To the Sea

  The coroners’ reports declared these missing girls to be presumed dead as the result of foul play by a person or persons unknown. Foul play. A bad game. That was probably right. But no one really knew what had happened to them. One minute they were there, standing on a verandah or riding a bike, and then suddenly they were gone. With their bags, their beach towels, their engagement rings, their pyjamas, their unborn babies, their lives. And despite years of searching, and the most intensive police investigations, nothing. Their names and faces were part of Tasmania’s history. Like the extinct thylacine. Like the lost tribes. They were lost in the emptiness and dark savagery of this place. It can happen so fast. Or maybe slow. No one knows.

  And there were a lot more missing girls who never became famous. No grainy film footage or updated composite photos of what they would look like now. All the Tamikas, Chantelles and Shanias who disappeared from their broken homes or on their way home from school or wagging school to visit the dodgy boyfriend. These less than innocent girls who might have a baby or two, who pierced their faces, plucked their eyebrows too far, tattooed their midriffs and lived in decrepit mining and mill towns where disappearing was not to be unexpected. The police looked for them but didn’t find them. But the public cared less about them. Tony knew the police did too.

  He wondered if his need to find Zoe was because she was so beautiful. He was a cop. He knew how cases got prioritised. The loss of beauty from the world was as great a loss as any life. The murdered fat girl was not as troubling a loss.

  But the beautiful girl. She had a life, even if it was a past life, that the public wanted to share. For the beautiful girl, tears and heartbreak. For the killer of the beautiful girl, the harshest sentence.

  And now Zoe Kennett had joined the missing girls. Tony had one more day to find her. He couldn’t bluff Sally for more than another day and the coroner could exert his own form of pressure on an investigation.

  He began going through his phone messages. Lots from forensics and Jack. Way too many from the comms room and too late now for any of them to matter. Good detailed updates about other cases. And the expected turds from the commander. He deleted all Ryan’s missed calls. He listened to the only voice message Ryan had left for him. He wasn’t happy that Tony wasn’t answering his phone or returning messages. He’d better return this one, was the explicit instruction. So Tony did. It went straight to Ryan’s message bank. Two can play this game all night, thought Tony. He left a curt message. He’d been out of range out on the water. He was now back in range in the office and Ryan could call him any time. Tony knew he wouldn’t. His mum left her love for the new year. One call from Rick. No point checking that one. Tony wasn’t going to the party and he would check in with his brother tomorrow. Maybe have a few drinks with him after work. Zoe wasn’t going to be found tomorrow and the official search would be finished. He’d have plenty of time to catch up with Rick and drink away his failures in this case. And Rick would be good company.

  He scrolled and scrolled and eventually dealt with them all. The clock on the wall showed it to be already after eleven. He glanced over at Narelle, who was still writing.

  ‘So, this is it for you on New Year’s Eve, is it?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m done,’ she said, closing the file on her desk and the lid of her laptop. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Some food and then sleep.’

  ‘You don’t want a drink?’

  ‘God no.’ He stood up and dragged his jacket off his desk. ‘A pub full of noisy drunks right now would be my idea of hell.’

  ‘Doesn’t have to be a pub,’ said Narelle. ‘You can’t spend New Year’s Eve alone. Come back to my place and I’ll feed you, we’ll have a drink and watch the fireworks from my balcony.’

  That was the worst idea ever. Tony would be crazy to even consider it.

  ‘Sounds great.’

  They left their laptops on their desks and turned out the lights. It was noisy at the front counter and even noisier as they walked past the remand area to the car park.

  ‘Happy New Year,’ called Tony to the duty sergeant who had his head down booking a falling down drunk with blood on his face who was being held up by two already tired young constables. Jack and Eric may have got to their parties late but they got there, which was more than these constables could hope for.

  ‘A fucking comedian on New Year’s Eve,’ the duty sergeant called back without looking up. ‘Just what I need. We’re locking people up for less than that tonight, Inspector. Be careful.’

  Narelle’s place was a large, surprisingly empty flat in a 1940s high-rise in the best part of Battery Point. Big rooms, high ceilings, parquetry floors. Just a few choice pieces of furniture. He recognised the Danish designer influences even though he couldn’t name the designers or even the style. Very 1960s. He stood for a few minutes just taking the room in. Its emptiness came from the walls. They were blank. No pictures. No photos. No bookshelves. And most surprisingly, no TV. He couldn’t see the bedroom which was down the hallway, but he knew it wouldn’t be pink or frilly and there would be no fluffy toys on the bed.

  He wished his own place was more stylish. More a statement of something. He’d bought some furniture, mostly second-hand, and it was stuff that he saw, he needed or he liked, but there was no real commitment, no plan to any of it. Narelle’s place felt quiet and perfect. A place to be still and think, and look out at the city, the eastern shore, the river and the enormous sky.

  Narelle kicked off her heels as soon as she got in the door. She had champagne and beer in the fridge. They started with a couple of beers.

  ‘Go and sit outside on the balcony,’ said Narelle. ‘It’ll be a lot cooler out there. I’ll cook up a couple of omelettes. Suit you?’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Tony and headed outside. It was still hot but there was a gentle breeze off the river. There were a few gatherings on other balconies above and below him and he toasted a group of people three balconies over who were all dressed up in Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble outfits. He sat back in the warm metal chair enjoying his first relaxation of the day. The beer had done its work. He hadn’t slept for more than a few hours in the past three days, his skin was hot from all the sun today and he didn’t want to take control of where this night was going.

  Narelle came out onto the balcony with another cold beer.

  ‘Food’s two minutes away,’ she said as she drank from her own bottle. ‘Fireworks are five minutes away. Pretty impressive dinner entertainment if I do say so myself.’

  Tony drank his beer and watched the Flintstones winding up for the fireworks. A few Bettys and Wilmas had joined the boys outside. An older couple next door had also wandered out onto their balcony to enjoy the show. They smiled over at Tony and wished him a Happy New Year. He returned the greeting.

  Narelle came out with two plates piled high with omelette and fried potatoes. She didn’t look like a cook but the plate of food in front of him looked and smelled outrageously good. They clinked their now almost empty beer bottles and took to their food. After just two mouthfuls, the Flintstones started the countdown.

  ‘Ten–nine–eight–seven,’ they chorused. People from nearby buildings and backyards joined in. Tony tried but was too hungry to stop eating. Narelle stood up with her bottle raised in salute and counted down with her neighbours.

  ‘Happy New Year,’ rang out from everywhere.

  ‘Happy New Year, boss,’ said Narelle across the table. She was smiling her familiar smile.

  ‘Happy New Year, Sergeant.’

  The fireworks started right on cue. A huge umbrella of red and silver exploded down on the waterfront. It was so close, Tony felt part of the explosion. Narelle went inside and came back with a bottle of champagne. She popped the cork out into the darkness and poured two tumblers full of pink sparkling light. They ate and drank and watched the fireworks. Their plates were empty when the last rainbow shower petered out into darkness.

  The Flintstones party was just gett
ing started and all the Bedrock locals were now dancing and singing along to Flo Rida’s ‘Right Round’. From Narelle’s balcony it looked like the whole town was partying. The river was lit up with flares and rockets from hundreds of little boats trailing as far as Tony could see.

  One of the Barneys called out to Narelle and invited her down. ‘Come on. Bring your boyfriend. Unless he’s a cop. Two cops would be too much.’ All the other Barneys and Freds and Wilmas were calling them down.

  Flo Rida was pumping.

  ‘He’s a cop,’ called out Narelle over the music, shrugging her shoulders.

  The Flintstone balcony booed up at them. Bam Bam waved his club.

  Tony was deeply relaxed. It was a stifling night and, despite the whiff of a breeze, there’d be no cool change. The music vibrated through him, his stomach was full and there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

  ‘You’re a great cook,’ he said.

  ‘You were starving,’ laughed Narelle. ‘A starving man’s compliments can’t be taken as praise.’

  They finished off the bottle of champagne. Tony knew he was very drunk and that Narelle must be too. She was still in her suit skirt from work and her blouse was loose. Her legs and feet, stretched out against the balcony railing, were bare. Her legs looked strong. He knew she went to the gym. And she was a runner, he vaguely remembered. He should race her some time. Narelle was very white. She had some tiny freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks and some very pale ones on her lower arms but, unlike most redheads, she looked like she’d stayed out of the sun her whole life. Her skin was porcelain smooth. It looked soft. Tony wondered what it felt like. He wanted to touch that cool white skin under her loose blouse. He could see the top of her lacy bra but he wanted what was under that.

  Narelle was looking directly at him across the table. He couldn’t read her. He wondered if she could read him. He had to be easy to read right now.

  ‘I must go,’ he said.

  Wanting to be in Narelle’s bed with her cool white body beneath him suddenly didn’t feel right. He couldn’t fix on what he wanted. Every decision he tried to make escaped into uncertainty just as he thought he had it in his grasp. His body and his thoughts could not align. He tried to stand up but his body was a dead weight. He couldn’t drag himself out of the chair.

  ‘I’ll call you a taxi,’ said Narelle. She picked up her phone.

  They sat not talking while they waited for the taxi. It could be a while. New Year’s Eve.

  Tony couldn’t keep his eyes open. Somehow, he was down on the footpath and Narelle was there helping him into a taxi. She smelt flowery fragrant and, as she leaned in and buckled his seatbelt, her skin was as cool against him as he’d imagined.

  ‘Goodnight, sir,’ she said into his ear, her lips soft against his skin. He thought she stroked his cheek. She said something to the taxi driver over the front seat and then brought her face back to his. He wanted to kiss her. Her lips were right there, full and pink. He didn’t know how to make his body move. He was so tired. His head fell back against the head rest. He couldn’t open his eyes. He felt her lips lightly brush his. Or it could have been her arm. She smelled so good.

  ‘I’ve got your car. I’ll pick you up at eight in the morning.’

  Then the taxi driver was on Tony’s verandah holding him up and opening the front door for him. Tony wondered how the taxi driver had got his keys and how he knew which key opened the front door. Tony tried to find his wallet but dropped his jacket in the effort.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said the driver, picking up the jacket and leading Tony into the dark hallway of his house. ‘Your lady friend already paid. You’re going to regret this one tomorrow, mate.’

  The taxi driver propped Tony up against the hallway wall, wished him a Happy New Year and closed the door behind him as he left. Tony could still hear firecrackers going off outside. But Tony’s party was over. He was home. In his empty little house. It was hot and stuffy. He opened all the windows in his bedroom and a tired breeze wandered in.

  He wondered how he’d got here and why he wasn’t now in Narelle’s designer bed. He felt he had been led away from her. His conscience, he wanted to believe, had called him back to his empty house. He had followed the call and now here he was alone and lonely. He dragged his clothes off and fell into his unmade bed. The sheets were warm and dusty against his damp skin. He was immediately asleep and then his phone was ringing.

  ‘Happy New Year, Inspector,’ said Bill. It was seven o’clock.

  Day five

  John

  ‘WHY DID YOU TELL THE DETECTIVE?’

  Eva and John were in their bedroom. It was a new year. John couldn’t be bothered finding his watch in the dark to check the time. Dawn was not far away. Eva was sitting at the window looking out. He doubted she could see the water. No moon. The darkest hour. Or maybe she could. Maybe that was another thing she could do that John didn’t understand.

  He knew she’d heard him. He waited.

  ‘Eva.’

  The window was open and he could hear small waves breaking on the beach below, steady and quiet. Another still, hot day coming. He was longing for a southerly. Or even a westerly. Anything to break the breathless stasis of the past days. Eva didn’t turn to him or acknowledge him in any way.

  ‘Eva,’ he said again. He didn’t raise his voice. It wouldn’t help. ‘Why did you tell a stranger?’

  He let her sit a while. She never answered quickly. He had long thought that she did it deliberately and if someone else jumped in to fill the gap that would suit her. She could stay out of the conversation. It worked with their children who all talked over the top of each other and would fill any silence. It worked with his family too. Any gap in a conversation was awkward and one of them would politely step up to fill it. When they were younger, Eva could spend an afternoon with his parents and not say more than a few words. Back then he thought that maybe she pondered things more deeply than other people. Now he knew differently.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she finally said.

  In the long silence that followed he heard someone walking along the hallway from the bathroom. He recognised the familiar creak of the old boards near the top of the stairs. It would be Matt getting ready for an early surf. Today was the last day of the official police search for Zoe. John had given her up the day she went. She would never go off without telling Eva. Things had been difficult since Zoe came back from Mayo last summer but not so difficult that she would disappear like this. She knew how frantic her parents would be. How despairing Eva would be if she didn’t know where Zoe was. When John realised she’d been gone overnight and that she had not told Eva, John gave up.

  ‘Did you think it would help him find her?’

  ‘I think I did,’ she said after some time. ‘I still feel he might.’

  ‘How can he find her, Eva?’

  More minutes passed. John heard the Range Rover start up and drive slowly down the driveway. Matt. Off to Clifton Beach. Clear his head and his body out in the waves. He’d be back late morning to join the search again for Zoe.

  Zoe often went surfing with Matt, and John wondered for the first time how Matt was coping with her disappearance. John hadn’t thought of anyone else’s grief other than his own and Eva’s. He was not a very good grandfather. Poor Matt and Jess with Roger for a father and living in the permanent shade of their parents’ cold marriage. They needed warmth and care. And they were such nice kids. He would try and be a better man for them today. Eva wouldn’t miss him.

  John sat up in bed, leaning back against the carved bedhead. He pushed a pillow behind him. The sky was lightening. The sun was still probably an hour from rising but the deep black of night was seeping into indigo.

  ‘Can you find her, Eva?’

  She turned to him. He couldn’t make out all her features in the dim light but her white hair and bright eyes shone dimly. She walked over to the bed and lay on top of the sheets. It had been too hot a night for anything heavier.
She laid her head on his chest and stroked his old man’s stomach with her hand.

  ‘No, my love,’ she said quietly into his chest. ‘She doesn’t want me to find her. But I don’t think she’s dead.’

  There was a pause between them.

  ‘She’s waiting for something,’ Eva went on. ‘Or someone.’

  John placed his hand on Eva’s head. She was humming a familiar tune. One of the songs she used to sing to Zoe when she was a baby.

  ‘She will come back, John,’ she said quietly. ‘I am not the last.’

  Sadie

  SADIE LAY AWAKE LISTENING TO MATT GETTING UP AND LEAVING FOR A surf. The sun hadn’t risen yet.

  The bedroom window was open and she could hear the slow slap of waves against the shore and the calls of the early morning sea birds. Matt would be going to the other side of the peninsula. Garnet Point wasn’t a surfing spot. The house was still and quiet. New Year’s Day. They would all have a new year and a new life. A life without Zoe. This was the first tragedy most of her family had faced. The life and death sort. Sadie and her mother were familiar with it but it would be a shattering new experience for the others.

  She lay in the darkness wondering who would cope and who would break. Her mother would break but Sadie had no idea what that might look like. She could only know by how her father responded. She would keep an eye on her father for signs of how far away their mother had slipped. Sadie didn’t know how much further it could be before she was gone altogether.

  Carl was already struggling. Blaming himself. She kept telling him he wasn’t responsible for everyone’s happiness but she’d been telling him that for forty years and he still didn’t believe her. She could stop now. Their father would never fully recover from Zoe’s death. Carl’s time had come.