Six Minutes

by Petronella McGovern

  ‘Lexie said she’ll tell you when you get here.’

  24

  BRENDAN

  BRENDAN SAT SILENTLY ON HIS COUCH, PANIC PING-PONGING THROUGH his head. The crackle of Todd’s police radio cut through it all and set his mind off in a different direction. Did he seem guilty if he was quiet? Maybe he should try to talk normally.

  ‘Todd, you should come in and speak to my class sometime. The kids love a special guest, particularly in uniform.’

  ‘Yeah, we should set that up,’ Todd agreed. ‘We’ve got the schools program but we all try to do as much as we can for the community.’

  ‘Great. Who do you reckon will win Saturday? The Wallabies or the Springboks?’

  Brendan couldn’t ask the one question that needed answering: were the cops allowed to search his house?

  A knock on the door and cold fear snaked through Brendan’s body. The plainclothes police officer introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Caruso, explained that he would be asking some questions about the missing child and told Brendan he was free to call a friend or a lawyer.

  Oh fuck. Did he need a lawyer? He glanced at Todd and Gareth standing near the kitchen wall and decided he should just get this over and done with.

  ‘I’ve never really met the girl,’ Brendan squeaked out as quickly as he could.

  ‘But clearly you have, Mr Parrish, as you’ve photographed her.’ The detective gestured towards the picture in the plastic evidence bag. ‘And to photograph someone, you have to meet them.’

  ‘Well, no, the paparazzi do it all the time.’

  The dark-haired Caruso eyeballed him.

  Brendan took a deep breath. He wasn’t trying to be a smartarse but everything kept coming out the wrong way.

  ‘Yes, I photographed her, but I didn’t even know her name.’

  ‘Who told her to stand on that rock?’ Caruso asked, pointing at the picture.

  ‘I did.’

  The day he’d done that shoot had been magical. In the middle of autumn, when the trees were still red and golden, the sky a deep, deep blue and the air crisp with expectation. Claire had picked him up and driven the few blocks to the ridge, where they’d walked to a clearing of soft grass dotted with rocks. Most of the kids had acted like movie stars, copying poses they’d seen on TV. Not Bella. She had a quiet self-assurance. With no pet tagging along for the photo, Brendan had asked her to climb on the rock. She stood upon it, twirling around, humming to herself: ‘I’m the king of the castle.’ He’d said to the mother: Your daughter could be a model one day, she’s got that certain something.

  ‘Right, so you spoke to her?’

  ‘I guess, but I spoke to lots of kids that day.’

  Bella had told him that she didn’t have a pet because her rabbit had died the week before. We buried him, she said, in the garden. I put white pebbles in the hole and cut-up apple. That was Rascal’s favourite food.

  And was Rascal a rascal? Brendan had asked.

  She’d giggled. No, silly, he was a bunny.

  The detective unfolded a newspaper and laid it out on the table, next to the photo. The front cover of the Canberra Times.

  ‘Did you see today’s newspaper with Bella’s face on the cover?’

  In the staffroom this morning, he’d wanted to whoop out loud—My photo has made the cover! But he could hardly celebrate in this situation. Still, they should have credited him, or at least asked his permission. The whoop had died in his throat as he’d skimmed the story and seen the family photos on the inside pages.

  ‘No, I only saw the back pages: the sport, the rugby.’ The wobble was back in his voice. ‘Anyway, I’ve got nothing to do with this. All I did was take a photo months ago. As a favour to a friend.’

  ‘Where were you on Thursday morning from ten to midday?’

  ‘I was at school, teaching.’

  ‘Did you leave the school grounds at all?’

  Shit, he’d already told the other policeman that he hadn’t. Could he change his story now? He recalled the photos in the newspaper and made a decision.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you have any breaks? Recess? Lunch?’

  ‘Just the usual. I was on lunch duty on the oval.’

  Brendan hadn’t told anyone at school that he’d forgotten his lunch. And no-one would have seen him. He’d cut across the oval, past the back of the playgroup, along the laneway to his house. Hold on—had he stopped to get a coffee from the bakery? He couldn’t remember.

  There must be a few lawyers at the rugby club but Brendan didn’t want to involve anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. Steve’s dad, he was a lawyer. Commercial law, but he’d have mates—Canberra was so small, he must know a criminal lawyer. What should Brendan do otherwise? He could search online. But how would he know if the lawyer was any good? It could be the most important decision of his life.

  ‘Did you help with the search last night?’ Caruso asked.

  ‘No, I was at rugby training.’

  ‘Were you planning to help search tonight?’

  Brendan didn’t know what answer the detective wanted. He’d been planning to watch sport, drink beer, unwind and hope that Claire would come over later, after her work drinks, for sex.

  ‘Um, yeah … maybe.’

  ‘When did you last see Bella?’

  ‘I only saw her once properly—when I took the photo. And I think she waved to me at the shops one time. But lots of kids do that. It’s what happens when you live near your school.’

  The detective suddenly stood up.

  ‘Right, thanks for your time. Now, would you allow us to have a quick look around your house?’

  The poor thing with her broken wrist.

  They did that to her.

  Such a lovely little girl.

  She deserves better than them.

  She deserves to be kissed and cuddled and indulged.

  25

  LEXIE

  CRIMSON WAS SPREADING ACROSS THE SKY, WITH FLECKS OF LIGHT pink clouds. Bella loved sunsets and sunrises and fluffy marshmallow clouds and the long white trails drawn by planes. She loved Weet-Bix for breakfast, pasta carbonara for dinner and chocolate ice cream for dessert. She loved wearing fairy wings and dancing in twirly skirts. She loved playing in the garden, digging in the dirt, searching for fairies in the bushes and listening to the birds chirping. She loved jumping on the trampoline.

  My little Tinker Bell hated the dark.

  The pink flecks changed to grey and the sky darkened to a cobalt blue. Tremors ran the length of my body, from the tips of my fingers to my toes.

  On a normal day, I’d be getting Bella’s dinner and running her bath. Lying down on her bed and reading Hairy Maclary while Bella giggled at the rhymes and named each dog. Her favourite was ‘Muffin McLay, like a bundle of hay’.

  My mantra had kept me going last night and this morning. Any moment now. I’d thought it when I’d come back into playgroup at lunchtime. I’d clung to it when the police and SES had updated me then, even though they had no leads. Any moment now. It had seemed possible that with so many searchers, the media, the police, the SES, someone had to find her.

  But now night was coming again.

  I collapsed into the one lounge chair in the playgroup room and let my body sag. Wrapping my arms around myself, I ached for the touch of my daughter. Her soft breath on my face as she asked: ‘Mummy, what doing today?’ ‘Mummy, come do dress-up.’ ‘Mummy, read it again.’ ‘Mummy, dance with me.’

  But instead of my Bella, Detective Sergeant Caruso was watching me. He brought one of the other chairs close to me and sat down.

  ‘I need to talk to you about a few things.’

  My stomach lurched. If the detective had bad news, wouldn’t he wait until Marty was here? I scanned the room for Imogen. She was in the far corner, speaking with Julia and Mel. Julia had appeared at playgroup late this afternoon with no mention of where she’d been this morning or last night. Tara was here earlier and then went home to
put Daisy down. Soon, all the mums would go home for dinner with their children. They promised that their husbands would come in for the night search later.

  ‘Mrs Parker, where were you on Thursday afternoon around three thirty?’

  Huh? Why was he asking me this? The detective smiled encouragingly, his teeth white against his olive complexion. This man is going to find Bella. Help him to help you.

  ‘I was looking for Bella. I don’t know where. I was out searching by myself, then with Marty. We went back to our house at some point and then came back here.’

  ‘Did you go into the city?’

  ‘NO!’ It came out more forcefully than I intended. ‘I was looking for Bella.’

  Time had stopped at ten thirty yesterday morning. I couldn’t recall the hours before I went to playgroup. Or the hours after.

  ‘Do you know Brendan Parrish?’

  The question threw me. I was expecting him to mention a sighting in the city, a lead—not the name of a local schoolteacher.

  ‘Yes, he took some photos for our playgroup.’

  The image he’d taken of Bella was framed and hanging in the corridor. Everyone said it was amazing. It was the photo I’d given to the media. Shit—at the museum, I had to constantly check copyright for the displays, image reproduction and research papers. Could the man be chasing down an attribution? No, Brendan wouldn’t be that callous.

  ‘Have you seen him since he took the photos?’

  ‘Around Merrigang shops a few times. Bella recognised him and called out. She gets attached to people quickly. She seemed to like him.’

  Funny Brendan—he’d made Bella laugh and she’d given him a hug. Brendan had pulled away quickly and I remembered that all teachers—particularly the males—had to be so careful these days. After the photo shoot, some of the mums had been discussing Brendan and saying how young kids, especially boys, would love having him as a ‘cool dude’ teacher. He looked like a surfer with his ruffled blond hair.

  ‘Did he recognise her?’

  ‘Well, he always waved back.’

  ‘Tell me again who you saw up at the shops yesterday.’

  Was it only yesterday that I had walked up to the shops?

  ‘Mr Whitlaw, he had the clothes for the op shop. Our gardener, Deirdre. Our neighbour, Janice. The woman from Tuesday’s playgroup—Fiona somebody. The guy working at the supermarket.’

  A memory niggled into my thoughts. Was there someone else I’d spotted up there? I couldn’t hold on to the blurry images and my thoughts reverted to the same question: Why, oh, why had I stopped to help Mr Whitlaw?

  Because he had helped me.

  ‘Right, we’ve spoken to all of those people and to the women who were having coffee in the bakery.’ Caruso was business-like. ‘One more thing, Mrs Parker. Can you tell me why you changed your surname?’

  My body crumpled in half, my head on my knees. Would they blame me now and stop searching? I couldn’t look at him. A sobbing, hiccupping sound came from my mouth. Where was Marty when I needed him? I hadn’t seen him for hours.

  ‘I’m sure it’s in the police report.’ I could barely get the words out. ‘Just read that. Or search the internet.’

  After the detective moved away, I asked Imogen to call Marty for me. By the time Marty finally returned, Julia and Mel had gone. Back to their warm houses to read bedtime stories, to kiss soft cheeks goodnight. Bella had a night-light that glowed pink; she believed it welcomed the fairies and scared away the monsters. She’d been wrong. A monster had come regardless.

  When Marty flopped into the seat next to me, I could see bits of leaves and twigs stuck to his coat. I couldn’t understand why he was spending so much time up on the ridge. Was it simply to avoid me?

  ‘What’s the update?’ he asked, his jaw tight.

  ‘Two things. So, you know that schoolteacher, Brendan Parrish …’

  Marty punched his fist into his other palm. He’d never met the teacher but Bella had told him about the photo shoot and each time she’d seen Brendan at the shops.

  ‘I don’t think he has anything to do with it,’ I rushed to say. ‘He’s a nice guy. We knew he took the photos and apparently he was teaching at the time.’

  ‘A paedophile can appear to be a nice guy,’ Marty snapped at me.

  Rearing back, I shook my head. The police officers had been so careful not to say that word around me but my husband was almost shouting it in my face.

  ‘No, not Brendan. He’s interested in snowboarding.’

  I should have told him about the other issue first. Now he was distracted. As Marty started to ask more about the schoolteacher I cut him off.

  ‘Marty, listen to me.’ I glanced up at the nearby police officers and lowered my voice. ‘They know.’

  His whole body slumped in the chair, his face grey, dark half-moons under his eyes.

  ‘I guess it was only a matter of time,’ he said, sighing.

  ‘But we have to make sure they keep looking properly.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I think Caruso is going to talk to Nurse Natalie tonight.’

  We exchanged a look. That vile woman was still in Canberra, camped out somewhere near Parliament House. As soon as the police had spoken to her, she would contact the media. Again.

  The police coordinators were harnessing the community support and had mapped out a plan for the night. Imogen had been replaced by her husband; the muscular soldier looked at ease speaking with the police and emergency services personnel. Lucas seemed the sort of bloke who gave orders to his men and expected the outcome to be exactly as he had commanded. I wondered how Imogen dealt with that. Did he give orders to her too? Unlike the other mums, Imogen didn’t complain about Lucas—the only concern she’d mentioned lately was that he wanted another baby.

  The search was going further afield, sending groups into the nearby suburbs of Duffy, Fisher and Waramanga. Marty decided we’d join the search team in Duffy. That suburb was closer to our house than the others. The top side of Duffy led off to the ridge and the horse paddocks which eventually linked up with Merrigang. The SES had already been behind our house on foot and a helicopter had swooped low over the trees.

  I pulled on a coat and ignored the sandwich someone offered me. As we opened the door to the little playground, the cool air whipped against my cheeks.

  ‘What’s going on over there?’ Marty pointed beyond the black fence, decorated with teddies.

  Clusters of people with torches stood around in small groups, ready to help with the search. But further over, a softer light created a halo effect in the night air. A large circle of parents and children holding candles. Among the general hubbub of people talking, I could make out a sweet hymn.

  ‘Can you hear the singing?’ I asked Marty. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Marty thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, it sounds like a funeral. Bella’s alive somewhere. We’ll find her tonight.’

  WEBSLEUTHS FORUM

  Martin and Lexie Ross

  LoveMyDog: It IS them with the missing child in Canberra.

  Raine43: Why can’t the Aussie police catch them?

  Tracer: Rot in hell, Martin and Lexie.

  AD: These people need to be put in solitary confinement, never see light again, and be tortured.

  59X: Fucken animals to do this.

  Taz: Heartbreaking. I just feel sick.

  26

  TARA

  TARA HAD FIFTEEN MINUTES BEFORE IT WAS TIME TO START THE DINNER, bath and bed routine. A quick bit of TV would keep the girls quiet while she went online. When she’d left the playgroup, it had been filled with a weird energy—mobiles ringing, police radios crackling, lots of deep male voices, a helicopter whirring overhead. Tara’s house was the opposite, as quiet as a graveyard, apart from squeaky voices on the telly. She clicked on the Canberra Times site first. The photos she’d sent in adorned the page. But it was the same story as a few hours ago. No update.<
br />
  Lexie hadn’t said a word about the photos in the newspaper article. Had she seen them? Was she angry? Or would she understand that Tara was doing everything she could to help find Bella?

  Down at playgroup, Tara had tried to stay busy—talking to the police officers, offering cups of tea, in between feeding Daisy and keeping Zoe occupied. Perhaps she shouldn’t have taken the kids with her; Imogen had off loaded her twin terrors to some poor, unsuspecting grandma. Even Julia and Mel had left their kids with other people. But Tara didn’t have that option—Pam worked at the library on Fridays. The childcare plans for next year weren’t quite sorted but she was hoping Pam would have the kids Monday to Thursday, and she and Josh could take alternate Fridays off to stay home. Pam had made it clear that Fridays were non-negotiable. And while Tara appreciated Mel’s family day care, she still had to pay for it. She’d only used Mel because she was exhausted, and Pam was always too busy. Both her workplace and Josh’s promised family-friendly, flexible hours; Tara would kick up a fuss if they didn’t follow through. Last year, they allowed Raquel from accounts two alternating days off every fortnight, despite it being confusing for everyone else. No-one ever knew the right day to get in their invoices.

  Tara hadn’t dared to check her blog while she was down at playgroup, just in case one of the mums peered over her shoulder; they didn’t get online groups, they were all about real-life relationships. First, Tara opened Facebook and scrolled down her private groups. Some she knew IRL and others were online friends only. The Gong Gals—her school friends from Wollongong—were echoing her shock about Bella’s disappearance. She’d only joined Run for Your Life a few weeks ago but had posted the news to them. They all sent their best wishes and a few were going down for the night search. Book Beauties were silent—they hardly ever looked at FB, too busy with their noses stuck in the latest bestseller. Unlike Women Who Wine: they’d left dozens of messages offering support. The page of Marvellous Mums showed lots of crying emojis; none of them was feeling marvellous now. The Merrigang community page, along with the Weston Creek one, had hundreds and hundreds of comments giving advice, theories and the names of suspicious dudes around Merrigang and the nearby suburbs. It would take days to read through all of those. Did the police check this shit?