Sticks and Stones

by Katherine Firkin

  Across the road were several small shops: a convenience store, a bakery and one of those tacky discount novelty chains.

  ‘Should we see if the workers in the stores noticed anything?’ Steven said.

  ‘What do you think?’ Morton rolled his eyes.

  The door squeaked as they entered the convenience store. A young man, who appeared to be in his early twenties, was sitting behind the counter, looking bored.

  ‘Hi there.’ Steven smiled. ‘I’m First Constable Carter, and this is Detective Williams. We’re following up a missing woman who attended the football grounds across the road last Friday. Were you working that day?’

  The man shook his head, looking nervously at the two strangers.

  ‘I have an international student visa,’ he said, through laboured English. ‘And I’m allowed to work a part-time job to support myself.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, but that’s not why we’re here.’ Steven smiled again. ‘Do you have a copy of your roster for the last month?’

  The man pulled out his phone. ‘I only do three shifts a week, from Monday to Wednesday.’ He opened the calendar and showed the detectives. ‘I’m not allowed to do any more.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Steven said. ‘But we just need to know if you were working last Friday.’

  ‘No, because I’m not allowed to do extra hours.’

  Morton snorted, and the man quickly put his phone back in his pocket.

  ‘Is there a security camera that looks out to the road?’ Steven pointed to a monitor behind the counter.

  The man shrugged. ‘I don’t know. You’d have to ask my boss. But he doesn’t work on Tuesdays.’

  ‘Can I get your boss’s name and phone number?’ Steven sighed, aware this visit wasn’t going to yield any immediate results.

  After scribbling down the details, Steven followed Morton out.

  In the bakery it was a similar story, with student casuals behind the counter, who all said they either didn’t work on Fridays or had seen so many brunette women with children that they wouldn’t be able to tell one from another.

  ‘Mums are always coming in here to buy their children treats,’ a young woman explained. ‘I wouldn’t be able to say what any of them looked like, though. It’s just a steady stream all afternoon.’

  ‘What a waste of time,’ Morton huffed, and then coughed – spluttering chunks of the chocolate muffin he’d just bitten into over his shirt.

  ‘Inhaled the icing sugar, did we?’ Steven marched along the footpath, towards a busy pedestrian crossing at the intersection with Mount Alexander Road.

  The discount store was situated right on the corner, with a prominent security camera pointing out to the street.

  ‘This looks better,’ he said, pushing through the door and leaving Morton to finish his sticky muffin outside.

  He was greeted by an elderly Asian man.

  ‘I noticed you have a security camera at the front of your shop.’ Steven quickly introduced himself. ‘We’re searching for some vision from last Friday. May I have a look through your footage?’

  ‘Of course.’ The man pointed to a computer screen. ‘You need to select which camera angle you want, and then you just enter the date and time in the bottom left there.’

  The security system was easy to use, and Steven soon found himself scrolling through vision from Friday morning, the day that Natale was last seen.

  The camera was positioned to focus on the shop’s side of the road, but at the top of the screen the opposite side of the footpath was just visible, where a constant flow of passengers came and went from a tram stop.

  ‘There we go.’ He stopped suddenly, as a petite brunette woman appeared from the left, flanked by two young children.

  Steven watched as the trio trotted along the road, towards the oval, before disappearing out of shot. He sped up the footage, waiting to see when she reappeared.

  ‘What’s the hold-up?’ Morton demanded, sauntering up to the counter.

  ‘I’ve found footage of Natale arriving with the children. Now I’m just waiting to see if the camera captures her leaving. That volunteer we spoke to said she stayed to watch the first session of football, how long would that take, do you think?’

  Morton shrugged. ‘Half an hour? They won’t be playing proper games. They’re only little kids.’

  Steven checked the time on the bottom of the screen, realising he’d been a little overzealous with his fast-forwarding. Three hours had passed.

  Rewinding the footage, he again stopped at the moment Natale was last seen, and let the vision play. Morton was right – it wasn’t that long before the petite woman reappeared, walking slowly up the road towards the tram stop, this time without children.

  ‘Is there any way I can zoom in on this?’ he called to the store owner, who was busy refilling a gumball machine.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ The man came over, and clicked the mouse a few times before shaking his head.

  ‘That’s okay.’

  Steven peered at the screen. Even though the woman was squashed into the top of the frame, it was still a clear shot. It was definitely Natale. There was no doubt about it.

  He pulled out his notepad, jotting down the time she was first seen, and the time she left.

  ‘Can we get a copy of this?’

  ‘I think you can download it,’ the store owner said. ‘But I’m not sure how.’

  ‘I can do it.’ Morton gruffly pushed his younger colleague aside.

  Leaving the detective to retrieve the security footage, Steven stepped outside to gather his thoughts. Just as witnesses had described, Natale had calmly dropped her two children off, and left on her own. There was no sense of panic, or impending doom, she wasn’t with anyone, and the only item she was holding was a handbag. By all impressions she was simply heading back home. What on earth had happened next?

  ‘Got it.’ Morton came crashing back out of the store.

  ‘Great,’ Steven said, pulling out his phone, happy he’d be able to give his boss some good news. ‘I’ll call Emmett and let him know.’

  ‘No need,’ the detective said, licking something from the corner of his mouth. ‘I’ve already done it. He’s very pleased with me.’

  Emmett was seated in Bryce’s office, anxiously scanning the walls, where carefully framed newspaper clippings served as a conspicuous reminder of just how much the head of homicide had achieved since their days together in the police academy.

  ‘Here you go.’ Bryce flung a cream folder full of photographs onto the desk as he returned to the room. ‘As you know, they’re not pretty.’

  Emmett flipped the folder open. He hardly needed a recap of how Rosemary’s body had looked; he’d been unable to get the image out of his head all day.

  ‘The first batch are some aerials we got taken of the scene.’ Bryce sat down with a thud that caused the desk to shudder, his fizzy drink sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his glass. ‘You get a better understanding of the geography this way.’

  Emmett scanned the photos, which appeared to have been taken using a drone. Just as he’d pictured, the wide concrete freeway overpass obscured the view of Rosemary’s grave from directly above.

  ‘That big green patch is the Flemington Racecourse?’ he asked, pointing to an area west of where the woman’s body was found.

  ‘Yes, and that’s the city to the south.’

  Emmett nodded, realising sadly that Rosemary had lain only a couple of kilometres from Daniel Norman’s little home.

  Bryce reached into the folder, and stacked several more photographs together.

  ‘These are ones that forensics have taken after cleaning her up. I’m interested to hear what you make of the strange markings on her body.’

  ‘Markings?’ Emmett looked at the first image, aware of the odd sensation of his eyes being slightly out of focus, as though they needed time to adjust to the grisly sight.

  Underneath her bohemian clothes, Rosemary had been tortured: h
er torso etched with deep, clinical cuts.

  Emmett squirmed as he looked at the four straight, sharp lines, which formed a diamond pattern, running across her nipples and down to her belly button.

  ‘How odd.’

  ‘Quite.’

  The next image was a close-up of where two of the cuts joined at a sharp angle just below her neck. Someone from forensics had marked the angle on the photo as being 60 degrees, reminding Emmett of a mathematics textbook he’d seen as a student.

  ‘It’s rather precise, isn’t it?’

  ‘The killer seems to be giving us some sort of message – though I have no idea what that is.’ Bryce reached over and took the folder, stacking the photographs carefully back together before closing it.

  ‘So the killer has undressed her, made his markings and then reclothed her?’

  Bryce nodded. ‘It appears that way.’

  Emmett crossed his arms and leant back in his chair. This was unlike any investigation he’d encountered before.

  ‘I assume homicide is taking over?’ he asked, surprised to see Bryce immediately shake his head.

  ‘No. You’ve already done most of the groundwork, so I want you to stay involved. In fact, I want you to lead this investigation.’

  ‘Really?’ Emmett consciously pushed his shoulders down. ‘I mean, I’d be happy to.’

  ‘Good. You’ll have two of my best detectives at your disposal – Detective Leading Senior Constable Bianca Tardio worked on the Portsea murders. I’m sure you’ll remember her name?’

  Emmett nodded.

  ‘And Detective Senior Constable Ted Medhurst recently joined us from the Arson Squad. He was instrumental in solving the fatal Footscray fire last year, the one that killed those three squatters.’

  Emmett scribbled the names down. He was well acquainted with both high-profile cases.

  ‘When will they join us?’

  ‘They’re at your disposal as of now.’

  ‘Great. And I assume forensics knows this is a priority?’

  ‘We should have a preliminary autopsy report sometime in the coming days.’

  ‘Okay. And what about the Gibson investigation?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Can we get any extra resources for that?’

  ‘I’m giving you two of my best detectives!’ Bryce scoffed. ‘Are you seriously telling me you can’t handle more than one investigation at a time? Most of my detectives are across several cases every day. No wonder your unit is under review.’

  Damn. He’d almost forgotten about the threats to downsize the Missing Persons Unit.

  Bryce rapped his knuckles on the desk. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No.’ Emmett pushed his chair away from the desk, aware of the multiple leering eyes of his boss staring down at him from the photos hanging all around. ‘Thank you, Superintendent.’

  Dusk was settling in, and from the glass walls of the main boardroom, Marcus watched as the city became painted in a glowing pink and orange light.

  ‘Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight,’ he murmured, swirling his gin and tonic.

  He could see from the reflection that he was looking appropriately debonair, and he imagined the young intern sitting across from him must be feeling a mixture of lust and awe.

  ‘What?’ Abbie’s face scrunched in vacuous confusion.

  Marcus cringed; he’d forgotten how stupid she was.

  ‘It’s just a saying, never mind.’

  Sitting back down at the table, he stared unashamedly at her breasts, which seemed more prominent than usual, pushed up high above a low-cut white dress.

  ‘So how are you enjoying the big world of finance?’

  ‘It’s great,’ Abbie giggled. ‘And I’m really hoping I can continue here once my internship is over.’

  ‘I’d be more than happy to put in a good word for you.’

  ‘Wow, really?’

  ‘Of course. I can tell you’re so much more than just a pretty face.’

  Abbie’s breasts jiggled as she giggled again, and Marcus silently congratulated himself on scoring yet another conquest. Not that this one had been particularly difficult; a few flirty looks, the odd compliment, and she was all his. She was so easy – but most women were.

  ‘So, what did you need me to help you with?’

  Marcus smirked. Convincing her to stay back late had been laughably simple. ‘I’m afraid it’s a bit tedious.’ He pushed a few papers towards her. ‘First of all, I need you to compile these figures into a spreadsheet.’

  ‘Sure.’

  As Abbie’s fingers tapped on her laptop, Marcus sipped his drink and returned to staring out the window. He could already see how this evening was going to go, and he couldn’t wait to tell the guys.

  ‘Umm.’ Abbie’s high-pitched voice drifted across the room. ‘I can’t tell if this is a seven or a one?’

  Marcus strolled over, gently placing one hand on the base of her neck as he leant in, pretending to studiously scan the figures. He loved this part – the game playing, the tension.

  ‘You know what?’ he whispered, deliberately letting his lips brush against her ear. ‘Why don’t we take a break?’

  With both palms now firmly on her shoulders, Marcus began a light massage, allowing his hands to slip below the straps of her dress. He could feel her excitement.

  He was just working his way lower, when a shrill, tasteless song came blaring from her handbag.

  ‘Sorry.’ Abbie fumbled through her bag. ‘I’ll turn that off.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It might be important.’

  He didn’t move as Abbie whispered into her phone, aware his presence was making her conversation uncomfortable.

  ‘Oh no, that’s no good at all,’ she murmured. ‘At least he’s coming home. What did the doctors say? That’s no good. Okay. Please tell Spencer that I . . well . . give him a hug from me.’

  Marcus kept his hands at the base of her neck, using his thumbs to draw small circles in her shoulderblades, until she finally hung up.

  ‘Who’s Spencer?’ he asked, teasingly. ‘I hope that’s not someone I need to be jealous of . . ?’

  Abbie dropped her phone back in her bag, clearly flustered.

  ‘No. It’s nothing like that. Spencer is just . . umm . . he’s my brother.’

  ‘Right.’ Marcus grabbed his drink again, but this time he held it up to Abbie’s lips.

  She took a sip.

  ‘I think you need to relax.’

  She took another sip, before he put the glass down. Then he placed his right fingertips over her mouth, tracing the outline of her lips, which were damp from his gin and tonic.

  He was still standing behind her, and though he couldn’t see her expression, he could tell that she was holding her breath. She was nervous.

  ‘Relax,’ he whispered, as he prised her lips open, letting his fingers enter her mouth.

  He played there for a while, before returning both hands to her shoulders.

  ‘Stand up,’ he ordered and Abbie stiffly obeyed, still facing away from him.

  From the base of her neck he traced the outline of her body, moving both hands over her shoulders, around her breasts, pausing as he reached her belly button and then dropping both hands at her waist.

  Her dress was tight, and he could feel the outline of her underwear. With a firm twist, he turned her around, lifting her chin so that she was finally looking at him. Their faces were inches apart.

  ‘Gosh, you’re beautiful,’ he said, brushing some hair from her forehead.

  Abbie’s eyes danced with nervous energy.

  With his left arm, Marcus scooped her in even closer, so that their bodies were pressed together. Then, he eased her back over the table and leant in. As they kissed, his hands again traced down the length of her tight dress, and then began working their way back up from underneath.

  ‘Wait.’ Abbie sat up suddenly.

  She was now on the table, her legs wrapped around his waist.


  ‘What’s wrong?’ He smiled to himself – they all did this, pretending to be coy and innocent, when really they wanted it as badly as he did.

  ‘I just . . I really like you, but I don’t . . I’m not sure I should get involved with someone at work. Not when I’m just starting out. I wouldn’t want to damage my reputation.’

  Marcus put both hands around her hips and gently slid her off the table.

  ‘Don’t worry. This is just between you and me. No one will ever know.’

  Taking her hand, he guided her silently out of the boardroom, past rows of empty cubicles, and into his office. There, he brought her over to his desk, pressing himself against her while deftly unzipping the back of her dress with one hand.

  He’d just managed to unclip her bra when she pulled up more forcibly.

  ‘No. I’m sorry. I need to take things slower.’

  Marcus watched in disbelief as Abbie tugged her bra clasp back together and zipped her dress up.

  Was she serious?

  As she smoothed the white material back down over her thighs, she looked at him, hopefully.

  ‘We’re okay, aren’t we? I really like you, but I want to take things slower. Maybe we could go out for dinner sometime? Or a drink?’

  ‘Of course.’ Marcus forced his mouth into something between a grimace and a half-smile.

  He stayed fixed to the spot as he watched her disappear out of his office.

  Inside he was seething.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Emmett stood at the front of the room, flicking his pen anxiously. He was used to delivering team meetings, but today felt different – there were extra people there for a start.

  ‘I’d like to begin by introducing you all to Detective Leading Senior Constable Bianca Tardio and Detective Senior Constable Ted Medhurst. They’re joining us from the Homicide Squad, and I’m certain that their immense experience will be of invaluable assistance to us.’

  Emmett paused, grateful for the nodding heads of the new detectives.

  ‘We have a lot to do, so I appreciate you all coming in so early. Late yesterday I heard from the temping agency where Rosemary Norman had been working. At the time she disappeared, she was placed in a secretarial role at a city finance firm. She was contracted there for another eight weeks, but she failed to show up for shifts from last Monday – that’s the fifteenth of July. Her brother claims he spoke to her on the Saturday afternoon prior to this, and as we know, she failed to show for a family birthday gathering on the Tuesday evening. This morning, Detective Tardio and I will visit the finance company, before heading to the nursing home where—’