‘Who should I tell? And what should I tell them?’
‘You can tell anyone you want,’ Rafe said. ‘It’s not a secret; it’s up to you who you tell.’
‘How long is all this going to take?’ Steph went to the next question in Sara’s list.
‘We’re not sure, to be honest,’ Louise answered. ‘We are still investigating, gathering evidence, getting everything together for the coroner.’
‘What do we do…’ Steph broke down as she asked the question Sara had written down, ‘…what do we do about her funeral?’
Rafe and Louise were all at sea. They were investigators. Their job was to discover the what, who, where, when, why and how. They were not equipped to answer this question.
Seeing how exhausted Lee was becoming, Rafe suggested he and Louise return in the morning. Steph still had more questions, but it was a relief not to have to go through them now. She was starting to understand this was going to take time. They didn’t need all the answers immediately. They needed to take some space for themselves, give themselves breathing room.
After the detectives left Lee and Steph looked at each other across the table, sniffling, too exhausted to speak.
‘Well,’ Lee said. ‘You’re looking pretty glamorous over there.’
Steph laughed. ‘I bet I don’t look as glamorous as you.’
They got the giggles. Totally inappropriate giggles.
‘I can’t stop laughing,’ Lee snorted. ‘Something really funny has just hit me about what this looks like, a table covered with soggy tissues and two old women with their makeup around their navels!’
‘Hey, who are you calling old?’ Steph protested.
‘Okay, let’s say older, mature.’
‘Or immature!’
Lee giggled again. ‘Yes, definitely immature, that’s more like it!’
Eventually they got up and started clearing the table. Moving forward, the only way to go.
Lee sighed. ‘I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach by a Santa Gertrudis bull.’
‘Me too.’
‘I guess we can fall into a crumpled heap, or just get on with it. The chores still need to be done, the animals still need feeding. Life doesn’t stop, even though I wish it would. Just for a while. So I can, I don’t know, so I can … wallow.’
‘You can wallow, nothing wrong with that. Life won’t stop, and you’ll have to pick yourself up at some stage, but how about for tonight we just wallow, then start a new day tomorrow? Gordon will arrive home, the detectives are coming back, we will have plenty to keep us busy. But for now, let’s wallow.’
‘Okay, wallow it is.’
Slowly, feeling like she’d aged ten years on this long painful day, Lee stumbled into the lounge room and lay down. Steph pottered about, cleaning up, doing the chores. She wandered past and saw Lee had fallen asleep on the lounge. She lay a soft mohair rug gently over her friend who, for the moment, was peaceful and free of the real living nightmare they had found themselves thrown into, a nightmare that would never end.
CHAPTER 50
Someone, somewhere, knows something
August 2016
During National Missing Persons Week, Nicole Morris revisited all the cold cases on her Australian Missing Persons Register, and posted several a day. It was the one week of the year when everyone’s focus was on the missing. Old cases and new, everywhere you turned – newspapers, radio, television, social media, online, bus stops, train stations, airports, taxi cabs, billboards, major events – had stories about the missing. The Australian Federal Police National Missing Persons Coordination Centre coordinated the week each year, an initiative that the family of missing Australian man, Tony Jones, started many years earlier.
Every time Nicole hit Publish on her cold case posts she said a little prayer that this be the one to trigger someone’s memory. That it would be the one where someone would come forward with a vital clue. That it would give the families an end point to their never ending search for the truth.
As she put together the words for Annabelle Brown, she lingered longer than usual. This case intrigued her for so many reasons. One of them was the similarity in their ages. The other was the complete and absolute mystery which had baffled investigators all this time. She couldn’t believe it remained unsolved.
She said her little prayer before Annabelle’s post went live.
Annabelle Brown
Birthdate August 17, 1971
Age when missing, 17
Reported missing 26th November, 1988
Last known address, Kellett Street, Kings Cross
Last known sighting, the night of the 19th November or early morning of the 20th November, Blue Mountains
Blue eyes, blonde hair
If you have any information, no matter how small, please come forward. Annabelle’s family and friends have been searching for a very long time. Someone, somewhere, must know something.
…
He was doing his usual daily scroll of Facebook, looking for nothing, looking for something, anything that would keep his attention for longer than two seconds. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered. Facebook was filled with mindless drivel. But his daughters were always on it, and it made him feel more connected as they grew up and started to distance themselves from him.
A friend of a friend had shared a post from some missing people page. With a tug of annoyance he reminded himself he must adjust his privacy settings; he didn’t want to see all this depressing shit he didn’t care about.
He was about to keep scrolling when the eyes in the photo grabbed him. Searching, pleading. He recognised those eyes. From a long time ago. Those blurry years in The Cross. He read the post, and it all fell into place.
He knew this girl! He’d seen her at the party in the mountains. She was the one who lit the fire. She had things all organised. Nobody else had a clue of how to get a bonfire going, and she’d left an impression on him with her fire-making skills. She was funny too, with a loud laugh you couldn’t help but join in with. He’d tried to crack on, but she’d politely declined his advances. She said she just wanted to sit by the fire, and invited him to sit beside her and pass the time in her company, but, stung by her rejection, he’d wandered off into the bush with another girl.
Later, much later, he returned to the fire. The girl he’d thoughtlessly fucked in his drug induced stupor, was long gone. Maybe he would take her up on her offer to sit by the fire and pass the time. But she was gone. Everyone was gone. Only one car left, his. He picked up a stick and poked at the fire, trying to bring it to life. The flames sparked and lit up around the perimeter. It was then he noticed another person sitting opposite. He was one scary mother fucker. The type of bloke who’d slit your throat if you looked at him the wrong way.
As he sat stoking the fire something caught his eye, hands covered in blood. He looked up, startled, and a sudden flame lit up the face across from him. Dead, creepy eyes bored into him. Before any chance of having his blood mixed with what was already on those hands, he was in his car, tyres spinning, as he bolted into the night.
He never saw anyone from that party again. His life took a different direction and he never gave those bloody hands, or her beautiful blue eyes, another thought. But this post on Facebook dragged him back to that night like it was only yesterday. He had no idea she had been missing all this time. Maybe it was her blood on his hands?
His mind scrambled to try and think of the name. Craig? Cam? It started with C, he was sure of it. He used to live under the Woolloomooloo Bridge. He sometimes saw him with another bloke, a drug dealer. Nice bloke, Ant. He’d supplied him regularly and it was always the best quality you could find on the streets. He’d never forget Ant’s name.
He was a father now. His eldest daughter was seventeen. What would he do if she disappeared like this, and he never found her? He couldn’t imagine. He felt pain in his chest just thinking about it. He read the Facebook post again. Went to the Australian Missing Persons Regi
ster website, and read a bit more. Did a Google search on Annabelle Brown. It was definitely her. And it was definitely that party when she’d disappeared. All the pieces fell into place. The name came to him. Carl.
With trembling hands he went to the keypad on his phone and dialled 1800 333 000.
‘Hello Crimestoppers. What is the nature of the crime you are reporting?’
‘Murder.’
‘Is this a recent murder?’
‘No, an old case. A very old case. I think I was witness to a murder of a young girl in the eighties. I’ve just read a report that she is a missing person. I know where she is. And I know who murdered her.’
CHAPTER 51
Crimestoppers
Louise checked in with Crimestoppers each week. It was a presentation at the Academy at Goulburn which prompted her diligence. After a family member of a missing person had told the room of eager junior police that someone had called Crimestoppers about her sister’s disappearance. A week later, when nothing had been done, this person contacted the family direct with her reported sighting.
Louise tossed and turned in her bunk for weeks after meeting this young woman. She explained just how devastating it had been to become an investigator in her own family member’s disappearance, because of cracks in communication that the general community didn’t realise existed. When a news article ends with the call to action – Call Crimestoppers –people who call believe they are making a direct link with investigators. Louise, still early in her new career and keen to project I’ve got this, was striving to make sure this was the case.
She nearly tripped over her chair in her haste to get into Rafe’s office. He was on the phone and looked annoyed by the interruption. Bugger, she never remembered to knock. She stood tapping her foot impatiently, willing him to get off the call to hear her news. Frustratingly, he turned his back on her, making it clear he was busy.
Five minutes later she was starting to feel like a bit of a goose, but she stood firm. This was big news and he would be thankful she persevered. Eventually he said his goodbyes and turned back towards her.
‘You look like you’re about to self-combust,’ he said drolly.
‘That’s because I am,’ she blurted out. ‘I’ve got something really important to tell you!’
‘Spit it out.’
‘There’s been a call to Crimestoppers, about the Annabelle Brown case,’ Louise said breathlessly. ‘A name we keep snagging on, Carl, has come up again. He’s been identified as the murderer. He murdered her. We have a witness to her murder. Carl murdered Annabelle.’
She finished with a flourish, waiting for the reaction she thought her news deserved. Rafe took a deep breath, his face impassive.
‘Well, sounds like you’ve got this case all wrapped up, Louise. I’m surprised you haven’t written your report so I could walk it up to the Coroner’s office with you.’
Louise’s stomach dropped, her face flushed. He was reprimanding her, that much was obvious. This man needed a serious injection of niceness.
‘Well, umm,’ she stammered. ‘I’m not quite ready for that step, but I thought you’d be excited. This is big. Real big.’ She sounded like a spoilt whingeing child whose parents denied her a treat.
Rafe softened, noticing her hands starting to shake.
‘It could be big, Louise. Could. But there’s a hell of a lot of loose ends to tie up before you go making grand statements like that.’
She waited for him to say more, but that was it.
‘Okay, thank you, Detective. I’d best be going then, and put my knot-tying skills to work.’ She couldn’t help being uppity after he’d bruised her ego and burst her happy balloon.
‘Very good, keep me posted.’ She turned to leave, then turned back to face him.
‘I’ve got a feeling about this Detective, a real gut feeling this is going to bust her case wide open. My Aunty May used to have the same skill, it runs in the family. Our instincts are spot on. Everyone pushed me to join the police force because of my gut feelings always being right on the money. It’s a gift, they said. My Uncle Johnny, well one day he…’ Rafe interrupted.
‘Louise. Thank you, save your long stories for another day. I’ve got work to do, and so have you.’
‘Right, right,’ Louise left then, knowing that once again she’d lingered a few minutes too long. But it was such a good story she was about to share with him, about the time Uncle Johnny’s ute broke down in the paddock then he got pinned under the front wheel. Louise had a feeling something terrible had happened and called her Aunty May, who said she’d had a feeling too. They swung into action and rang around the whole family until they discovered who was unaccounted for. Because of their quick thinking someone found him before it was too late, and he lived to tell the tale.
She had a firm belief in her own instincts. Carl was central to this case. If she could find Carl, she would find the answers to all the questions, about what had actually happened to Annabelle, on that dark and dreadful night.
CHAPTER 52
Big John and Lins
Big John answered the phone. Lins was out the back hanging clothes on the line. In the twenty-eight years since Annabelle had stayed with them, not much had changed in their little house on the NSW Central Coast. Big John didn’t drive trucks any more, though. He had to give it away, mostly on account of his back.
They had enough stashed away to live comfortably, and their house was as busy as ever with people coming and going. Kids, grandkids, friends, friends of friends, strays. It was still the happy, cheerful, homely home Annabelle had walked into all those years ago. It was still a safe house for young kids in the danger zone. They were still caring for the ones who needed guidance, food in their bellies, and a place where they would always be welcome and safe.
John and Lins never really got over the guilt of what happened with Annabelle. They still felt they should have done more while she was under their roof. They should have driven her back home to Lee. If they had done that, she wouldn’t have gone to Sydney. She wouldn’t have become a prostitute, she wouldn’t have gone to that party, she wouldn’t have disappeared.
Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.
Every time they caught up with Lee, it never took long for them to slip into a conversation about Annabelle, and go over tired, old ground. They shared the same stories, laughed the same laughs and cried the same tears every time they sat around the kitchen table drinking cups of coffee. Wounds that deep leave a scar, which will never heal.
‘Allo, Big John ‘ere.’
‘G’day John, it’s Lee.’
‘Oh, Lee my love, haven’t heard from you in yonks! How they hanging!’
‘Downwards, like they always have,’ she quipped.
‘Yeah, mine too,’ he laughed. ‘What’s going on in your part of the world? Still hot and sunny I s’pose?’
‘Yes, still hot, still sunny. What about your part of the world? Still blowing its tits off?’
They both laughed, slipping into their natural conversation and ocker lingo.
The chit chat continued.
‘Got another grandkid on the way; think we’re up to about twenty something from our own brood, and probably twice that from all the hangers-on we’ve had over the years.’
‘That’s a lot of family to keep track of Big John.’
‘Yeah, lucky Lins is good at that!’
Lee ran out of chit chat. Silence stretched between them while Big John waited for her to speak.
‘I’ve got news,’ she said softly.
‘What sort of news? Everything okay with you? Gordon?’ Big John’s mind went to the obvious things first, like cancer, something wrong with Gordon…
There was no other way to launch into it except to just… launch in. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Gordon’s fine. It’s news about Annabelle.’
Lins walked in just as Big John’s face went white as a ghost.
‘What is it love, is everything alright? One of the kids?’
>
‘Everything’s fine. It’s Lee. She’s got news, it’s about Annabelle.’ He moved the phone away from his mouth so he could explain quickly to Lins, and Lee waited for him to stop speaking before she continued.
Lins slumped onto the couch next to him, putting her ear close to the phone. ‘Hi Lee, Lins here. How you goin’ darl’?’
‘Not good,’ Lee said. ‘I’m really not good.’
‘Tell us what’s happened,’ Big John said gently. Lee hadn’t rehearsed what to say. This was her first phone conversation to share the news.
‘I don’t really know how to say it,’ she said. John and Lins waited patiently.
‘They’ve found her.’
A sob escaped from Lins before she could stop it.
‘Is she alive?’ John asked hopefully.
‘No.’
‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Jesus effing Christ.’
Lee’s voice shook as she tried to get the words out. ‘They found her bones, in the forest, near where she went missing.’ Silence stretched between them.
‘And how did she die?’ Lins asked timidly, not sure if she should ask or if she even wanted the answer. This was the most difficult question of all. Annabelle’s was the worst possible death, but when you put it into words, it sounded so ordinary at first. That was before it slowly formed into a sense of darkness and horror that took you into the worst corners of your mind.
‘She was murdered.’
‘Oh no.’ John and Lins hung onto each other tightly. Lins had her head tucked into Big John’s shoulder and their fingers moved constantly, changing colours from white to red as they squeezed and entwined them.
‘I know, I know. It’s a huge shock,’ Lee heard herself saying in a reassuring voice. Then she felt confused about reassuring others when this was her child, her reality, her nightmare.
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