Sticks and Stones

by Katherine Firkin

  ‘That was July 10 – the same day Rosemary went in to see him,’ Bianca confirmed. ‘But I think Daniel’s just deflecting.’

  Emmett frowned. ‘Well, either way, I’m going to get Williams and Carter to head to the nursing home as early as they can this morning.’ He leant against a wall, unsure if it was the lack of sleep or the raging certainty that they’d missed something that was now making him feel so giddy. ‘If someone else has been visiting Tom Norman, we need to know about it.’

  The wriggling body next to her had kept her up most of the night, but still, Abbie had woken feeling the most content she could remember. There was something special about looking into the wide eyes of a child as they woke for a brand-new day.

  After a quick breakfast they’d visited the park, playing on the swings and the slide until Spencer’s asthma had forced them to retreat indoors. Now they were back in bed, watching movies on her laptop.

  ‘I love you.’ She whispered the words while gently stroking his head, relishing the softness of his curls on her fingers.

  Reaching across to her iPad, Abbie leant back, intent on searching through finance graduate positions. Her son had other ideas.

  ‘Do you have games on that?’ he asked, tugging at Abbie’s sleeve.

  ‘Aren’t you watching your movie?’

  ‘I want to play on that.’ Spencer tugged her sleeve harder, and Abbie laughed.

  ‘Okay, suit yourself.’

  After helping her son download his chosen game, Abbie watched in amazement as he deftly began navigating his way around an animated racetrack.

  ‘How do you know how to play that?’ she asked, knowing he was rarely allowed on any electronic devices whatsoever.

  Spencer didn’t respond.

  Letting him play, Abbie flipped distractedly through her phone.

  Her heart sank as she discovered a curt text message from her mother, informing her that not only was she responsible for getting Spencer to his school by 8.30 a.m. the following day, but she’d also be required to attend his parent–teacher interviews that evening.

  Parent–teacher interviews? Her chest tightened. She had bad memories of those nights, when her own mother had sat in that dark school hall, apologetically nodding as her teachers had listed everything wrong with her: a poor learner, disengaged, unable to follow instructions, unwilling to comply with school policies . .

  And yet look at her now. Abbie sat up straighter: a finance graduate, an intern at one of the largest companies in the city . . and in a relationship with a great new man.

  She grinned, her blood rushing as she pictured herself snuggling into Marcus, the heavy aroma as she nestled into his neck . .

  ‘I’m hungry!’ Spencer suddenly announced, without looking up.

  ‘Fine.’ Abbie reluctantly levered herself off the bed. ‘I’ll make us some food.’

  But as she sized up the few options in her kitchen, she realised that was easier said than done; her cupboards were virtually empty.

  Never mind. She pulled out some crackers and picked at items in the fridge suspiciously. There was some cheese that didn’t seem too bad – if she just trimmed that bit of mould off the corner – and some cherry tomatoes that were hanging on to life in the bottom of her vegetable drawer. That’ll do.

  See? She smiled as she carefully sliced up the cheese and tomatoes, layering them on the crackers and arranging it all on a wide plate. It wasn’t so hard to be a good mother; it just took a bit of initiative.

  ‘Come and get it!’ she called out.

  There was no reply.

  ‘Spencer?’

  She walked back into her room, finding her son still utterly captivated by the game.

  ‘You need to put that down now and have some lunch.’

  Spencer ignored her.

  ‘Come on.’ She pulled the device away, waving the plate of crackers in front of him. ‘They’re yummy.’

  Her son looked from the iPad to the snacks, his face like thunder. ‘Yuck!’ He thrust the plate back towards her. ‘I hate tomatoes.’

  ‘Okay, well, we can pick them off.’

  ‘Don’t want to.’

  Abbie parked the plate carefully on the bed, just within his little arm’s reach. She wasn’t sure what to do. ‘Why don’t you just try one? You’ll love it.’

  ‘I hate it here. I want to go home.’

  ‘It’s okay . . ’ Abbie shuffled in next to Spencer and placed an arm around his back. ‘We’re having a great time together, and I promise you can keep playing your game once you’ve eaten something.’

  ‘I. Want. To. Go. Home.’ Spencer lunged at the plate of crackers, sending bits of tomato and cheese scattering across her only doona.

  ‘Spencer. Careful.’

  ‘I want my mum!’ her son screamed, hurling himself dramatically across the bed.

  Abbie froze. What had happened? He’d been perfectly happy only moments earlier.

  ‘Get me my mum!’

  The screams got worse, and she watched as he writhed around on the mattress. ‘That’s enough now, Spencer.’ She tried pinning the hysterical boy down.

  He wiggled free.

  ‘I hate you. You made me miss my concert. And you made my mum cry.’

  Abbie slid off the bed, watching the sobbing boy helplessly. ‘Here.’ She finally shoved the iPad back in his face.

  He took the device grudgingly, whimpering breathlessly as he returned to his game.

  She left him slumped against her pillow, surrounded by broken crackers, cheese and tomato.

  In the kitchen she checked her phone (still no message from Marcus), before resting her head in her hands and closing her eyes.

  She wasn’t fit to be a mother, and her son knew that only too well. Who was she trying to fool?

  ‘Thank you so much for looking after him, I won’t be too late.’ Cindy waved at her friend Susan from the car window.

  She’d gratefully agreed to Nicholas having a play date that afternoon, giving her time to rest up at home – and to see Michael.

  Not that meeting her tutor had been the priority, Cindy reminded herself as she drove off, leaving her little son and good friend Jake in the rear mirror. She’d been battling some kind of illness ever since Friday, the headache that had plagued her all day at work deteriorating into a sore throat, runny nose and a hopeless lack of energy. She desperately needed a day to herself to recover, and when Michael’s message had come through early that morning asking to meet urgently, she’d decided it only made sense to combine the two activities.

  Humming along Spencer Street towards the city, she passed the new police headquarters and waved at the many windows, imagining her husband somewhere up there, working furiously – he hadn’t come home after the arrest of Rosemary’s brother late on Saturday night.

  Still, she thought, as she followed the bridge over the Yarra and took a right down Normanby Road towards the beach, hopefully that would be the end of this nasty investigation. If Daniel Norman was responsible for the murders, her husband would crack him. And then their little family could get back to normal.

  She smiled as she thought about the weekends to follow. It would be good to leave Emmett to the weekend sports duties, and maybe even some of the school pick-ups and drop-offs. Best of all, she realised with an uncomfortable niggle, it would be good for her to have her husband back.

  I miss him.

  Cindy switched lanes.

  The realisation wasn’t a shock, but it was filled with guilt, and her growing unease about the situation with Michael was much of the reason she’d agreed to the meeting that afternoon. Her intention was to tell her tutor that they needed to keep their relationship professional; they were both adults, with a solid friendship to fall back on. It would be fine.

  Out on Beach Road, palm tree fronds were billowing wildly in the wind, and Cindy couldn’t help but wonder why Michael had wanted to meet in such an exposed location – the middle of winter was hardly the finest time to visit Melbourne�
�s city beaches. Although – she looked at the cheerful-coloured windsurfers braving the conditions – it was nice to get away from the Docklands for a while.

  ‘Cindy!’ Her tutor stood up to greet her as she entered the small beachside cafe, accidentally letting the door slam behind her. ‘I’m so glad you could make it.’

  ‘Sorry I’m a bit late, I had trouble finding a park.’

  Michael tilted his head. ‘You’re not well?’

  ‘Not great.’ Cindy sniffed self-consciously. She’d hoped the extra-strength cold tablet she’d gulped down before leaving would hide the lurgy. ‘I think I’m just a bit rundown – not contagious, I hope.’

  Her tutor laughed, but she noticed his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  ‘I’ve ordered a little antipasto plate for us to share, I assume that’s okay?’

  ‘Sure.’ Cindy eyed the bottle of red wine already on the table. She’d been hoping to avoid alcohol – aside from having to drive home, she knew it wouldn’t mix well with the drugs she’d taken. ‘Sounds great.’

  They chatted a while, laughing about their adventure along the bike path the other day, and the funny boy who had pelted them with stones.

  ‘I actually went looking for him on Friday,’ Cindy admitted, reaching for another piece of goat’s cheese. ‘I thought he might know more about the murders of those women near the creek, since he’s always hanging out there. But I couldn’t find him.’

  Her tutor looked perplexed. ‘You went looking for him? Isn’t that best left to the police?’

  Cindy laughed. ‘I know, it was silly. The idea just kind of came to me so I went and did it. My husband’s been working so hard on the case, and I guess I wanted to help. It was a complete waste of time, though. It took me so long to walk all the way down to the station and back again that I had to leave pretty much straight away to get to Nicholas’s school production. So not exactly a productive workday.’

  Michael reached for his glass. ‘Your husband’s a detective, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. He’s actually in charge of that murder investigation.’ Cindy felt her cheeks flush – a mixture of pride and the warmth of the red wine. It was good they were talking about Emmett, it made it easier to broach the next subject. ‘But I actually wanted to talk about us, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course!’ Michael’s eyes lit up. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’

  ‘Yes . . ’ Cindy licked her lips, carefully putting her glass down. ‘I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and you’re more than a mentor to me, you’re a good friend.’ She paused, aware that Michael’s face was already falling. ‘But I’m married, with a son. I love my husband. I don’t know why I let myself get carried away. It was stupid of me, and I hope I haven’t hurt you.’

  For a moment, her tutor didn’t speak, instead reaching for the bottle and topping up his glass. He took a big sip of the wine.

  ‘That’s very disappointing to hear,’ he eventually murmured. ‘I thought we had something special. But of course. I respect your decision.’

  ‘Thank you. And I hope we can continue to meet up, and discuss ideas, and be friends?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Michael drank again.

  They awkwardly picked at the rest of the platter, and Cindy was relieved when her tutor called the waiter over for the cheque.

  ‘Can I?’ She pulled her wallet out.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Michael had already retrieved several notes.

  Happy their meeting had gone as well as it could have, Cindy gave him a quick squeeze out the front of the cafe. ‘I still love hanging out with you,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’re not going yet?’ Michael looked surprised. ‘I thought you might want to join me for a wander along the beach? The St Kilda foreshore has some beautiful locations for photos and, as you said, I do want to stay friends.’

  Cindy gulped, hearing herself immediately agree to the beachside walk, despite the fact that she just desperately wanted to get home to bed – her headache steadily returning to a dull throb, her throat sore and tired.

  But as she trudged after him down the dunes, she told herself to perk up.

  ‘What a good idea,’ she babbled, just as a sharp gust of wind whipped sand in her face.

  She wiped her eyes and continued.

  Michael was handling this magnanimously, and protecting their friendship was important.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Under the chair, Steven’s feet bounced up and down. They’d been there for almost half an hour and with each passing minute he was feeling less and less comfortable. How much longer was this going to take?

  ‘Oh, good move! Well played!’ Morton’s gruff chortle echoed from the row of tables on the far side of the room.

  Steven glared in the direction of his colleague, who was involved in an animated game of backgammon with one of the residents. They’d been asked to wait in the recreation room while the nursing home’s manager finished a meeting, but it seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time.

  ‘Do you think we should give them a hurry-along?’ he called out, over a sea of white and grey heads.

  ‘Calm down,’ Morton barked, before addressing his companion. ‘They’re so impatient nowadays, aren’t they?’

  The backgammon player nodded earnestly.

  Steven ignored the gibe, instead getting up and heading out through the double doors and back to the foyer. They were in the middle of a murder investigation – it was hardly the time for games.

  Still, he admitted to himself as he hit the bell at the reception aggressively, for all his faults, Morton was surprisingly good with the elderly.

  ‘Can I help?’ A tired-looking woman appeared.

  ‘We’ve been waiting to speak with the manager for some time now.’ Steven flipped his badge. ‘Could I get started by having a look at your security system?’

  The woman shrugged, leading him through a doorway and out into a small office with no windows.

  Steven sighed when he saw the antiquated set-up with just one boxy monitor.

  ‘Is the footage in colour?’

  ‘You’re asking the wrong person, dear. But feel free to have a play with it.’

  Finding the remote, Steven began hunting through the dates that Emmett had sent him. The old system was at least easy to operate.

  He started with 10 July – the day they suspected Rosemary Norman and another person had visited Tom.

  There she is. Steven’s throat caught as he switched between camera angles to watch a curly-haired woman enter the building, chat with the receptionist and walk slowly through the maze of hallways, before disappearing through a side door.

  What a shame we can’t see into Tom’s room.

  He fast-forwarded, waiting to see the red-headed woman reappear. Instead, a thin man entered the building, following the corridors and disappearing through the same side door. He and Rosemary were now in Tom’s room together.

  Steven rewound the footage and squinted at the screen. The combination of the poor-quality footage and the fact that the man was wearing a baseball cap made it impossible to see any of the visitor’s features clearly.

  Damn.

  Eventually, Steven watched Rosemary leave. The unknown man stayed in Tom’s room for hours.

  Scrolling through days of footage, Steven continued looking for anyone noteworthy entering or exiting room 26.

  It was tedious work, with so many carers and staff members coming and going, and the grainy black and white vision began blurring in front of him.

  Hang on. He stopped the footage abruptly. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Steven sat up straighter. It had only been the quickest of flashes, but he was certain he’d seen the man in the baseball cap again.

  He rewound slowly. Yes, there he was.

  Wearing the same hat, the man scampered up the corridor, his movements somewhat jerky and irregular, and disappeared off to the left of the screen.

  Steven checked the date and time. It was 11
.20 a.m. on Tuesday, 16 July. Tom Norman’s birthday.

  How odd. He flicked through the copies of the visitor book. No one, aside from Daniel Norman, had signed in to see Tom that day.

  Taking a slow breath, Steven began shifting between camera angles to replay the visitor’s movements, from his hurried entrance to the building to the long visit with Tom.

  He couldn’t say quite why, but there was something unnerving about the man in the baseball cap.

  ‘She’s still not answering my calls. I’ve tried everyone I can think of. I don’t know what to do.’

  Emmett frowned, his eyes darting between the entrance to Chino’s Cafe and the schoolteacher sitting miserably across from him. He’d been hoping that this case would resolve itself, but since it hadn’t, he had little choice but to pass it on.

  ‘I appreciate how hard this is for you, Mr Peters.’ He nudged his coffee cup away. ‘And as I explained on the phone, in the absence of any developments, I think it’s best we escalate the investigation. That’s why I’ve asked one of my trusted colleagues to take this over.’

  ‘You can’t help?’

  ‘I had one of my detectives make some preliminary inquiries yesterday.’ Emmett watched Owen fidget with his hands in his lap. ‘We were able to establish that Charlotte left Westside Health at 9.56 a.m. on Friday morning. The next step will be finding surveillance footage around the area, to map her steps from there. Unfortunately my team is stretched to the limit with ongoing cases, and I want you to have the best resources possible.’

  The teacher blinked rapidly.

  ‘I just . . ’ Owen hesitated. ‘I can’t believe this is all happening. One minute we were planning a family, the next she disappears. It doesn’t seem real.’

  Emmett nodded sadly. ‘With any luck, you’ll have some answers soon.’

  ‘Soon?’ Owen scoffed. ‘And what do I do in the meantime? I can’t sleep, I can’t eat . . I mean, how do I handle this? Do I drive around looking for her? Should I go into work and pretend everything’s okay? Do I sit at home by the door and wait for her to walk back in?’

  Emmett cringed. He had no answers. ‘What would make you feel best?’