their search area further. In the two days that’d followed, searchers found more human bones scattered through the bush and under logs, some with teeth marks. Forensics had been able to determine that the skull and bones, like the skeleton found earlier, belonged to a young Caucasian woman.
Cause of death hadn’t been ascertained, but somehow, news that a plastic cable tie had been found circling the first skeleton’s neck bones was leaked. The media immediately seized on this unsubstantiated snippet, linking the two bodies with the murders of his sister and Linda Nichols and dubbing the killings “The Cable Tie Murders.” Speculation was rife and the media in their usual sensationalist fashion played on this. Their take had a psychopathic strangler stalking the streets of Melbourne. Lock up your women.
Greg sighed and checked his watch.
Right on cue, Megan came barreling through the office door. Out of breath, she spluttered, “I’ve just heard on the news that they’ve identified the two women.” She dropped a bulging brown paper bag on top of the newspaper alongside the two Styrofoam cups of coffee she’d brought with her and flopped down on the chair opposite Greg.
He waited while she caught her breath. Megan’s sunken, dark-circled eyes and sallow complexion painted a picture of sleepless nights and poor diet. The brave front she faced the world with each day was crumbling. For a split-second, he was grabbed by the urge to gather her up in his arms and hold tight. However, self-preservation kicked in and he stayed seated. He craved the reassurance of another human’s touch so much that he knew the slightest caress would push him over the edge. He couldn’t allow himself that weakness. Not yet.
Her mouth pursed in concentration. “I didn’t catch their names, but one was a TAFE student missing for over two years. The other girl was a waitress who just didn’t turn up for work one day a couple of months before that.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what this means? It means that bastard has been out there biding his time for two years. Can you believe that?”
“That’s assuming it’s the same guy.”
Megan cocked an eyebrow. “It has to be. There are too many coincidences: the location, the cable ties, all young white women.” She stared at Greg for a moment. “Oh my God. What if they weren’t his first? What if there are more bodies out there?”
She had a point, but the idea that someone had literally been getting away with murder for years was almost unthinkable. If the bodies had been discovered earlier, would his sister still be alive today? How many other women’s lives could’ve been saved?
A police task force spent days scouring the bushland in the general vicinity of where Sam and the other two women’s remains had been found. Following the search, the police announced they’d essentially ruled out the possibility of finding other bodies in the forest. The search was officially closed.
But if that was the case, where was Brenda? Was it possible she was still alive? Not wanting to torment Megan more than was necessary, he took care never to bring Brenda’s name up in conversation. And like some unspoken treaty Megan, too, shied away from talking about Sam. But they couldn’t stay on the outside forever.
“If Brenda had been there, they would’ve found her. You have to take hope from that,” he said, even though in his heart he knew the odds were against Brenda turning up alive. He reached across the desk.
Megan dropped her chin to her chest, tucking her hands under her breasts. Feeling self-conscious, he withdrew his hand and sat back in his chair, waiting for her to speak or at least look up.
She lifted her head. “After all this time, you of all people don’t seriously believe Brenda is still alive, do you?” Her eyes narrowed, holding his gaze and daring him to repeat his false assurances.
He couldn’t look her straight in the eye.
She answered for him. “I didn’t think so. Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not that naïve.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it.” She nodded towards the brown paper bag. “Thought we could both do with some breakfast. If we’re going to do the right thing by Sam…” She paused – she’d mentioned Sam and the sky hadn’t fallen in. “…and Brenda we need all our wits about us. And for that we need to stay fit and well.”
Greg almost smiled. It was the most sensible thing either of them had said in days.
CHAPTER 36
Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, Megan checked over her shoulder again. She didn’t know whether she was being paranoid or there really was someone following her. Her heart rate rocketed when a jogger wearing a fluorescent Day-Glo vest overtook her, passing so close she could smell the slight muskiness of his sweat.
She quickened her pace, her arms tightening around the stack of newspapers clutched to her chest. It wasn’t until she had locked herself securely inside her car that she breathed a sigh of relief.
For days now, she’d been unable to shake the feeling she was being watched. She tried to rationalize it by telling herself that she, like ninety-nine percent of the public, had succumbed to the media hype about “The Cable Tie Strangler.” The thought that Joe might be stalking her had also briefly crossed her mind. Although ignoring his messages seemed to have finally worked. She hadn’t heard from him in over a week. One less thing for her to worry about.
With the car’s indicator flashing, she checked the rear-view mirror and squeezed out into the morning peak-hour traffic. Hampered by a sudden downpour of rain, Megan spent the next ten minutes thinking of nothing else but making it home in one piece.
Pulling into the driveway, she scanned her surroundings, gathered up the newspapers from the passenger seat, and made a bolt for her front door. Paranoia, she reminded herself once safely inside.
Halfway up the stairs, the doorbell rang. She started, missed her footing and fell forward. Dropping the newspapers, she grabbed at the banister with both hands. Before she had time to collect her thoughts, the doorbell rang again, followed by a heavy knocking.
With a quick glance at the newspapers lying in an untidy heap at the bottom of the stairs, she turned and limped upstairs to the apartment’s security doorphone. It’d better be important.
“Ms Brighton, it’s Detective Sergeant Dave Abrahams and Detective Senior Constable Eric Friar. May we come in please?”
A sour taste flooded her throat. Somehow, she knew this day would come, but now that it�
��d arrived, she didn’t know if she could face it. She pressed the door release button and stood watching from the top of the stairs as the front door opened inwards. She recognized the suited DS and his offsider as soon as they stepped through the doorway, although it was the first time she had noticed the balding spot on the sergeant’s crown. The younger of the two detectives, Eric Friar, leaned down and scooped up the mess of newspaper, carrying them with him up the stairs.
The closer the two men came, the more her legs shook. Their deadpan expressions gave nothing away. She stepped forward, barring their way. Dread fought with hope for her voice. “Tell me now. It’s Brenda, isn’t it? You’ve found her.”
DS Abrahams shook his head. “Sorry, Megan,” he said, dropping the formality and addressing her by her first name. “We’re doing everything we can to find her. We need you to go through with us again what you remember – no matter how trivial.” He paused. “I know how hard this must be for you, but it really is important.”
Megan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
DSC Eric Friar handed her the bundle of newspapers as she took a step back, letting the two men pass. She followed them through, watching their faces as their eyes took in the pile of newspapers stacked at the far end of the table, the clipped newspaper articles with sections marked in bright pink highlighter and the screeds of handwritten notes almost covering every square centimeter of the massive oak table. The two police officers glanced sideways at each other, but said nothing.
Megan felt her face reddening and hurried them through to the living area. Dave Abrahams made himself at home in the overstuffed tan and green tapestry armchair close to the balcony door, while Eric Friar opted for its mate opposite. She had no other option but to take the sofa.
“Before we start, you should know there’s a press release scheduled for later this morning.” DS Dave Abrahams flipped open his notebook and read, “The Minister for Police has approved a reward of $100,000 for information that leads to the apprehension and conviction of the person or persons responsible for the murders of…” Skipping the victims’ names, he continued. “In addition, an appropriate indemnity from prosecution will be recommended for any accomplice, not being the person who actually committed the crime, who first gives such information.”
Megan gnawed at her bottom lip. “Accomplice? Do you think this is the work of more than one person?”
“Not necessarily an actual accomplice to the crime, but someone who might’ve found out afterwards and has been hesitant to come forward for fear of being prosecuted.”
She nodded in understanding. But how could anyone possibly live with themselves keeping something like that secret?
“Tell me why Lawson Green was arrested if you don’t think he killed all these women?”
Eric Friar stepped in. “The investigation is still very active and we’re in the process of following up leads. At this stage, until we can eliminate them, we have to consider everyone a suspect.”
“Can you at least tell me what leads you’re working on to find Brenda? Something? Anything?”
“I’m going to be honest with you. We need your help. As I’m sure you’re aware, we – the police – hold grave concerns for Brenda’s safety and welfare. We’ve been monitoring her bank account and mobile phone, but there’s been no activity on either since her disappearance. With your help, we need to retrace Brenda’s movements in the weeks before she disappeared.”
How did he do that? Amazed at the way her question had been turned on her, Megan nodded dumbly and slid back in her seat. Plainly, the detectives were asking the questions. Her role was to answer them.
While DSC Friar acted as secretary, transcribing everything she said, DS Abrahams led her hour-by-hour, and in some instances minute-by-minute, through the time leading up to Brenda’s disappearance. He wanted to know everything, probing for the most trivial of details. Megan couldn’t see how everyday chit-chat could be relevant to the investigation, but dutifully recounted the conversations she’d had with Brenda as best she could.
By the end of it, she felt physically and mentally drained. What good it had done she didn’t know, but if somewhere amongst all that detail was one small fragment that could help in the investigation then it’d been worth it.
DS Abrahams stood up and extended a hand. “Thank you for your time.”
Megan’s fingers gripped the proffered hand. “Is it true you’ve called off the search in the national park?”
The detective didn’t attempt to retract his hand. “The police search covered almost a square kilometer of the park, but you have to understand that the Yarra Ranges National Park covers 76,000 hectares. It would be physically impossible to cover the whole area even if the resources were available.”
Megan released his hand. “So that’s it then. You’re giving up?”
The detective lifted his hand to her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Not at all. There’s no letting up. The team of police officers assigned to this case have many years of training and experience to draw on. I can assure you they won’t be ‘giving up’, as you put it.” He dropped his hand to his side. “Megan, if there is anything – anything at all – that you remember, please call me.” He handed her a business card.
As soon as the detectives left, she called Greg, but ended up talking to his answering service instead. Two seconds after she hung up, her phone rang.
“That was quick.”
“Pardon,” said a male voice that wasn’t Greg’s.
“Sorry, I was expecting someone else.”
“Obviously. Is this Megan?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Nick Poulus. Sorry to call you out of the blue like this, but I was wondering if there’d been any word on Brenda.”
Megan slumped into the nearest chair. “Not yet,” she said, fighting to keep the despair from her voice.
“Do the police have any leads?”
“None that I’m privy to. But they’ve called off the national park search…”
“Interesting. Good news, really.”
“How?”
“It means they don’t think Brenda’s disappearance and the murders of those women are connected.”
Hope flickered. “Do you really think so?”
“Definitely,” he said. “What other explanation is there?”
“Lack of resources?”
Nick gave what sounded like a cross between a cough and a laugh. “I can’t see the police giving up that easily unless they were satisfied that it was a dead end. No matter how under-resourced they are.”
“I hope to God you’re right.” She swallowed the lump blocking her throat. “I have to go. Thanks for calling. I appreciate your concern. Bye.”
For a long moment, she remained motionless in the chair, the effort to move too much. Good news, he’d said. Good for whom? What if Brenda was out there somewhere? What if she was never found?
Megan hauled herself to her feet. The bundle of jumbled newspapers on the kitchen countertop where she’d dumped them earlier beckoned. She picked up The Australian newspaper, straightening its pages and discarding the classifieds and sports sections before turning her attention to the next paper in the heap.
“FOREST OF HORRORS” screamed the headline. She may have become immune to the media’s shocking headings, but nothing prepared her for what she saw when she folded the newspaper out flat. From the middle of the page, just beneath the fold mark, Brenda’s face stared out at her. Megan’s gaze continued down the newsprint. Across the bottom of the page was a series of photos, all of women. The first two photos were new to her, but the next two of Linda Nichols and Samantha Jenkins had become etched on her retinas long ago. However, it was the fifth head shot that had her legs threatening to give way under her.
Brenda’s photo had been cropped, resized and grayed out. Stamping Brenda’s forehead with a question mark, the newspaper had put into print everything Megan had been fighting so hard not to believe. Was Brenda De
Luca the Cable Tie Strangler’s fifth victim?
Dragging her gaze from the bottom of the page, she read the article from start to finish. Two more families had finally been put out of their misery. Even though the tiny flicker of hope each had kept burning over the years had been extinguished, they no longer had to wonder what had happened to their daughter, their sister, their kin. Tears welled in Megan’s eyes as she began to imagine the release of emotions each of their families must be experiencing.
Tina Barrett, the first skeleton recovered from the Yarra Ranges National Park, had been only nineteen years old when she’d disappeared two years ago, the last sighting of the student in the TAFE campus car park late one Friday afternoon. A week after that, her blue Holden Barina turned up abandoned with the keys still in the ignition in a back street less than a kilometer from her home. Police appealed to the public at the time, but the information had not been forthcoming. All leads amounted to nothing.
Melanie Armstrong, the woman whose skull had prompted the police to expand their search, disappeared in similar circumstances eight weeks before Tina. A colleague at the restaurant where the waitress had worked remembered seeing Melanie getting into her car after a particularly late and busy shift. She wasn’t missed until the following day when she failed to turn up for work. Her car, too, was later found unlocked and abandoned with the keys still in the ignition. The case along with that of the missing TAFE student had remained dormant until now.
Megan went on to read about the strangulation murder of Linda Nichols, coming across information that until then she hadn’t been aware of. According to the article, toxicology analysis of Linda’s blood had tested positive for Rohypnol, an illicit, powerful sedative drug frequently seen in date-rape cases. Rohypnol could only be detected in the body for a relatively short time after ingestion, so to surmise that the other victims had also been drugged would be sheer conjecture.