‘Fine.’
Emmett noticed Steven smirk.
‘Okay. Was there anything else we needed to discuss before we head out?’
Both Morton and Steven shook their heads. Emmett looked at his notepad. They’d spent the morning going over the case so far, him filling his colleagues in on the visit to Natale’s parents the previous evening, and them sharing their experiences with the unhelpful woman at the football club. All the signs were pointing to the same conclusion – Natale was dead.
‘I’m going to grab a coffee for the road,’ Steven said, standing up. ‘Do you want me to get you one?’
Emmett reached into his pocket, searching for his wallet. He pulled out his phone instead and instinctively pressed the screen to check the time. He was startled to see that he’d missed several calls. Damn. He’d forgotten he’d put it on silent.
With a sinking feeling he saw that two of the missed calls were from Bryce Frederick, and one was from an unknown number. A flood of adrenalin kicked in. Unexpected calls from homicide were never good news.
‘You go ahead,’ he mumbled distractedly to Steven. ‘I just need to sort this out.’
Leaving the meeting room, Emmett returned to the sanctuary of his office and closed the door. His desk phone was flashing to indicate missed calls, and a handwritten note was left scrawled on his keyboard. ‘The Superintendent has been trying to get onto you. Please call ASAP.’
Emmett’s stomach churned. Something was up.
Holding his breath, he dialled his voicemail.
A familiar, computerised female voice told him he had two new messages. A dial tone beeped, and then there was silence. Finally, a man started speaking.
‘Detective Corban? Hello? Are you there? She’s dead. They’ve found her body. She’s fucking dead.’
Emmett froze. The man’s voice was familiar, but he couldn’t pick it.
‘I told you something bad had happened. But you didn’t believe me. I hope you’re—’
The caller was abruptly cut off by the sound of a tone, followed by the friendly automated voice, which offered to phone the number back or delete the message. Emmett hung up.
Propping his elbows up on his desk, he let his head drop forward, aware of a dull pain running down the back of his neck. A vivid image of Natale Gibson appeared before him, her smiling face and bright eyes staring at him intently. Of course. He felt a rush of anxiety. That angry voice was Brian Gibson. They must have found Natale.
Bracing himself for another tirade of abuse, Emmett returned the first of the missed calls. As he listened to the sound of the dial tone, his mind raced. Where had they found her? Who had found her? How had she died?
The phone rang out and Emmett was relieved to hear a click as he was taken to a recorded answering service. He leant back in his chair, aware of the odd sensation of the room closing in on him. He felt his chest tighten. Natale is dead.
He swallowed a lump in his throat. Her poor children. Her poor parents.
Another click.
‘Hi, you’ve reached Daniel Norman, please leave a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.’
Emmett sat up with a jolt. Daniel Norman? He stared at his phone in disbelief, blood pounding in the back of his head. What was going on?
She’s dead. They’ve found her body. She’s fucking dead. The words echoed in his mind as another image appeared – this time it was the beaming face of Rosemary Norman, her freckled cheeks framed by messy red curls.
Emmett felt queasy. Surely not?
As his fingers numbly dialled the head of homicide, he forced himself to take slow, conscious breaths. This was not good. This was really not good.
The dial tone sounded, a taunted ringing in his ear. Emmett squeezed his eyes shut. Rosemary Norman is dead.
‘About time,’ the gruff voice of Bryce erupted in his ear.
Emmett shook his head.
It couldn’t be true.
Maria cradled the phone with her neck, her voice cracking slightly as she forced herself to maintain a low, gentle whisper. The children were playing in the backyard, but still, she would hate for them to hear her conversation.
‘I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake.’
Through the kitchen window she could see a very short cricket pitch was in the process of being set up. Zac was enthusiastically hammering the stumps into the ground with the bat, while Nate zealously warmed up his bowling arm. Maria smiled. She loved the children, but she had never intended on offering any more permanent care. Her four other foster children were emotionally and financially draining enough, and the unexpected arrival of the new boy had added a level of strain that was simply untenable.
‘Yes, I realise that, but it just hasn’t worked out.’
Her heart was heavy. When she’d first heard about the boy’s situation she’d felt nothing but compassion and hope. Maybe she could turn this little one’s life around? Maybe she could teach him to trust again? But he was beyond her help.
Unlike the others, who’d all slowly adapted to their new way of life, the boy had seemed to withdraw further and further from her and, worryingly, was starting to display increasingly destructive behaviours. She was ashamed to admit that she now felt nothing but duty when she looked at him.
‘Yes, of course I’ll keep him until another home comes up . . ’
It was just six weeks to Christmas, and she was silently praying that a festive miracle would see a permanent placement made available.
‘I really think he might need a stronger role model – I think he needs a father.’
The sound of yelling stole her attention. Through the window she saw that Zac and Nate were involved in a heated argument. As she listened with growing impatience to the woman on the other end of the line, Maria realised the argument was escalating. Zac was now wildly swinging the bat in the direction of Nate, who was stupidly goading him.
‘I’m sorry, I need to go and check on the children,’ she said. ‘But if you could make his move a high priority, I’d really appreciate it. I’m worried he’s becoming a bad influence on my other children. I don’t think I can keep looking after him for much longer.’
Maria hung up and dashed through the back door, letting the flyscreen crash loudly behind her. In her haste to get outside and prevent a fight, she didn’t see the troubled boy sitting on the back steps, his head resting on the edge of the doorway, his knees hugged tightly into his chest.
CHAPTER SIX
The rain had eased to a light drizzle, but a strong wind was whipping up dirt around them. Emmett bowed his head, trying to wipe debris from his eyes.
‘Did you want to take a look?’ Bryce had marched up the sharp embankment. ‘Forensics are about to remove the body.’
Emmett nodded, but his feet were slow to react.
They were standing on the edge of a lonely bike path. Beside them, a grassy slope dipped down to meet a shallow creek and, all around, towering pylons held up the massive concrete slab above. Emmett recognised the familiar Tullamarine Freeway overpass, which connected city travellers to the airport – he’d driven it many times, but he’d never imagined what lay below.
Forcing himself to move, he followed his boss towards a swarm of forensic investigators in pale blue jumpsuits.
Broken bottles and chip wrappers were strewn among the overgrown weeds, and Emmett stepped carefully, certain there’d also be more than a few used syringes lying hidden between the long blades of grass.
The first he saw of her was a long, tangled strand of red hair. Then he noticed the bright green eyes staring up at the freeway above, the pupils wide with horror.
His breath caught.
‘This your missing woman?’
Emmett could taste blood on his lower lip. He nodded.
‘As you can see, she was wrapped in a tarpaulin, so the body’s well preserved,’ Bryce continued. ‘But she hasn’t been here that long either – there aren’t really any signs of decomposition.’
Emmett stepped
closer. He was trying to keep his concentration on what Bryce was saying, rather than the panicked thoughts that were whirling through his head. Had he done enough to investigate this case? Had he let this woman down?
Rosemary was fully clothed, dressed in what he could only describe as a slightly bohemian outfit – an oversized knitted jacket and flowy dress, tights and suede boots. Her face was bloated, her skin showing a distressing greenish-red tinge.
‘Signs of assault?’ His voice was several octaves too high, and he coughed self-consciously.
‘Won’t know ’til the autopsy’s done, but from the look of it the killer hasn’t bothered with her too much. There’s obvious injuries to the back of her head, some neck bruising, but no signs of sexual assault.’ Bryce shrugged. ‘She even had her purse in her jacket – still cash in there, all her cards: everything.’
Emmett clamped his lips. He knew the smell of death, and how once it got into your pores it was almost impossible to erase.
‘How was she found?’
‘A man walking his dog – says he took shelter under the freeway when the storm hit. He went to investigate when he saw the pooch tugging at the tarp. Poor guy, he’s pretty worked up.’
‘And where was the body exactly?’
‘Right here, as she is now. Whoever did this made no effort to hide her. But they probably figured they didn’t need to,’ Bryce scoffed. ‘A discarded tarp hardly stands out when you look at all the junk everywhere. What a wasteland. If it wasn’t for that dog, she might have gone unnoticed for months.’
Emmett followed his boss’s gaze, which moved from the dumped shopping trolleys, the piles of rubbish bags that had been opened and hacked at by hungry herons, to the plastic bottles bobbing sadly in the murky creek. He rubbed his forehead; he was struggling to think clearly.
‘Her brother Daniel left me a voice message. You’ve obviously told him, then?’
‘Yes. One of my members ran her name through the system and it showed an open missing persons case. Mr Norman was listed as the point of contact. So of course we rang him when we couldn’t get onto you.’
‘Right.’ Emmett shifted from one foot to the other.
‘And he’s agreed to do a formal identification for us later today, once he feels up to it. We’ve sent officers to his house, but it might be best if you went over there too, given you’ve got a relationship with him.’
Emmett gulped. He didn’t want to think about the relationship he had with Daniel Norman. He highly doubted Rosemary’s brother would be keen to see him.
‘Yes, of course,’ he heard himself saying as he slowly trotted away. ‘And I’ll let the rest of my team know what’s happened.’
The thought of facing Rosemary’s brother on his own was not appealing, and after reaching his car, Emmett phoned Steven, agreeing to meet his younger colleague around the corner from Daniel’s house.
‘What a shocking result,’ Steven whispered, the moment Emmett greeted him. ‘Who would have thought?’
‘I know. I actually can’t believe it.’
They walked slowly along the sodden footpath, rounding the corner and stopping outside a modest set of townhouses.
A communal driveway was decorated only with ugly black garbage bins.
‘Let’s get this over with.’ Emmett marched up to the unit on the left, pressing the buzzer and holding his breath.
A tall, gangly man, who introduced himself as a neighbour, let them in, guiding them down a narrow hallway to a cramped living room at the back of the property.
Daniel Norman was hunched forward on a white couch. On his lap he was nursing a large cup of coffee, in which a silver teaspoon was being circled around and around. He appeared to be listening intently to the police officer who was seated next to him.
The woman nodded as the detectives approached, but Daniel didn’t move.
‘He’s been treated by paramedics,’ the officer whispered as she stood up. ‘He’s quite heavily sedated.’
Emmett coughed nervously. ‘Mr Norman? We’re terribly sorry to hear what’s happened.’
The silver spoon continued to circle.
‘I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, but if we can assist at all . . ’
‘It was probably too late when I came to you anyway.’ Daniel’s soft voice was strangely monotone. He stopped stirring his coffee and finally made eye contact. ‘I just wish you’d believed me.’
Emmett didn’t respond. In his peripheral vision he could see Steven shuffling uncomfortably.
‘It’s kind of funny, though, isn’t it?’ Daniel’s lips suddenly curled upwards as he continued, his face contorting oddly before his expression fell flat. ‘I mean, there she was, travelling to all sorts of dangerous countries, trekking through the mountains, sleeping outdoors and eating all the wrong foods, and she ends up being killed here, in her own home town. The one place you would think she was safe.’
Emmett cringed. ‘Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt your sister?’
‘I wouldn’t have a clue.’ Daniel shrugged. ‘Rosie must have met a whole range of people on her travels, but she never told me much, and I never asked. I wouldn’t really know who she saw most of the time.’
Emmett pulled up a chair so that he was at the same eye level as Rosemary’s brother. He could smell coffee, and body odour. ‘You said you were close—’ his voice cracked as he tried to maintain something between a whisper and a hush, ‘but you weren’t really that close, were you?’
A wheezy, whistling noise came out of Daniel’s nose as he inhaled sharply.
‘I always saw her on Tom’s birthday. And we messaged each other and called occasionally. That was enough.’
‘Why was your brother’s birthday such a special event?’ Steven spoke for the first time, and Emmett watched with interest as the knuckles that were clasped around the coffee mug turned white.
‘Why do you think?’ Daniel spat the words out, as though the answer was obvious. ‘That’s the day our parents died.’
Steven waited, as Daniel battled to contain the tears and mucus that streamed down his face.
‘They were killed in a car crash. Tom was in the back seat – he nearly died too. In fact, it’s a miracle he’s even alive. He’s in a nursing home now because of his injuries.’
‘A nursing home – as in, an aged care facility?’
A deep vein throbbed unattractively on Daniel’s forehead, where heavy lines were set.
‘Yes, a nursing home. He’s too young to be there, of course, but what am I supposed to do? It was the only place that would take him on permanently. I tried looking after him myself, but I just couldn’t cope. He needs everything done for him . . Everything.’
Emmett watched Daniel’s coffee spill over the top of his mug, as his body shook violently. He wondered if it was possible to feel any worse than he did in that moment.
‘You told us your brother’s birthday was last Tuesday.’ He leant forward, gently easing the mug from Daniel’s grip. ‘Can you tell us what sort of interactions you’d had with your sister, leading up to the day?’
Daniel sniffed.
‘We’d spoken on the Saturday afternoon, a few days before, just confirming the time like we do every year. She said she was working with a temping agency, so she couldn’t come until the evening. That was fine with me because it meant I could do some chores around the house before going in.’
‘Was that the last you heard from her?’
‘I messaged her again one week ago, on Tuesday morning, letting her know I would bring a small cake. The strange thing was that she wrote back, but then never turned up.’
‘So your understanding was that she intended to go to the nursing home that night?’
‘Yes. But I remember thinking the text was a bit odd.’ Daniel wiped his nose before continuing. ‘She asked what sort of cake I would bring and what sort of party it would be – and if there would be free beer. I thought she was trying to be funny, but now that I think about
it, none of that message makes any sense. Tom’s birthday wasn’t exactly a laughing matter for us, and there were all these weird abbreviations in the message which she’d never normally use, and words were misspelt. She was very proper. She didn’t write like that. Now I think about it, I don’t think it was her who sent that message.’
Emmett turned and locked eyes with Steven, aware the shock on his colleague’s face would be mirrored on his own. If only Rosemary’s brother had told them this sooner.
When they eventually left Daniel, he was half-asleep, lying back on the white couch with his legs dangling over the edge. His mug of undrunk coffee sat cold on the floor beside him.
‘That poor man,’ Steven muttered, once they were back out on the street. ‘He lost his parents in a car crash, his disabled brother is stuck in a nursing home, and now his sister has been murdered. That’s one shocking run of bad luck.’
Emmett bit his lower lip. ‘We need to find the phone.’
‘What?’
‘Rosemary’s phone. We need to find it.’ Emmett lowered his voice as a middle-aged man wandered past. ‘And we need to keep the discovery of her body out of the media for as long as possible.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because if it’s the killer who has her phone, they may be sending messages as a way to make it look like she’s still alive. If they know the body has been found, they’ll stop. That will make it much harder for us to track the handset.’
Steven looked impressed. ‘So what do we do now?’
Emmett pushed his hands into his pockets. The wind was still bitter, and he could no longer feel his fingertips.
‘I’m going to chase up her phone provider, so we can get access to her data. You speak with that temping agency. Find out where she was last working, and when exactly she stopped showing up for shifts.’
Steven nodded. ‘What about the Gibson case? Did you still want to go to the football club to look for security footage?’
Emmett paused; he’d forgotten they needed to do that. ‘You’re right – forget what I just said. Contact Williams and get him to meet you at the sports oval as quickly as he can – tell him it’s urgent. I can look after the temping agency.’
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