‘What time were you at the playgroup? Did you see Lexie or Bella?’
Josh shrugged, keeping his eyes on his daughter’s game. ‘Just before ten thirty, I guess. I can’t tell those kids apart, and I’ve never met Bella or Lexie. I gave Zoe a quick kiss at the door and then Tara came outside to talk to me.’
Caruso led Josh through his actions from parking his car to his arrival outside the playgroup to his departure. A sequential process often helped a witness remember something that they’d forgotten. But Josh, it seemed, had seen nothing.
‘Did you see Lexie go to the shops?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see anyone acting suspiciously near the playgroup?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see a red hatchback in the laneway?’
The man was jiggling his left foot. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
‘No. I wasn’t looking for anything. I just wanted to tell Tara the good news.’
‘I was so happy,’ Tara said. ‘But I didn’t want Julia to know so I had to squash it down.’
‘We’d planned to have a special dinner.’ Josh smiled sadly at his wife. ‘Of course, we can’t celebrate now—not with the poor girl missing. It’s terrible.’
The couple sat on the couch, holding hands as if their lives depended on it. Borrowing money—a great way to break up families and friendships. Financial stress made people do things that you wouldn’t expect. Caruso wanted to know more about their debt. He’d get his team on to it. And he’d make a bet that Tara hadn’t told him at playgroup earlier because she didn’t want to risk Julia overhearing the news about their unexpected windfall.
‘There’s something else you should know.’ Tara paused. ‘It might not be important … and Lexie has probably already mentioned it …’
She was wearing a sly look, the same expression as his ten-year-old niece when she was trying to get her younger brother into trouble.
‘Go on.’
‘Lexie’s stepdaughter, Victoria, was down here from Sydney on Father’s Day and she went missing.’
No, Lexie had not mentioned it. Nor had Dr Parker. Presumably Victoria was found relatively quickly, otherwise he’d have known about it.
‘How old is Victoria? Was it reported to the police?’
‘She’s a teenager. Maybe sixteen? I don’t think the police were involved.’
Caruso would find out if the parents had rung the police and whether any details were entered. He started another list in his diary—check the system for any report; call Victoria and her mother; speak to the Parkers. He wondered what sort of relationship Victoria had with her father and his second family. He’d check if there was any history of domestic violence in the first marriage; any broken bones for that daughter. And how did the ex-wife fit in? Was she happily remarried or bitter about her younger replacement?
It had been fifteen years since Caruso had last seen his ex-wife. They’d been at that stage of deciding when to start trying for a baby; instead she’d decided to leave. Him and the job. ‘I don’t want to say goodbye to you every morning with a baby in my arms, not knowing if you’ll come home that night.’ She’d left the police and snagged a position in the Attorney-General’s Department. Better working conditions, flexi-time, no direct contact with offenders, no dangerous situations but still feeling that she was making a difference: it was a good choice for her. He’d heard that she had the suburban life now—a new build in Gungahlin, a lawyer for a husband and three kids in private schools. He couldn’t have given her that. What he loved about policing was what she hated—every day was different and anything could happen. He’d had a stint with the national side, a deployment to the Solomon Islands and to New Zealand after the Christchurch earthquakes. His next move might be across to Drugs; then he’d be dealing with the cause of crime. Robbery, assault, homicide, fraud, domestic violence—so much of it was linked to drugs. Now kids could buy synthetic tablets online while ice was destroying country communities. It’d changed since he’d joined up but Caruso was in for the long haul; he couldn’t imagine working anywhere else.
‘You’re married to the job,’ his wife had said a hundred times. But it wasn’t quite true. He liked his life outside of work, needed the downtime. Last year, he’d taken his parents on a wedding anniversary trip back to Naples and overeaten sfogliatelle, gnocchi alla sorrentina and pizza napoletana with his second and third cousins. After two weeks, though, he was itching to be back at work.
A recent girlfriend had got him into mountain biking and now he had all the gear but not the girlfriend. She’d flown out to Cambodia to work on an education program for a year. Caruso wished that they’d met sooner—their relationship was too new to make promises over long distances. But she’d invited him to visit in a few months’ time, and he’d probably go. His sister and mum constantly asked if he’d put in for holiday leave yet. They really liked her but it wasn’t as straightforward as they seemed to think. She was married to the job and her next aid project would take her off to another country. At least he had the bike and a new community of ‘off-roaders’. Maybe he’d join a team for the 24-hour race. His brother-in-law joked that it was a cheaper mid-life crisis than a Harley-Davidson.
Back in the car, sitting outside the Murphys’ house, Caruso and Suze checked in with the station and gave Superintendent Milson a quick update. Their boss was planning a media conference but he didn’t want to issue an AMBER Alert yet. The alert had only been used a few times before in Canberra—after much consideration, and only when they had a description of a suspect or a car rego number. In this case, there were no specific details to share with the community.
Still, Caruso disagreed with the delay.
‘She’s only three years old—she’s vulnerable and at risk.’
‘I know the criteria,’ Milson replied. ‘But we need more time to consider it and to bring in extra resources for the comms centre.’
‘But that’s exactly the problem,’ Caruso argued. ‘Resources on the ground out here. So many teams are working at Parliament House.’
‘You’ve got Search and Rescue and the SES.’
Milson was right. The search teams were hard at work, fanning outwards from the playgroup. And ACT Policing had already issued media releases and notices on its social media sites; these would be shared by the public. But the AMBER Alert sent a message straight to the top of everyone’s Facebook feed in the specified area. They couldn’t miss it. And Caruso needed just one person to have seen something to get a lead.
The AMBER alert had been named for Amber Hagerman, a nine-year-old Texan girl abducted when riding her bike with her brother. Five days later, the girl’s body was found in a creek. That was in 1996 and to this day no-one had been arrested for her murder. But since the alert system had been introduced in America, it had helped to save nearly a thousand kids.
‘Can we issue the alert if she isn’t found by five o’clock?’ Caruso asked. The last thing any of them wanted was for a toddler to be missing in the cold, dark night.
‘I’ll speak to the officer in charge and the duty officers and let you know. Are you at the PFC right now?’
‘Just finished interviewing. We’ll be back shortly.’
‘I’ll be there around four o’clock,’ Milson said. ‘I want to talk to the parents then I’ll speak to the media.’
Caruso ended the call and started the engine. Shit. Milson wouldn’t be happy that he’d left police forward command at the playgroup, but he’d delegated for the forty minutes he was away. As usual, he’d wanted to do the interviews himself—to see who was lying, who was covering their arse, who was antagonistic and who was emotional. Who might be considered a suspect in case Bella hadn’t simply wandered off.
Lexie and Marty Parker were clearly distraught about their missing daughter. He didn’t consider them as suspects—yet. But the explanation for the broken wrist and the cut cheek was short on detail. (‘Bella fell out of a tree she was climbing and I tripped whe
n rushing over to her.’) The woman was jittery about the incident, almost as if she expected to be disbelieved. She’d told the same story to the other mothers and it was repeated by her husband. Was it true or was she hiding a domestic violence situation?
As for Josh and Tara Murphy, they were certainly covering their arses. He wanted to find out more about their debt so he could quickly rule them in or out.
11
LEXIE
THE PLAYGROUP ROOM WAS BUSTLING WITH PEOPLE, SOME IN POLICE uniform, some in orange overalls, others in suits. But not one of them had found Bella. I’d retraced my steps to the shops and back, around the block, over to the school, down to the oval, through the underpass. A policewoman had accompanied me. I couldn’t hear her talking. Only the new chant in my head. Any moment now. Bella would be found. Any moment now. But each moment had come and gone.
Now I couldn’t stand still. Couldn’t sit. Didn’t know what to do with my legs, my arms, my feet, my hands. Had to keep moving, walking, pacing, shivering. With every pulse, a cold pain radiated from my heart, stabbing outwards to my fingers and toes.
Maybe if I sang her favourite song, she’d come back.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder—
I wonder … the words had disappeared but I could hear her response, annoyed with me: ‘Do the hands, Mummy. Star hands.’
Maybe if I recited her favourite book? Favourite story? Favourite poem?
My mind was blank.
‘Excuse me, Dr and Mrs Parker.’ The detective was speaking to us. ‘The superintendent wants to have a chat. Would you mind coming over this way?’
Superintendent Milson was in his fifties, heavyset, with short cropped white hair. I searched for a glimmer of hope in his face but it was a professional mask. His eyes rested on my bruised cheek for an instant and then flicked across to assess Marty before he spoke.
‘Everyone is doing their utmost to find your daughter,’ he began softly. ‘The land search coordinator is overseeing the direction of the foot search. Unfortunately, the dog squad has reported back that they can find no scent trail.’
‘What does that mean?’ Marty asked.
‘It could be a number of things. The most likely possibility is that the trail has been contaminated. Other adults and children have all crossed over that area. Cars and exhaust fumes also affect the scent trail.’
‘So we don’t even know which direction she went?’ My voice was high.
Superintendent Milson shook his head so subtly that I almost didn’t see it. Then he quickly moved on.
‘We’ve distributed Bella’s photo to the media and online. I’m giving a media conference for the six o’clock news to ask for community help. I’ll speak. You don’t have to appear—it’s up to you.’
‘No media conference. No.’ My whole body trembled and I leant against Marty.
‘Lexie, we don’t need to appear on TV.’ Marty spoke to me slowly, as though I didn’t understand English. ‘We’ll just give them Bella’s photo.’
The superintendent shifted his bulk from one foot to the other.
‘Mrs Parker, the media can be intrusive but it gets the message out. I’d like to do a direct request for information to the public.’
Even though that first police officer had asked for photos from my phone for ‘release and distribution’, somehow it hadn’t occurred to me that Bella’s name and photo were out there. I’d been so focused on the streets around the playgroup that I hadn’t thought further afield. Bella’s face was appearing in online news, her name in radio broadcasts. God, I’d have to call Phoebe. Could the nursing home staff keep Dad away from the TV in the communal lounge room? I stared out of the window. The late-afternoon sky glowed golden.
‘She can’t be left out there alone in the dark,’ I whispered. ‘She’ll be so scared.’
‘I know,’ Marty agreed. ‘That’s why the police have to talk to the TV stations.’
‘Good, we’ll get the media conference organised,’ the superintendent said. ‘We hope to find Bella in the next hour while it’s still light. The helicopter is in the sky and we have numerous teams on the streets. If we haven’t located her, rest assured, we will issue an AMBER Alert and continue the search into the night.’
Marty pulled me into an empty corner. My foot snagged on the doll’s cradle. The one Bella had been rocking dolls in earlier today.
‘Lexie, should we go home and ring everyone before they see it on the news?’
‘No, I’m not leaving here.’
‘Do you want me to ring Phoebe and the nursing home?’
All afternoon I’d put off ringing Phoebe, sure that Bella would be found any minute. I was desperate for my sister’s reassurance yet I didn’t want to worry her. She’d just had knee surgery and was dealing with her own pain, but as soon as she knew Bella was missing, my little sister would be booking a flight from London to Sydney. Ready to support me, yet again.
My family, the media, it was too much. I collapsed against Marty, rag-doll limp, my sore cheek pressed against his collarbone. Staggering backwards, he fell into the lounge chair behind him, with me on top.
The last few weeks, I thought I’d been working towards a new normal—one where I could drop my guard slightly, leave Bella at playgroup for a few minutes, go out to dinner with the playgroup mums. Relax a little. But now I could see that I was deluded.
I shouldn’t have gone to the playgroup dinner that night. Sitting at that table in the restaurant, surrounded by other grown-ups, I’d felt like I was playing hooky. I should be at home. I should be with Bella. As the waiter refilled our champagne glasses, a guilty delight rushed through me. And everything had seemed so unusual—the golden knives and spoons with their strange shapes, the wooden carvings on the walls, the bamboo mats, the smell of coconut and curry, the banana leaves on the plates. As if I’d never been to a Thai restaurant before.
The Yellowglen had tingled on my tongue, the bubbles helping me to relax. I needn’t have worried about my outfit. Tara and Mel were in jeans, Imogen wore a skirt and Julia was wearing a blue maternity dress, belted above her big belly.
‘I can’t have prawns,’ Julia had announced as the menus were handed out. ‘And nothing too spicy. I’ll get kicked all night.’
The conversation revolved around husbands and kids—topics that we couldn’t always talk about at playgroup with small ears listening. Julia complained that her husband wouldn’t take a whole week off work when the baby was born, and Tara said hers didn’t know how to use the dishwasher. I didn’t want to talk about Marty. At some point, in this small city, Dr Marty was likely to treat their children, or their relatives or friends.
Instead, I asked Tara how she was feeling. Last week at playgroup, she’d been overwhelmed.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I was just wondering if you’re having a better week.’
‘No, it’s fucking worse,’ she snapped. Then she added quickly: ‘Actually, I’m fine. Not a problem in the world. Apart from the seven kilos I have to lose. All my work clothes seem to have fucking shrunk. Ha ha!’
Each time I tried to get a bit closer, she pulled away.
The others hadn’t heard our exchange and were still on the husband topic.
‘Come on, Lexie,’ Julia said, ‘tell us how crap Marty is. Does he know how to use the microwave?’
I delved back into the past for a harmless anecdote. ‘When I first met him, he didn’t know how to make fairy bread. Can you believe that? His eldest daughter used to beg him for it every Saturday and eventually he learnt how.’
‘That’s right, the sixteen-year-old,’ Julia remembered. ‘Did she come down for Father’s Day?’
‘Mmm. She brought a friend along to dull the pain.’
As I told them about the weekend, their expressions morphed from interest into angry concern. Mel, the easygoing woman from Byron Bay, seemed the most shocked by what had happened. Surely she’d wandered along the beach by herself as a teenager; bes
ides, Marty and I already felt so guilty, her disapproval couldn’t make me feel worse.
Imogen saved me by asking Mel about Father’s Day.
‘Is Father’s Day hard for Sammy? His dad never calls, does he?’
‘Nope.’ Mel shook her head. ‘But that’s okay—we’re happy without him. We had Father’s Day with my aunt.’
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘Out of sight and out of mind.’
I noticed that Mel never mentioned her ex by name. Sammy didn’t talk about him either.
‘Does he send child support money?’ Tara asked.
‘No, and I wouldn’t take it from him.’ Mel pursed her lips.
‘Talking of exes,’ Tara turned to me, ‘how do you get on with Marty’s ex-wife? Is she a bitch?’
‘She’s okay. They broke up long before I came on the scene.’
‘If Marty’s the perfect husband, you should send her a thank you letter,’ Tara joked. ‘She trained him up for you.’
For God’s sake, he hadn’t needed training. He was a paediatrician. He knew how to look after children and how to operate complex medical equipment; by comparison, kitchen appliances were simple. And he’d had to get us through those years when I’d been in a black hole.
‘Lucas really wants another baby,’ Imogen announced to the table. ‘He’s desperate for a girl. But I can’t do it. The twins are such a handful and he’ll be deployed again next year.’
‘There’s no rush for you,’ Julia said. ‘You’ve only just turned thirty-two—you can wait a few years until the boys are at school.’
‘He wants our family to be young together,’ Imogen explained. ‘He wants us to have a baby right now. I don’t know what to do.’
Julia put an arm around Imogen and gave her a squeeze. We all looked at her sympathetically. For once, none of us had any advice to offer.
‘What about you?’ Tara pointed her gold fork at me. ‘Does the hottie hubby want another one?’
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