If she intentionally met her tutor again there’d be no such excuse to fall back on.
‘I would love to but I’m really struggling with my photos at the moment, so I should probably keep going.’
‘Oh? What’s not working?’
‘It’s nothing specific.’ Cindy released her camera from its tripod, balancing her phone between her neck and shoulder as she began packing her equipment away. ‘My images seem flat; they’re dull. They look like happy snaps that a tourist might have taken.’
Michael laughed. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘No. Really. They’re bad. I’m embarrassed to show Vania.’
‘Okay.’ Michael paused. ‘Well, forget the coffee. I can come and have a quick look at your pictures and give you some tips instead.’
Cindy’s willpower evaporated. There couldn’t be any harm in meeting to discuss her work, and besides, it would appear rude to refuse her tutor’s help – he was the one who’d given her this amazing opportunity in the first place.
‘That would be wonderful,’ she sighed. ‘Where are you? I could meet you at the tram stop, or the carpark?’
‘Let’s meet at my new favourite place,’ Michael whispered. ‘Our spot under the ferris wheel.’
Refusing to give in to the stern voice inside her head, Cindy left the waterfront and headed back through the arcade of shops, hugging the walls to make the most of the shelter from the awnings.
Her tutor was already there, leaning against the wheel’s unattended ticket kiosk, when she arrived.
‘You were quick.’
‘Yes, and I’ve come prepared!’ Michael laughed, holding up a spare overcoat. ‘Now you won’t need to steal mine.’
After putting the extra layer on, Cindy retrieved her camera.
‘What do you think?’ She flicked through the few images.
Michael’s dark eyebrows furrowed, creating sharp vertical lines that ran to the bridge of his nose.
‘Okay.’ He paused, going back to look at a previous image before moving to the next frame. ‘Are these all you’ve taken this morning?’
‘Yep.’
‘They’re terrible.’
‘What?’ Cindy gaped.
‘You’re right. They’re terrible.’ A smirk danced on Michael’s lips.
‘Well, maybe you should have taught me better.’ Cindy pulled her most exaggerated pout. ‘Can you give me any advice?’
‘It doesn’t help that the subject matter is dislikeable.’ Michael zoomed in on her last image, in which three boys were watching another trying to leverage himself off the edge of a sculpture. ‘I mean, who wants to look at ratty teenagers desecrating artwork? That’s hardly a great advertisement for the Docklands.’
‘I actually hadn’t thought of that.’ Cindy laughed, taking her camera back.
‘May I suggest a change of scenery?’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘There’s a great bike path by the creek up there. It’s a bit overgrown and littered, but it’s a really untapped parcel of land. Why not explore a little? There’s lots of wildlife, and if they cleaned up the waterway it could become a real asset.’
‘Do you think Vania would like that?’
‘Absolutely. If you crop out the rubbish and syringes, it’ll come up just great.’
Cindy scoffed. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘Well, it can’t be worse than your skateboarder mates. Come on.’
Cutting across the concrete plaza, they made their way over Footscray Road. A narrow bike path dipped down to their left, the trail disappearing behind overgrown shrubbery.
Around a bend, the track met a murky creek.
‘Is this it?’ Cindy couldn’t hide her disappointment as she surveyed the bobbing beer cans and discarded plastic bags.
‘Just wait.’
They walked in silence, the winding trail running parallel with the creek. Every so often a wild rabbit would dart out from the undergrowth ahead of them.
‘Look at the view.’ Michael suddenly stopped, looking back to where they’d come from.
Cindy turned, surprised to discover that they’d reached higher ground; the shrubbery they’d traipsed through opened up to an almost perfect vista of the Docklands, the big wheel rising proudly into the sky against a backdrop of ever-growing apartment towers.
‘I’ll have to remember to come back here when I have more time.’
‘You should come at night. The wheel is quite spectacular when it’s all lit up.’
Cindy frowned. She couldn’t imagine wandering along the secluded track in the dark.
Flanked by a raised train line on one side and the creek on the other, the path was completely hidden. If it wasn’t for the roar of traffic from the freeway overhead, it would feel utterly remote.
‘And look over there.’ Michael pointed to the base of a concrete pylon in the middle of the creek a little further up.
Cindy left the path and shuffled her way down the grassy bank, careful to avoid the multiple pieces of broken glass. From the edge of the water she could make out three little herons sheltering in a nest, their beaks opened up hopefully in the direction of their mother, who was standing guard nearby.
‘Okay, that is worth a photo.’
‘Just be careful with the light.’ Michael edged his way down the slope to join her. ‘It’s a bit tricky the way the freeway casts those shadows.’
Fiddling with her camera, Cindy shivered as she felt her tutor’s arms wrap around her waist. She knew she needed to stop this, but she really didn’t want to.
‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’ Michael pecked her lightly on the neck.
‘You’re supposed to be helping me with my work,’ Cindy giggled, squinting through the viewfinder and trying unsuccessfully to keep her focus on the photo she should be taking and not the man who was now running one hand down the back of her shoulderblades.
‘Ow,’ Cindy yelped, as a sharp jolt sent her flying forward.
‘Hey!’ she heard her tutor’s cry.
Her heart pounded as she spun around.
Michael was doubled over, holding one hand across the left side of his face.
‘He got me right in the eye,’ he moaned.
‘Who got you?’ Cindy looked from her tutor to the bike path, where she saw the grinning face of Jordan – the boy she’d met earlier in the week.
‘I gave you a shock!’ Jordan snorted, chuckling happily. ‘I’ve been following you and you didn’t even see me! And then I hit you with those stones!’
Cindy clambered back up the bank and looked sternly at the boy. ‘You shouldn’t be throwing things – you could have damaged my camera. And you hurt my friend.’
The boy shrugged. ‘Why are you photographing the birds? Do you want to come and take pictures of the trains with me instead? The station is just up there.’
‘I’m doing some work, so I don’t really have time.’
‘I love trains.’
‘I know.’ Cindy laughed, unable to stay cross.
‘If you come to Macaulay Station with me you can get really good pictures,’ Jordan insisted, earnestly. ‘The city express trains come every eight minutes, and the regular trains come every twenty minutes, but sometimes they’re late.’
‘Leave her alone. She said she doesn’t have time.’
Cindy turned to see Michael lugging her camera equipment back up the bank. His jaw was clenched and his left eye red. She’d never heard him sound so aggressive.
Jordan’s face fell.
‘It’s okay.’ She reached to put a hand on his arm, but he pulled away quickly. ‘I’ll come with you another time. But don’t throw things at people, okay?’
The boy scowled, then disappeared up the path.
‘He’s lucky I didn’t thump him,’ Michael hissed, before handing Cindy’s bag to her. ‘Anyway, I should get going. You’ll be right here?’
‘Yes, thank you for showing me this area. It’s a great contrast to the
rest of the suburb.’
‘Good. But don’t bother going too much further up that way.’ Michael indicated where Jordan had gone, around another bend. ‘There’s lots of homeless people, and it gets a bit grubby.’
‘Okay.’
As she watched her tutor walk away, Cindy realised she was still wearing his jacket.
‘Michael!’ she called, but her voice was lost in the thunder of the traffic overhead. Damn. I’ll have to arrange another time to get it back to him.
Cindy hugged her arms around her body.
For some reason that thought made her anxious.
The medical clinic that Francesca Mancini had spoken of was tucked in a laneway behind a large hotel, with just a discreet silver plaque at the door to indicate they were at the right place.
Emmett pressed the bell, imagining Natale Gibson there less than a week earlier. How nervous she must have been.
‘It’s Detective Corban and Detective Tardio.’ He leant in close to the intercom. ‘We phoned earlier.’
A loud buzzing indicated the door had been unlocked, and Bianca led the way in.
Beyond two barred security gates the detectives found an informal space with coloured couches under bright posters championing women’s rights.
‘I’ll take you straight through.’ A smiling receptionist ushered them down a hallway past private consulting rooms and into a communal kitchen.
‘It’s pretty basic but we have tea and coffee if you’d like anything?’ the friendly man said.
Both detectives shook their heads, and the receptionist moved them through another doorway and up a flight of stairs.
‘I’ve got Rob Flaherty free to speak with you – he’s our acting CEO.’ He stopped outside an empty office. ‘He’s just finishing up on a conference call, so if you want to take a seat in here, he shouldn’t be too long.’
‘Perfect.’ Emmett looked around the small room, which was fitted out with just a chair and desk and one couch.
He sat on the edge of the couch and pulled out his notepad and phone.
‘Have you heard from any of the others?’ Bianca flicked through a few pamphlets that were pinned to a corkboard.
‘I’ve got a text here from Carter.’ Emmett opened the message. ‘Damn. He says they’ve got the footage from the deli and it shows that Brian Gibson was there all day on Friday.’
‘Until what time?’
‘Six p.m., when he suddenly rushed out.’
Bianca pulled a face. ‘That lines up with what Brian told us – that he worked all day before being called in to the football club to collect his kids.’
‘Yes. And given we know that Brian picked the children up at 6.30 p.m., that doesn’t give him a lot of time to have murdered his wife.’
The phone buzzed again.
‘Hang on, there’s more.’
‘Oh?’
Emmett shook his head, almost laughing. ‘You won’t believe what else the footage shows.’
‘Go on.’
‘Apparently one of the cameras captured Brian in the back office of the storeroom, emptying tins of cash into a blue duffel bag.’
Bianca chuckled. ‘Yep. We’ve found that.’
‘Well, at least we know it came from the deli. That might explain why Natale’s father told me the business was in trouble. I wonder why Brian was taking money.’
‘You’re not going to start with your double-life theory again, are you?’ Bianca teased, just as there was a tap at the door.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Rob Flaherty, the acting CEO.’
‘Thanks for speaking with us.’ Emmett shook the man’s hand.
After moving to the desk and spinning his chair around so that he was facing his guests, Rob opened a manila folder on his lap. ‘I understand you’re here about Natale Gibson?’
‘Yes. We’re investigating an incident that occurred after she attended this clinic last Friday. We need as much information as we can get from you about her movements that day.’
‘Okay.’ The man flicked through several papers. ‘Our records indicate that she attended for the day procedure with Dr Jennifer Liu.’
‘Are you able to say what time Ms Gibson arrived at the clinic, and what time she left?’
Rob nodded. ‘She was booked in for a 10.15 a.m. procedure, and we usually ask clients to arrive half an hour before their appointment, so we can assume she was here from around 9.45 onwards.’
Emmett scribbled this down, nodding – the man’s estimates lined up with the footage of Natale boarding a tram just after 9 a.m.
‘And how long would she have been at the clinic? I imagine it’s a fairly complicated procedure.’
‘Actually, it’s relatively straightforward. Ms Gibson was still in her first trimester, so the procedure that Dr Liu conducted would have only taken fifteen minutes or so. But we do insist on a two-hour recovery period, where we get our nurses to monitor the patients.’
‘So she left at around midday?’
‘Probably a little later than that. There’s prep time before the procedure, and the doctors like to do their own checks on the clients before handing them over to the nurses. So I’d be guessing she left around 1 p.m., perhaps later.’
‘Do your notes cover what sort of emotional state she was in, or anything like that?’ Bianca asked.
‘Not really. But the doctor did note that Ms Gibson had followed all the necessary pre-procedure requirements, such as fasting for six hours prior.’
‘Was she put under anaesthetic?’
‘Only a local – she was never unconscious.’
‘Would that have impacted her functioning at all?’
‘She wouldn’t have been discharged if she was displaying any obvious side effects, and nearly all our patients leave after that two-hour recovery window with no issues. We do encourage them to arrange to be picked up by a friend or family member, though.’
‘Was she picked up by someone?’ Emmett asked.
‘I’m not sure. As I said, we encourage our clients to get a lift home, but we can’t enforce it. We do have one security camera that looks out over the entrance, though. We could have a look at that if you like? I can access it on our internal system. Here, let me turn this on.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ Emmett said. As the outdated computer fired up, another thought popped into his head. ‘Actually, before we do that, do you mind looking up whether a woman by the name of Rosemary Norman was also a client at this clinic?’
Rob looked puzzled, but began tapping his keyboard. ‘Usual spellings for both names?’
‘Yes.’
‘Nope. No, we don’t have any record under that name.’
‘Okay, that’s fine. Let’s continue.’
‘I hope this incident you’re investigating is nothing too serious,’ Rob murmured as he clicked through several secured webpages to access the clinic’s security system.
Neither Emmett nor Bianca responded.
‘Is that her?’ The man pointed to the screen, where badly pix-elated black and white footage showed Natale Gibson pressing the buzzer at the door.
‘Yes. Is that the only angle you have?’ Emmett leant over the man’s chair, noting that the time on the monitor read 9.48 a.m.
‘I’m afraid so, yes.’
‘Okay, and what about her leaving?’
Rob skimmed through the footage, finding a brief shot of Natale walking out at 1.17 p.m.
The camera had only captured the back of her head and the briefest of side views as she turned right away from the entrance. No one else was visible in the frame.
‘We can’t see any further out into the laneway?’ Emmett couldn’t keep the exasperation out of his voice.
‘Unfortunately not. That’s the only camera we have.’
Emmett sighed, locking eyes with Bianca.
On the day of her disappearance, Natale had terminated an unwanted pregnancy, which she’d been keeping a secret from her husband. That made Brian the most likely
suspect. Yet he was at work some eight kilometres away the entire day.
‘Thank you for your time.’ Emmett shook hands with Rob again.
‘Well, where does that leave us?’ Bianca grumbled as they headed back to the car.
Emmett threw his hands up in frustration.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t understand how any of this fits together.’
‘Well, at least we can rule Brian out,’ Bianca muttered.
‘But what about the money? And that bruise on his hand? And his violent temper?’
‘He doesn’t fit into the timeline, and he has no known connection to Rosemary Norman. We have to follow the evidence, not other people’s opinions.’
Emmett sighed. Bianca was right – he had to let his suspicions about Brian Gibson go, at least for the time being.
‘Come on, let’s get some lunch. I’ll drive,’ Bianca playfully nudged Emmett before unlocking the car. ‘We need to eat before prettying ourselves up for this afternoon.’
‘What?’ He clambered in, no longer able to hide his fatigue.
‘Didn’t you see the email? We’re wanted at the media conference later today.’
Emmett groaned.
‘You don’t like doing press events?’
‘Not really, but I’ll handle it.’ Emmett slid his chair back so he could stretch his legs out, then closed his eyes.
There was no way he would be making it to his son’s football game that afternoon.
From the back of the room, the boy watched Scott and his mates doodling on their notepads. They were supposed to be listening to Mr Stanakis, who was standing at the front of the class, animatedly explaining how he used to spend his school holidays fishing with his father and grandpa.
‘And we would dangle those long fishing lines into the water from the edge of that rocky tin boat, sometimes sitting for hours until we would feel the pinch of a fish taking our bait . . ’
The boy liked to hear about his teacher’s childhood, but he was distracted by the group in front, who were now sniggering at something that Scott had drawn.
‘It looks like his head,’ Scott whispered, checking that his fan club was suitably impressed. ‘I’ll draw his ugly glasses too.’
As the boy watched the slightly nervous but uniform expressions on the faces of Scott’s followers, a strange realisation took hold: Scott’s mates didn’t really think his drawing was funny; they were just pretending.
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