Sticks and Stones

by Katherine Firkin

  It had been both humbling and horrifying to help a complete stranger change underwear.

  ‘Detective?’ Bianca prompted, leading the way up a wide, concrete ramp.

  ‘Right.’ Emmett followed, pausing at the top to hold the door open for a woman with a walking frame.

  There was no one at the reception, so Bianca pressed a buzzer and the two detectives waited, each scanning the sterile building.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A large woman in a beige shirt appeared.

  She seemed remarkably unperturbed by the unexpected arrival of the detectives, and swiftly pushed over a ratty visitor book. ‘Sign here, and then you can go through.’

  ‘Do you mind if we have a quick look through this?’ Emmett asked, after he’d taken the liberty of signing for both himself and Bianca.

  ‘Of course.’

  Flicking through the pages, it was clear that the facility wasn’t exactly overrun with visitors, and the few signatures that were there repeated often – though some were so scrawled and messy, they were near impossible to decipher.

  ‘Is that Daniel’s name there?’ Emmett pointed to a black, circular scribble.

  ‘I think so, he seems to come in pretty regularly. And that looks like it might be Rosemary’s name? But I don’t know what that signature says.’ Bianca had her finger under a different line, which was dated 10 July. ‘It looks like Tom had a couple of visitors that day. Maybe Rosemary met someone here?’

  Emmett rubbed his forehead, before lowering his voice. ‘But so what? Even if she came here three weeks ago, that doesn’t help us. The last place we know she was alive was Friday evening, almost a fortnight ago, when she left that finance company. Unless she came here that night or on the weekend following – which she didn’t, according to this logbook – we still have no idea where she was, or who she was with.’

  Bianca nodded. ‘Let’s get a copy of these pages and keep going. I’m keen to see what Tom Norman is like.’

  After receiving their photocopied pages, the detectives were soon walking through corridor after corridor, following behind a young man, who had been introduced as the morning manager.

  ‘This is our dining facility.’ The man stopped, gesturing to his left as though a flight attendant pointing out safety features in an aeroplane.

  Emmett and Bianca dutifully nodded as they viewed the empty room.

  ‘It’s quite early for our guests.’ The man continued their tour. ‘We may find Mr Norman is still asleep, or he may be having breakfast in his room.’

  Emmett discreetly looked at his watch. It was almost 11 a.m.

  ‘How long has Tom been at this facility?’ he asked, as they arrived in front of a white door with the number 26 on it.

  The morning manager chuckled as though this was particularly funny.

  ‘Oh, I’d have to check, but it would be at least fifteen years, probably more. There was a short window where he was being looked after by his brother, but that didn’t last long; he was back before we’d even offered his room to another guest.’ He pressed the intercom.

  Emmett looked at Bianca, who appeared less and less spritely by the second. His colleague seemed to be having the same thought: how could this be the best place for a man in his late thirties? Surely there were better ways to look after disabled adults?

  A woman in a white carer’s uniform opened the door.

  ‘Hi, Con.’ She nodded to the morning manager before looking questioningly to Emmett and Bianca.

  ‘These are two police officers,’ the manager said. ‘They want to see Mr Norman. Is he up?’

  ‘Yes, he’s just having breakfast.’ The woman smiled at the detectives. ‘I thought you might be media – Tom’s a bit of a rock star around here since that article.’

  ‘Article?’

  ‘Yes, it came out only a couple of weeks ago. A reporter and photographer came from the paper. They did a lovely feature on Tom, to commemorate thirty years since his family’s accident.’

  Emmett felt his skin tingle.

  ‘I’d love to see that.’

  ‘We have copies in his bedside drawer. We were keeping spares for any visitors. Come in.’

  The room was small, far too small to hold five people, and Emmett wished the manager would have the good grace to step outside.

  ‘Tom,’ the carer cooed. ‘There are some nice police officers here to see you, do you want to say hello?’

  Emmett shuffled forward slightly, unsure whether it would be inappropriate to extend a hand.

  Tom was in his chair, a bib placed around his neck, and a tray of mushy cereal in front of him.

  ‘Do you mind if I keep feeding him?’ the woman asked. ‘I have several other people waiting and I’m running a bit late. You can have a look at the article while I finish up.’ The carer pointed to a small bedside table. ‘It should be in the first drawer.’

  Reaching over to the table, Emmett was careful not to knock an obviously homemade photo frame, from which two primary school–aged boys beamed out happily. That must be Tom and Daniel, when they were young.

  Sliding open the drawer, he brushed aside a beaded wooden bracelet and retrieved one of the black and white copies.

  The article was published on Monday the eighth of July, by reporter Lizzie Davis.

  ‘Today’s the twenty-fourth, is that right?’ Emmett turned to Bianca, who flicked her phone on.

  ‘Sure is.’

  Turning back to the article, Emmett scanned the first few paragraphs. It was, in essence, a fluff piece: flowery words written about a young boy whose life was tragically altered in a car accident.

  Tom Norman was just eight years old when tragedy tore his world apart. A horrific car accident took the lives of his two parents, and left him severely brain damaged. Doctors believed he would not make it to his sixteenth birthday. Now, as the thirty-year anniversary approaches, we look back at that terrible day and ask, how has he managed to survive?

  A striking photo of Tom sitting in his wheelchair, staring out over the nursing home gardens, took up most of the page. Miracle Man, the caption read.

  Emmett looked up to see the carer carefully spooning another large mouthful of cereal between Tom’s teeth, before encouraging him to swallow. There didn’t seem anything too miraculous about this poor man’s life.

  ‘Why did the paper want to mark thirty years since the accident?’ he asked.

  ‘It was one of those tragedies that you just couldn’t forget.’ The carer continued to coax spoonfuls of mush into Tom’s unwilling mouth. ‘And it was a big deal for the neighbourhood at the time – I grew up around here and remember it myself. Local politicians even got involved, and the government changed the signalling laws around train stations after that.’

  ‘The crash was around here?’ Emmett asked, surprised. ‘What actually happened?’

  ‘It was somewhere up on Racecourse Road, just as you head towards North Melbourne. Oh, it was awful, wasn’t it, Tom?’ The woman paused, placing the breakfast bowl down and gently clasping her client’s hands.

  Emmett felt a lump form in his throat. It felt wrong to be talking like this in front of Rosemary’s brother. He continued to skim through the article instead, pausing as his eyes fell on the detail he was after.

  It’s believed the children’s father didn’t notice an oncoming train as he crossed the Upfield railway line near Macaulay Station. The family’s car was struck, and both he and his wife died instantly. Tom, who was seated in the back between his two siblings, was critically injured.

  ‘Between his two siblings?’ Emmett muttered out loud.

  Bianca looked at him questioningly, but he shook his head. It was better to discuss this outside.

  ‘Yes, it’s terribly sad. But you’re doing well now, aren’t you?’ The carer patted Tom’s hands before laboriously lifting the tray of crockery over his head and squeezing past the visitors. ‘I need to move on to some other patients now, but it was nice meeting you both.’

  Once the
carer had left, Emmett shuffled closer to Tom’s chair. He could see large chunks of food were caught on the man’s lips. A strange anxiousness rose in his chest. Should I wipe his face for him?

  ‘Hi, Tom, I’m Detective Corban,’ he said, moving in a little more, so that he sat directly opposite. ‘We’re very sorry about what’s happened to your sister, and we’re working hard to find the person responsible.’

  At the mention of Rosemary, Tom’s hands flailed up and down.

  ‘Is there any way you can tell us if your sister came to visit you much? Did you see her before she disappeared?’

  The man’s head swayed slightly, but Emmett couldn’t tell if he was trying to say yes or no, or whether it was simply an involuntary movement.

  ‘He can’t communicate,’ the morning manager said, unhelpfully.

  ‘I imagine you were very close to Rosemary . . ’ Emmett continued. ‘And your brother Daniel, he came to see you a lot, didn’t he?’

  Tom’s hands waved wildly and his body shook, so that some of the mashed food that had been stuck to his lips now dribbled down his chin. Emmett couldn’t take it any more. Reaching over to a box of tissues, he wiped the man’s face, then took one of the flailing hands between his palms. The pressure of his grip seemed to calm Tom, who settled back down.

  ‘Did you enjoy having Daniel come to visit you?’

  Tom’s movements were gentler now, but his mouth was vibrating, a strange, sad gargling noise coming from his throat. Saliva dribbled down his chin.

  ‘This isn’t good for him. I don’t want him becoming distressed, I hope you understand.’ The manager edged forward.

  Emmett nodded, but continued anyway. ‘Is there anything we should know about your sister’s passing? Perhaps she told you about a man she was meeting? Something like that?’

  This time there was no denying it – Tom was trying to respond. His head moved vigorously and his arms jerked so erratically that his whole upper body shuddered. Without thinking, Emmett found himself leaning over, wrapping the sad man in a tight hug. When he released Tom, he saw that his eyes were weeping.

  ‘I think it’s best if you leave now.’ The manager’s voice was firm. ‘Mr Norman needs rest, and I’m afraid he’s not able to help you with your questions, but I’m happy to fill you in on whatever I can.’

  ‘Okay, thanks for your time.’ Emmett stood up, aware he was becoming agitated but unable to decide why. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Tom. We’ll be back to visit you again soon.’

  The trio walked to the foyer in silence, Bianca now scanning the article that Emmett had passed her.

  ‘I wonder why Daniel never mentioned that both he and Rosemary were in the car when it crashed?’ she whispered, once they were back out in the foyer.

  ‘That’s what I’m wondering too,’ Emmett said, before turning back to the morning manager, who was hovering awkwardly. ‘Was it only family who came to visit Mr Norman here?’

  ‘I believe so.’ The man smiled sadly. ‘He didn’t have many visitors. His brother Daniel was the most regular guest here.’

  ‘I see. Thank you.’

  As they walked back down the wide ramp at the front of the complex, another thought occurred to Emmett.

  ‘Do you know where Macaulay Station is?’ He turned to Bianca. ‘The carer said the crash happened around here, but I’ve never heard of that train stop.’

  Bianca frowned. ‘I think it’s in North Melbourne, or maybe that area’s been rezoned as the Docklands these days? I’m not sure – this isn’t my side of town.’

  Emmett pulled out his phone. As the little blue dot appeared on the map on his screen, his eyes widened.

  ‘What is it?’ Bianca leant over as Emmett pinched the screen to zoom in.

  ‘Oh my god.’ He blinked several times, before checking he was seeing things correctly. ‘It’s almost directly opposite where Rosemary’s body was found.’

  Bianca took the phone, and inspected it for herself.

  ‘It’s east of the Moonee Ponds Creek, on the Upfield Line, between North Melbourne and Flemington Bridge . . Yes, you’re right. It’s an easy walking distance from where she was found.’

  Emmett nodded, biting his lower lip as his mind spun.

  ‘Rosemary was dumped near the scene of her family tragedy, just a fortnight after an article about the crash was published . . ’ He paused, locking eyes with his colleague, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘Well, that can’t be a coincidence, can it?’

  CHAPTER TEN

  There was no sign of Steven or Morton when Emmett returned to the third floor of the police headquarters, but the sound of frantic typing could be heard as he made his way past the reception and down the main corridor.

  He poked his head through the doorway of the spare office.

  ‘How’s it all going?’ he asked, seeing Ted Medhurst hunched over a keyboard.

  ‘It’s odd,’ the homicide detective muttered without looking up. ‘Rosemary’s phone has been used fairly frequently over the last couple of weeks. I can’t imagine her killer would be so reckless – unless they were trying to make it seem like she’s still alive.’

  ‘That was my initial suspicion. Any recent activity?’

  ‘It’s mainly text messages.’ Ted pulled out a stack of papers, which contained line after line of phone numbers. ‘You can see that the numbers often repeat, so that will make life easier for us – although there hasn’t been any outgoing communication at all in the last forty-eight hours.’

  The detective paused, ruffling through more papers before producing three maps, each with a bright green circle highlighted on them.

  ‘But in terms of the location, it looks like most of the activity is originating from somewhere north-west of the CBD. It’s impossible to give an exact origin with any certainty, but the handset’s signals have been picked up by multiple cell towers in this area.’

  Emmett took one of the diagrams.

  ‘You think the phone is still in Flemington?’ he asked, noting the suburb was at the epicentre of the circled area.

  ‘There’s certainly a tower in Flemington that’s had a lot of activity – in fact that’s where the most recent pings were detected – and given Ms Norman lived in that suburb, and was found deceased there, I’d say that’s as good a guess as any.’

  ‘So we’re thinking the killer is local?’ Emmett paused, an image of Daniel Norman’s modest home appearing before him.

  ‘Perhaps – but until we find the handset and get it forensically tested we can’t know too much more of anything. I was going to suggest we organise another line search around the area where Ms Norman was found. It’s not improbable that the killer has got nervous in the last day or so and has dumped the phone somewhere near that creek.’

  ‘Good idea; let’s get straight onto that,’ Emmett said. ‘And in terms of activity on the phone, do we have any idea who she was in contact with?’

  ‘I’ve noted that there was a call from her brother on Saturday afternoon, the thirteenth of July, just as he claimed, and there was also recorded movement later that evening.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. It appears the phone remained in the Flemington area until almost 6 p.m., when it recorded movement through West Melbourne and the city, heading south in the vicinity of Queens Road to St Kilda.’

  ‘Is that the last data we have?’

  ‘No. The following day there’s more activity heading back to Flemington.’

  ‘So she’s headed for a night out in St Kilda on Saturday, and then gone home on Sunday?’

  ‘That seems likely.’ Ted yawned. ‘It’s unfortunate the phone wasn’t tracked on the freeway, otherwise we could go through the traffic cameras and try to identify the vehicle she was in.’

  ‘That’s frustrating.’

  ‘Yes. But I still have to import all the incoming and outgoing numbers into our system – so hopefully that will also provide some leads. I was actually going to see if Carter could help with that when he re
turns. You haven’t seen him, have you?’

  Emmett shook his head. ‘I’ve only just got back myself. This morning’s interviews ended up taking a lot longer than expected.’

  ‘Anything interesting to report?’

  ‘Sort of.’ Emmett finally gave up standing, and dragged a wooden chair over to Ted’s desk. ‘The finance company wasn’t particularly useful. Rosemary didn’t seem to be too involved there – in fact, the director didn’t even really know who she was. But we did manage to get footage of her leaving the office on the Friday night, wearing different clothes to the ones she was found in. And since we know her brother spoke to her the next day, it’s likely she was killed sometime on Sunday – given she failed to show for her shift on the following Monday.’

  ‘Have you ruled the brother out as a suspect?’

  ‘Daniel? No.’ Emmett thought about the clammy handshake, the slight limp and the sad, almost pathetic appearance of Rosemary’s brother. ‘We may bring him in for a formal interview this afternoon – we were going to speak to him again today anyway. Have a look at this.’

  Emmett passed over the newspaper article he and Bianca had taken from the nursing home.

  ‘That’s Tom Norman – the youngest of the Norman siblings.’ He pointed to the image of the helpless man in the wheelchair. ‘This was published at the start of this month, and it turns out that the family accident happened right where Rosemary was dumped.’

  Ted frowned, scanning through the words quickly. ‘But why would an article about a car crash that happened thirty years ago lead someone to kill Tom’s sister now? That doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘I know. But it’s too coincidental not to mean something. That’s why we want to speak with Daniel again.’

  Emmett was disappointed to see the homicide detective looked unimpressed.

  ‘Have you searched his house?’

  ‘No. We’ve had forensics go through Rosemary’s property, of course – not that that produced anything particularly helpful. But Daniel only identified his sister’s body yesterday, and we have no solid reason to suspect he’s involved.’