by Dave Warner
At the time, Emily Virtue’s disappearance was only vaguely on the radar of young women in the area and heading to a taxi was not something to cause alarm. If Caitlin had stuck to her plan she would have crossed back to the pub side of the street and walked a hundred metres down Bay View Terrace towards Stirling Highway and the taxi rank. Which side of Bay View Terrace she’d taken wasn’t known, despite extensive questioning. There were still plenty of people in the area but no definitive sightings. A band had played the hotel earlier and a roadie was out front loading the truck at that time but had not seen her. A taxi had arrived at the rank at 1.40 am but the rank had been empty. At 1.47 the driver had left with a fare. According to the O’Gradys, the police had been unable to establish whether there had been a taxi at the rank between 1.36 and 1.40. The previous taxi to have left the rank estimated the time to be 1.32. Four minutes: that was the critical window. It could not be ruled out that Caitlin had still been in the area, talking to someone, and had simply not made the rank. If that were the case then the person she’d been talking with almost certainly had to be her abductor.
‘She had no enemies you know of?’
No. Caitlin was a popular girl but conservative.
‘You’ve had no break-ins, no calls where someone just hangs up? Nothing like that?’
They had not.
‘What was she wearing at the time?’
Michelle O’Grady ran through in detail what Caitlin had on. They had no photo of the frock she was wearing but they had collated other photos showing the shoes, the thin watch and plain gold necklace she had stepped out in. The police, I knew, would have put out an Australia-wide notice for the jewellery. I figured for now I had everything I needed to make a start. I stood to go.
‘If I could ask you to do something for me? Call George Tacich. Let him know you have asked me to investigate privately. Then I’ll call him.’
They promised they would.
‘Nellie is home when?’
‘I pick her up from school at three-thirty.’ Gerry didn’t have to explain why he was doing the pick-up these days. I said I would make a convenient time to speak to her. I also made sure I had details of Hanna Bates, the friend, and Adam Reynolds, the ex-boyfriend.
I’m ashamed to admit I felt relief when I stepped out of the house. For me the visit had been an interlude. I was able to return to a normal world. There was no prospect of that for the O’Gradys. They were trapped in a different dimension. I opened the door to the old Magna I drove. No fancy remote like some of the new cars had, just a key. As I stood on the road looking back over at the house I made a promise to myself I would do everything I could to find Caitlin. Even then, I knew, if I achieved my goal, she would likely be found dead.
The first thing I did was drive over to Autostrada. It took nine minutes with daytime traffic but then I had to figure that the traffic in the precinct was a lot less now than it might have been back then. This part of town, even the cleaners were expected to wear designer. A cappuccino could set you back more than a new thermos but that had never troubled the regulars. Today though, the shopping strip was less populated than the Simpson Desert. A couple of elderly folk doddered from the newsagency clutching scratchies, elegant women in dark skivvies looked tense and tended counters in near-deserted boutiques. The atmosphere was reminiscent of the clubrooms of a losing grand finalist but there was another layer: fear, invisible, tangible. I parked at the rear of shops near Leura Avenue, on the east side of Bay View Terrace, and took a short, narrow lane through to it, quite aware this could have been the very lane used by the abductor. When I emerged, Autostrada was immediately on my left in an old brick building almost directly opposite the pub. It was painted black and purple and was closed at this hour. The post office was on my right and occupied the entire corner. Bay View Terrace is not a long street. I reckoned you could walk from the railway end where I was to the highway at the other end in less time than it took Shane Warne to bowl an over. I checked my watch and walked south at normal pace past Autostrada. There followed the newsagent, a gift and homeware store, a shoe shop, a bank and a garden place. Here there was another lane, another possible abduction hotspot. I continued, passing a boutique and another homeware shop and then reached a third lane. Directly opposite on the other side of the street was the taxi rank. It had taken me ninety-five seconds. I continued to the bottom of the street, passing another boutique, a home loans office and a vet on the corner of the highway. The shops all had areas above them; one was a dentist, one advertised tax returns, the rest I guessed were used as storage areas. I crossed over the street and walked back up a slight incline past a bar-restaurant, which I knew closed by midnight. Then there was another homeware shop, a shoe boutique and one of those stores that sells storage items. The taxi rank was out front of it. Then came a travel agent, a jeweller and eventually St Quentin Avenue, the ‘avenue’ being some town planner’s April Fool’s Day fun because it was little more than a wide lane. Unlike the lanes on the opposite side of Bay View Terrace, which fed directly into a carpark, this street ran west straight down to the next block, a good half k away. Halfway along on the southern side was an entrance to a Hungry Jacks restaurant and carpark. The northern side gave directly onto a footpath which itself bordered the rear of shops and a couple of private parking areas sealed by roller doors. Headlights from vehicles entering or exiting the Hungry Jacks carpark would potentially illuminate anybody all the way to the junction at Bay View Terrace. The extra width here and the length made it more exposed. If Caitlin had been snatched here, the abductor had either a car idling or access to the rear of those buildings on the north side. Crossing St Quentin and heading north on Bay View Terrace, I passed a jeweller, a small Italian restaurant and then the pub, which ran clear to the next corner. I was beginning to see why there had been so much focus on taxi drivers or people who may have been known to the girls. While there were areas where simple snatch-off-the-street crimes of opportunity could take place, it would be very high risk. On the other hand, if somebody the girls trusted had cruised past – ‘Hi Caitlin, hop in, I’ll drop you home …’ – ten seconds into a car, gone. I crossed the road and walked back to my car through the lane beside Autostrada, checking the rear of the nightclub. There was a single door downstairs, locked. A narrow iron staircase led to a door on the first floor, an emergency escape, I supposed. There was also a small carpark behind the post office, cut off from this separate carpark by high kerbing and a screen of small bushes. Yet another place where the abductor could lie in wait. I sauntered south down the carpark, towards the highway again past the rear of the shops I’d already traversed via their frontages. Faint traces of salt wafted from the ocean, mingling with the fresh smell of pine, the kind of day that carried with it echoes of a shrill whistle of an umpire in white, the excitement of footy finals and kids in team jumpers despite the warmth. The hardware store actually had a customer access door here too, and a loading bay where tradies could reverse their utes to load in supplies directly. I walked all the way to the third lane. Already I was thinking that if it were a straight snatch, this was the most likely point, as the third lane was more isolated than the other two. An abductor could have a vehicle ready in this carpark. They could then exit via Leura Avenue at the rear, turn down towards Stirling Highway or up towards the railway line with no one the wiser. I continued to the rear of the vet clinic. It had four designated bays, two for staff and two for visitors. I would need to come back at night and check the lighting but I could see three poles with high lamps that would offer quite good coverage.
By now hunger was kicking in but I wasn’t going to eat here where a ham and salad roll would cost the best part of six bucks. I avoided the highway, following the railway line past Karrakatta Cemetery, heading towards the city, careful not to speed because there was always some mobile camera here. The government had sublet the cameras to private individuals and it was not uncommon to find these unattended revenue-raisers smashed, or blocked by wheelie bins
some good Samaritan had shoved in place to help his fellow drivers. My mobile phone rang as I was approaching the Shenton Park subway. These mobile things were still foreign to Snowy Lane. I picked up, with no idea who was on the other end.
‘Hang on.’
I turned through the subway and took the first quiet side street. I left the engine running, noted I’d need more fuel soon and kept my answer short.
‘Yep?’
‘Snowy, it’s George.’
‘George, thanks for calling.’
‘Can you hear me alright?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You’re a bit faint.’ My mobile was a Sagem. Not the cheapest but nor was it was the Maserati of mobiles.
I said, ‘The O’Gradys called you.’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t tout for this, George …’
‘Understand. Why don’t you come in Tuesday arvo. Say two?’
‘Great.’
‘I’ll make an official introduction. Can’t speak.’
‘Gotcha.’
I hung up, dwelling on George’s last words. His tone indicated there were others around. I could imagine what they might be thinking, having somebody like me nosing in on their territory. It was a positive start and the timing was perfect; a good three days plus to get my own house in order.
As I started driving back towards my office, I clicked on the radio. All the talk was whether Cathy would win gold. Everybody expected her to. I felt sorry for her. I’d just been reminded what it was like to carry others’ expectations. By the time I sat down in front of my iMac, I’d eaten lunch, filled the car and made a courtesy call to Craig Drummond to say I was on the case. He told me a cheque for five hundred dollars was on the way. I thanked him. The first thing I did was create a spreadsheet to cover Caitlin O’Grady’s life. This wasn’t one of those fancy computer program things, I didn’t know how to do that, I just hand wrote a table of headings and then copied that onto the computer in a simple word program. First was Family. Normally with a murder or missing person case you’re going to start and end here but this was different. We already had two other missing young women and, sure, it’s theoretically possible somebody could have snatched two girls to mask the real target but I wasn’t buying that. All the same, people who knew the family well would engender more trust than strangers and if there was a common intersection between all three girls then we were in business. Of course, I was certain Tacich would have thoroughly checked all that but for now I had to run my own case. My question would be simple: Name the people from whom Caitlin would conceivably accept a lift, or with whom she would at least drop her guard. Next, Education. I divided that into primary school, high school and uni. My starting question would be: Who were her teachers and close friends? But ultimately, I’d want a class list of everybody she’d been to school with. After that, Friends. This was likely to be the biggest area I’d need to investigate. I made a subheading, Romance. I added Entertainment – where did she hang out? What movies did she like and where did she watch them? What videos did she hire, what store? The same with Hobbies. Did she play sport? Who was on her team? Transport next. Where was her car serviced? Where did she regularly get petrol? Who taught her to drive? Did she catch a regular bus? Under Leisure: what shops did she frequent? Did she shop a lot along the Bay View strip? How about Employment? What jobs had she worked? Had she ever worked around that Claremont block from Leura Avenue to Stirling Road? She probably babysat for somebody as a younger girl. Who were her clients? Where did she bank? What pharmacy did she frequent? Who was her doctor? Had she ever been hospitalised? What church did she attend, if any? I wrote down everything I could think of that might bring her into regular contact with somebody, somebody with whom she might feel comfortable enough to drop her guard.
I made a special section for the twelve hours preceding her disappearance. I’d seen TV shows of FBI profilers talking about how serial killers would cruise around looking for potential victims and then bingo: something would just set them off. So I wanted to especially know all her movements in that time. If it were possible to trace every single person with whom she crossed paths, I’d do that. Of course that was highly unlikely but I could try. Easiest to check would be staff of the hotels and club, and they might be able to tell me who else was in the venue at the time. If she stopped for a burger I wanted to know who was in the queue with her, who served her. I’d only scratched the surface on this. It was going to be a massive job but I was resolved to do my best.
It was close to 5.00 pm by the time I finished constructing my web in which I hoped to catch all the facts of Caitlin’s young life. I called the O’Grady house and got Michelle. I explained I’d made a start and would see the police Tuesday.
‘I’d like to come over to your house tomorrow morning, first thing, say seven.’
The next day was Saturday. I explained that I wanted to follow as exactly as I could Caitlin’s routine on the day she disappeared. It would have made more sense to follow Emily Virtue’s routine, as she had gone missing much closer ‘seasonally’. Caitlin had disappeared in the height of summer but I had to work with what I had. If the O’Gradys didn’t want me nosing around, I had to respect that, but Michelle was pleased.
‘It makes us feel like we’re doing something,’ she said.
‘You’re looking for a guy in his twenties, early thirties.’
Natasha nibbled on a corn chip as I dished up tacos. I only cooked twice a week and my fare pretty much ensured it would stay that way.
‘Or a teacher. Or the mayor. Or a TV newsreader, somebody who seems safe,’ I said thinking I was successfully following her drift. Natasha shook her head.
‘Forget them. Maybe for Jessica, the newsreader. But Caitlin’s eighteen. That age, anybody over thirty is old.’
‘You were about that when you threw yourself at me. I was thirty plus.’
‘It was your cooking.’ She can cut when she wants. She started in on the taco. ‘Seriously, if Bill Clinton drives up, they’re not getting in that car.’ Before I could say anything, she held up her hand. ‘Okay, not the best example but I’m saying: with Emily and Caitlin you need somebody they know, somebody they know is local, like a boy in the same street. Or somebody heading their way that they know is heading their way so they know it’s not taking him out of his way.’
‘Why? Why not somebody who says “No trouble, really”? ’
‘No.’
This time her head shake was firmer than the front row chests on Oscar night. Up until about four years ago she’d had long hair. She’d worn it short for a couple of years but now it was almost back to its old length. I loved her hair any way, any length, but if she changed, I always told her I liked it.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you don’t believe him. If you get into that car, you’re figuring you owe him. He puts a move on you, you don’t want to feel obliged, you want to say “Fuck off, Jason”. ’
‘Jason?’
‘They’re all Jason these days. Or Justin.’
I went with her train. ‘But if you know he lives down the street …’
‘… and you’ve ridden your bicycles around when you were kids, or caught the bus together, sure, you believe he’s genuine.’
‘What if the guy’s really sexy?’
‘Especially not then. Unless you think you’re really hot. But I don’t think these girls thought they were really hot.’
‘So if you don’t think you’re really hot but a really hot guy takes the trouble to chat …’
‘Either he’s a slime or you want him to ask you on a proper date. Or maybe if the girls are dumb, but these girls aren’t dumb. Anyway, if he’s hot, he’s not cruising for girls.’
‘Psychologically damaged: Ted Bundy.’
She shrugged, indicating the possibility was about the same as a stray asteroid hitting earth.
I pushed. ‘There’s no factual basis for your theories.’
‘Life experience. If the
guy is that hot, believe me, somebody notices him hanging around.’
I weighed what Tash had said. I couldn’t use my wife’s intuition or ‘life experience’ as a tool to narrow my search but I wouldn’t discount it either.
When I arrived at the O’Grady house just after seven next morning, they were dressed and waiting for me, which wasn’t really the point of the exercise but I understood them not wanting to be in their pyjamas with a stranger hanging around. As the family portrait had suggested, Nellie was more finely featured than her older sister. She was sixteen and had grown tall like her dad. I told them to go about their routine as well as they remembered it, and over breakfast chatted with Nellie about her sister.
‘I’m three years younger. She’s never really told me all that much about her friends but I know most of them.’ She ran through them. I jotted notes.
‘Anybody creepy?’
She couldn’t recall Caitlin mentioning anybody. She was sure she would remember something like that.
‘What about school? Anybody who stood out?’
‘Teachers or girls?’
‘Both.’
Caitlin didn’t seem to have trouble with anybody. She was an easygoing person. On the day of the disappearance, Gerry and Nellie had gone for a swim, leaving the house around 8.30. Today it was still a bit cool for an ocean dip but I encouraged them to head out anyway and come back the same time as they had done the day of the disappearance. I’d never tried this process before and it wasn’t like I was expecting anything from it but sometimes there’s something you overlook when you’re just running a scenario in your head. They left the house and it was just me and Michelle. I helped her clear the dishes.