Disguising Demons

by Brigid George

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  David grinned, a little of his earlier playfulness returning. “Since you’re the one playing detective, I’ll leave it up to you to try to prove I wasn’t here.”

  I could see Dusty didn’t appreciate being accused of ‘playing detective’. She ignored the remark, smiled sweetly and aimed a barb at David which erased the grin from his face.

  “That’s okay. Actually, I’m more interested in where your sister was that morning.”

  David scowled. “My sister had nothing to do with Walker’s murder.”

  Dusty, apparently satisfied with his reaction, gathered up her bag ready to leave.

  “He seems a pretty straightforward sort of guy,” I said as we walked out to the car later.

  Dusty nodded. “Except he’s keeping something back. Possibly to protect his sister. Is it something significant to the case or something unimportant he thinks might look bad for Abbie? Or something that might look bad for him?”

  I’d judged David to be someone incapable of duplicity; however, I knew Dusty was a master at picking up on the subtle clues people gave out without realising it. She would, by hook or by crook, find out what it was he was hiding.

  Chapter 30

  “To answer your question…” Dusty was standing in front of the windows of her apartment, gazing out at the clear blue sky. I didn’t recall asking a question. She turned to face me, laughing at my baffled expression. “When we walked up to Sunyarta the first time, you asked me about my mother’s case.”

  I had held back from reminding Dusty about it because I felt more restrained than usual about enquiring into her private life. For one thing, since Jake arrived on the scene, I wasn’t sure if I could expect the same closeness Dusty and I had once shared. Did she still see me as her ‘good friend’?

  To hide my uneasiness, I responded flippantly. “Right. I believe you like, promised to tell me over a gin and tonic.”

  Dusty walked over to the bar, propped herself up on a stool and responded with her dazzling smile. “You’re the barman.”

  I mixed two tall tumblers of gin and tonic with twists of lemon decoratively arranged along the rims. Thinking that the faux barman-with-customer situation might make it easier for Dusty to talk, I remained behind the bar.

  “To be honest with you, Sean, I didn’t want to talk about my mother’s case because…” Her chest heaved under the weight of a deep sigh. “Because I have to talk about her as a dead person.” Her shoulders slumped. She stared at the drink in front of her.

  The last time we’d worked together a police informant had taken Senior Sergeant Ken Nagle to a bush site near Claigan, the country town where Dusty was born, claiming it to be the place where Anna Kent was buried.

  “They found…” I hesitated, not wanting to use the word ‘body’. “They found someone buried at the site?”

  She nodded. “Last year. Not long after we left Darwin.” Her eyes met mine in an agonised expression. “They use the term remains. They call her ‘the remains’ or ‘the body’.” The terminology was understandable especially as the authorities had not yet identified the person who had been buried. If it was Dusty’s mother as was likely, she had been there for more than thirty years.

  “It hurts when I hear Mum spoken about like that.” Her face tensed as she fought to keep back the tears.

  Dusty had once told me that, although living with the loss of her mother and the awful strain of not knowing, the one thing she took comfort from was the hope her mother was alive somewhere. A part of her must have known it was a forlorn hope. Nevertheless, she had clung to it.

  Ice cubes clinked against glass as she raised her drink to her lips. When she had taken a sip, Dutsy lowered the glass and gave me a half-embarrassed smile to indicate she’d recovered her composure. She seemed to be about to say something else but, apparently changing her mind, lowered her eyes. I allowed a few moments to pass before continuing our conversation.

  “Does Ken have any suspects? What about the informant who took him to the burial site?”

  “His name’s Dave Turner.”

  “Right. So this Dave Turner could be the murderer. He’d have to be the prime suspect, wouldn’t he?”

  “Unfortunately, Dave Turner’s alibi is rock solid.” Dusty explained that Turner had been interviewed during the original investigation and his alibi, that he was working on a job two hours’ drive from Claigan where Dusty’s mother was last seen, had been thoroughly checked.

  “Right. So how did Turner know about the burial site?”

  “He says he was taken there by a friend of his. The friend didn’t say anything about anyone being buried there. He just said it was sacred ground.”

  “That could mean anything. Why assume it was a burial site?”

  “Apparently the friend let something slip when they were having a few beers together that made Turner suspicious. So Turner asked him if he had anything to do with my mother’s disappearance. The guy didn’t answer, just looked at Turner. A look that sent chills down his spine. Not long after that, Turner’s friend took him to the burial site and swore him to secrecy. The guy told him it could become his sacred place too. Turner took that as a threat.”

  “Sounds a bit suss to me. If Turner’s telling the truth; if he knows who the murderer is, why can’t he tell Ken? If he’s like, about to die, he doesn’t have much to lose. Right?”

  “Wrong. He’s afraid for his family. The murderer, this so-called friend of his, kept threatening Turner over the years. When he got married, the friend reminded him of the sacred place. Turner knew that meant his wife could end up there. The same thing happened when his daughter was born. He told Ken he’d be willing to give evidence and name the man if the man was dead. Because of his diagnosis, Turner knew he had no real chance of outliving the guy. He decided the least he could do was to let me know where my mother was.”

  “So Turner’s friend must be Jimmy, the guy who was driving the orange Datsun and spoke to your mother that day?”

  “It’s probable, but we don’t know for sure. Turner denied it was Jimmy. The trouble is none of the men Turner knew at the time was called Jimmy, or Jim, or James or even Jeremy.”

  “Right. Not as easy as it sounds.”

  “It’s a complication, that’s all. Ken will get there in the end. I’m sure of it.” She raised her glass. “To success for Ken’s investigation.” Our glasses clinked.

  Dusty sipped her drink thoughtfully. When she spoke, her tone of voice indicated a change of subject.

  “I’ve got my fingers crossed that I get results from the ads.”

  I had not been able to locate Paul Walker’s family. Walker being a fairly common name meant the possibilities were too many for me to sift through quickly. Instead, Dusty had taken half page advertisements in several Australian newspapers asking for relatives of Paul Walker and anyone else who might have information about him to contact her. The ad mentioned that a monk murdered in Port Douglas had been identified as Walker. Dusty had been hesitant to include this but eventually decided it was necessary in order to underscore the seriousness and urgency of her request.

  “If we find his next of kin, we’ll be able to get a DNA analysis done and prove beyond doubt the dead monk is Paul Walker.”

  “Are you still hoping he’s not Walker?”

  A wistful smile spread across her face. “Maybe I’m doing an incy-wincy bit of wishful thinking. In reality, I don’t think there’s any doubt. Still it’s good to have certainty. That’s not the only reason for locating Walker’s family members. They can give me more background information which might help with the case. Besides, his parents are probably still living and they have a right to know their son is dead.”

  “They might not care.”

  “I had considered that. In fact, it’s possible anyone who knew Walker would prefer to forget him so I’m not expecting an overwhelming response to the ads.”

  Chapter 31

  David had promi
sed to ask his sister to call Dusty. When he warned her that Abbie was unlikely to be willing to help, Dusty told him she had the backing of the police and the more cooperation she got the less likely it was the police would come knocking on their door. This seemed to convince him. Dusty was confident Abbie would call her eventually. She was right.

  When Abbie rang, Dusty arranged to meet her in Anzac Park at the northern end of Macrossan Street.

  “I hope you don’t mind meeting here.” Abbie gestured at our surroundings.

  We were sitting, facing the water, on a bench under a magnificent old fig tree. Today Abbie’s blonde hair was swept back from her face with a sky-blue headband that highlighted the blue of her eyes.

  “Being near nature is kinda healing.” Her rueful smile hinted at her vulnerability.

  “I understand,” said Dusty. “I wish I didn’t have to put you through this.”

  “I guess if it wasn’t you, it’d be the police. Again! I had enough of police interviews when I first reported what happened. I understand why they have to give me the third degree but…” She looked up at the overhanging green branches of the fig tree’s immense canopy which provided a shady oasis.

  Dusty liked me to be present when she interviewed witnesses and suspects because she valued my observations. On this occasion I was not entirely comfortable. I felt a male presence might be intimidating for Abbie. However, when I asked her if she would like me to leave and come back later, Abbie said she was happy for me to stay. All the same, I put a little distance between us by positioning myself at the other end of the bench. Having worked with Dusty on several cases now I’d become quite good at being a background prop.

  Dusty took out her voice recorder, holding it up to show Abbie who nodded her agreement to the taping of the conversation.

  “I’m afraid I might have to repeat some of the questions you’ve already been asked by the police.” Abbie nodded her understanding. “Please don’t think I doubt your testimony, Abbie, but I need to ask you this. How did you know the person who assaulted you was Walker?”

  Abbie looked at the ground, shifted in her seat and crossed her legs at the ankles.

  “I believe the assault took place at a school camp. You said it was dark and you woke up to find Walker in your bed. I have to ask, Abbie, so please don’t take it the wrong way. Since it was dark, is there a chance you might have been mistaken?”

  Abbie’s eyes glistened. She looked down at her hands.

  “It was his voice,” she said softly. Then she repeated it in a stronger, defiant tone as though Dusty might contradict her. “It was his voice. I recognised the voice.”

  “Was there anything else?” Dusty’s tone was gentle.

  “What he said.”

  “Which was?”

  Abbie swallowed and struggled to compose herself before continuing.

  “He said: Just call me Paul. That’s what Mr Walker used to say to us. That’s why…” She shook her head. “It was awful.”

  Dusty picked up on her half finished sentence.

  “That’s why what?”

  Abbie averted her eyes. “Nothing. I don’t even want to talk about it.”

  “That’s precisely what he warned you against at the time, wasn’t it? He told you not to say anything. Threatened you. Is that right?”

  Abbie nodded. “He said no-one would believe me if I said anything.”

  “Did he ever touch you again?”

  Abbie pulled her shoulder bag up to her chest and folded her arms to hug it to her body. “Why are you putting me through this again?” She squeezed her bag tighter. After a few minutes, she relaxed her grip on the bag, glancing apologetically at Dusty. “I’m sorry. I know you have to ask questions.”

  “It’s all right, Abbie.” Dusty reached for her own spacious bag. “We’re probably not allowed to do this in the park.” She pulled out something wrapped in newspaper. “But what the hell!” She unwrapped three bottles of vodka based drinks and handed them round. We each unscrewed the tops on the bottles and drank.

  When she saw Abbie was more relaxed, Dusty continued.

  “Paul Walker taught you in primary school. That’s when the assault occurred. Correct? When you were in primary school?”

  “Yes.” Abbie lowered her eyelids.

  “When you were older you decided to speak out about what he’d done?”

  Abbie inclined her head. “I was seventeen. By this time I was in high school.”

  “Did something happen at that time to prompt you to speak out?”

  “I was talking to Kim, Kimberley Grey. We lived in the same street so knew each other quite well. Her younger sister, Savanna, was in Mr Walker’s class by this time. Kim told me Savanna kept saying how nice Mr Walker was.”

  “Kimberley was worried about her sister?”

  “Yes, because Savanna was going on a Year Six camp, the same one Kim and I went on. That’s when I realised Kim must have been molested as well. It was a weird moment. We just looked at each other. We didn’t have to say a word.” Abbie raised her bottle to her lips and gulped down more of the vodka mix. “All that time I thought I was the only one.”

  “Yes. He probably said you were special, something like that – made you think he’d chosen you as his special one.”

  Abbie nodded. “He said it was to be our secret. If my parents found out, I’d get into big trouble.” Her cheeks tinged with pink.

  Dusty placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “Nothing to be ashamed about. You were just a kid and the victim of a master manipulator. People like that know how to exploit and control children.”

  “I know. It’s just when I look back it’s all so obvious. I can’t understand why I was so scared of his threats. I should have told my parents.” Her mouth twisted. “I know. You can’t put a wise head on young shoulders. I know that. Still…”

  “You still beat yourself up. I understand. You mustn’t though, Abbie.” Dusty placed her half empty bottle on the ground in front of her. “So Kimberley had been assaulted by Walker at the same holiday camp?”

  “Yes. She’d also found out about Lee, Lena Patterson. Another victim. I should have known really. Lee had been so full of beans and always ready for an adventure. She was one of the smart kids. But after that camp she was a different person: moody and quiet and she kept pretty much to herself. She wasn’t one of the clever kids anymore – she struggled to pass her subjects. It was odd really, I’d always thought of Lee as tough, one of the toughest kids in school – a real tomboy. Strange that she seemed to have been the one most traumatised by what happened.”

  “Were there other victims of Paul Walker? Apart from you three girls.”

  “No. Mr Walker… I mean…” Abbie hesitated, absently twisting the strap of her bag. I saw Dusty lean forward as though something in Abbie’s voice had alerted her to a point of interest. Or was it a lie she’d spotted?

  “That man must have hurt others,” Abbie mumbled. “But no-one else came forward.”

  Chapter 32

  “It must have taken courage for you three girls to speak out.”

  “We didn’t want to. That’s for sure. But we knew we had to. Thinking about little Savanna being a victim made us realise our silence meant he had had the opportunity to abuse other girls.” Abbie grimaced in disgust. “It was a horrible thought.”

  “So that’s when you went to a lawyer?”

  “Yes. The lawyer said it was the sort of crime that was hard to prove. She pointed out the difficulties and how some people would not believe us and some would hate us. She warned us it would change our lives. After she’d done her best to point out how bad the consequences could be, she asked us if we still wanted to go ahead. We all said yes. All three of us hated the very thought of speaking out; of telling other people, making it public. But we didn’t have any other choice.”

  “Then when it came to giving evidence, Lena found it too traumatic?”

  “She was okay at first; just as determined as me and Kim.
Then at the last moment, she backed out. Her testimony was to be the final one, but after seeing how upset Kim and I were on the stand, she just got scared. We didn’t blame her. We were surprised cos we thought she was tough, but we totally understood and respected her decision. It wasn’t easy telling every detail of what happened to us in front of strangers and being grilled by lawyers. Actually it was horrible. They made it seem like we were liars.”

  A shadow flickered across Abbie’s face.

  “As I understand it, the defence team claimed you and Kimberley had colluded to try to get money by way of compensation. They suggested one of you had found out about the payout Paul Walker received from his wife’s life insurance when she died the year before.”

  “We didn’t even know about the money.”

  “The other issue was Walker had an alibi for the time of Kimberley’s assault. What was the set up at the camp? Weren’t you sleeping in a dormitory style situation with other girls in beds close by?”

  “Most of the time. Some of us volunteered to help with cleaning and preparing meals and that sort of thing. As a reward, we were given the privilege of sleeping one night in a yurt on our own. They had four Mongolian yurt tents, small ones, around the camp fire. The yurts were separate from the cabins where everyone else was sleeping.”

  “So each night the yurt tents were occupied by four different girls?”

  “They alternated; girls one night, boys the next. All the accommodation was split gender.”

  “Did you have adult supervision?”

  “Yes. Team leaders were on duty all night. They walked around the grounds, around the cabins and the yurt area and kept the fire stoked.”

  “Paul Walker was one of the team leaders?”

  “He was.”

  “It does seem strange Walker was seen at the other end of the campsite at the time Kimberley claimed he was in her tent.”

  Abbie turned sharply to glare at Dusty. “Claim? Are you implying Kim was lying?” Dropping her empty bottle on the seat, she stood up quickly and faced Dusty, hands on hips. “After all we went through the worst thing, the very worst thing you can do, the worst thing anyone can do, is call us liars.” Her chest heaved.