by PD Martin
Darren winces. ‘Soph…’ He shakes his head. ‘I don’t like where this is going.’
‘Don’t worry, Darren. I’m not going to use it.’ Tucking the gun into the small of my back I make for the door. ‘Let’s go.’
He grabs my arm. ‘Give me your word you won’t fire…unless it’s self defence.’ He’s staring intently into my eyes, our faces incredibly close.
I blink once…Darren knows I won’t break my word. ‘Okay.’
He nods slowly, still studying my face, but I can see the tension leaving his shoulders. ‘Don’t forget, Soph, this guy isn’t worth it. You can’t do that to yourself, or your folks.’
‘I know.’ The last thing I want is to end up in jail for taking the law into my own hands. It’d screw everyone’s life up.
He releases my arm. ‘What are you going to tell your folks?’
I stop in my tracks. I don’t want to get their hopes up, but I also don’t want to keep them in the dark.
‘I’ll tell them we’re going to The Well to do some shopping.’
We wind our way around Main Road. ‘We’re close now.’ Darren nods, sensing my nervous energy and excitement.
Eltham’s only twenty-five kilometres from the city, but parts of it are extremely rural with a more arty and country feel. In the seventies it was an outer suburb and home to many prominent artists. Now, with the urban expanse gobbling up land all around it, Eltham has become a blend of the old and the new, the artists and the young white-collar families. Eltham is also home to the iconic Montsalvat, a twelve-acre estate with stunning European architecture and a thriving artist retreat. It has many artists in residence and is the home of the Montsalvat Jazz Festival every January—and an extremely popular wedding venue.
My gun’s now in my handbag, for comfort more than anything else. Lily Murphy won’t be armed, but Detectives Shaw and Danahay will both have easy access to their guns. Can’t say having mine tucked away in my handbag is reassuring, but I know the chances I’ll need it are slim.
Viewbank Road is nestled in the older section of Eltham, which consists of mostly weatherboards and larger blocks of land, rather than the more suburban-style houses put up in the past ten to twenty years. We drive up the small hill and cruise by number fifteen, before hanging a U-turn and parking several doors down.
Anthony Wake’s house is a traditional weatherboard that’s well looked after. The boards look like they’ve been freshly painted or perhaps replaced with the fake boards that are made of vinyl but look like the real deal. The white boards are offset by charcoal grey doorframes and trim, and a large wooden deck extends a few metres out the front. The block of land is steep, so the front of the deck is supported by long posts, roughly three metres high. The house seems quiet, but we’ll have to park for a little longer before we can be certain that Wake’s not home.
‘How do you feel?’ Darren asks.
I twist the ring on my little finger. ‘I have no idea. I’ve got so much adrenaline, excitement and fear coursing through my body I don’t know what’s what.’
‘Sounds about right.’
To a certain extent those sensations are felt by any cop on a case with the scent of a big break. But for me, this case, everything’s compounded by about a thousand...or maybe a million.
‘How long you think they’ll be?’
I shrug. ‘Don’t know. But I said I’d call Lily, so I’ll do that now and see how far away they are.’
I dial Lily’s mobile number and within a few rings she picks up. ‘You there?’ she says immediately.
‘Uh huh. Out front.’
‘And?’
‘Doesn’t look like he’s home. But I can’t be sure yet.’
‘Okay. Sit tight. We’ve got more info on Anthony Wake, including the fact that he’s single and works in Ivanhoe. He’s probably still at work.’
Lily or Detective Shaw would have assigned someone to gather info on Anthony Wake, looking for anything and everything that could help us. ‘What else did you find?’
‘Doesn’t look like he’s ever married, unless it was in New Zealand or somewhere else. First logged entering Australia in 1990. Worked here for a year in a few cafes and then went back to New Zealand. Returned to Australia in 2000, obviously with some sort of qualification and professional work experience because he’s working as a draftsman for an architecture firm.’
I digest the information. He came out to live here in 2000, eight years before the first abduction in the more recent spate of child abductions and murders. And he’s based in Melbourne, not the country. These two things make it more likely that his usefulness for us will be as a past victim. ‘Any links to Bendigo, Shepparton, Seymour or Euroa?’ I ask.
‘Not that we’ve found. Only one property in his name, the Eltham one.’
I don’t know whether I’m relieved or disappointed. I knew this man couldn’t have been responsible for John’s death, but he could have been involved in the three boys who’ve disappeared or been found dead in the past three years. I would have preferred to be closing in on the perp, but who knows...maybe one conversation with Anthony Wake will point us in the right direction.
Twenty minutes later, Shaw and Danahay turn up, followed closely by Lily Murphy. Like me, they park a few doors down from Wake’s home. Lily pulls into place on the opposite side of the road, so there aren’t three cars parked in a row. Once she’s out of her own car, Lily slides into the back seat of the detectives’ and is talking to them for several minutes before heading over to us and sitting in our back seat.
‘Any news?’ I ask, turning around.
‘No. Nothing more on Wake. But Shaw said he doesn’t mind if you come in for the interview.’ Her eyes drop for a moment. ‘Given the circumstances.’ She looks at Darren. ‘Darren?’
He nods and offers his hand. ‘Nice to meet you Ms Murphy.’ Darren often goes for the more formal address when he first meets someone. I’m not sure if it’s a cultural thing or just part of his personality.
‘Call me Lily.’
He nods.
‘So, you think maybe we should head to Ivanhoe?’ I ask.
Lily shakes her head. ‘It’s nearly five...we could miss him on the way there.’
‘Do most people finish up at five here?’ Darren asks.
‘Depends on the job. On the company.’ Lily takes her phone and a small notebook out of her bag. ‘I’ll give his office a call. See if he’s in.’ Once she’s flipped through to the correct page of her notebook, she punches in the phone number. ‘Hi, is Anthony Wake still in?’ A pause. ‘Okay. Thanks.’ Lily hangs up and looks at us. ‘Just missed him.’
I nod. ‘Assuming he’s coming straight home he should be here in fifteen to twenty, thirty tops if he meets really bad traffic.’ I look at Darren. ‘Ivanhoe’s only about ten kilometres...sorry...six miles from here, so even with peak-hour traffic it shouldn’t be too long.’
I take another deep, steadying breath, hoping that Anthony Wake can give us something on the man that took him and, presumably, John. That’s our other stumbling block of course, that the abductions in New Zealand aren’t related to the ones here, despite the similarities. John and Anthony may have been taken by different beasts and suffered different fates.
I feel Lily’s eyes on me.
‘Tell me you’re not carrying, Soph.’
I look guiltily at Darren, then Lily. ‘We’re going to a firing range after this,’ I lie.
‘Jeez, Soph. You’ve got too much at stake in this case to be armed.’
‘This could be our guy. Not the one who took John, obviously, but maybe Curtis Baker’s in there right now.’
Lily glances doubtfully at the house. ‘If the kid screamed the neighbours would hear.’
‘Wake could have a room or basement that’s soundproof.’
Lily shrugs. ‘Maybe.’ She looks at Darren. ‘Keep an eye on her, okay?’
Darren smiles. ‘Always.’
Lily shakes her head. ‘A firing ran
ge…’
I shrug. ‘Gotta keep my eye in.’
She drops it and studies the house. ‘We’ve got at least ten minutes. I’ll get Shaw and Danahay to have a look around. Maybe if they hear something…’
I nod and explain it to Darren. ‘Victorian Law states that if the police think a child or woman is in immediate danger, no warrant is required to enter a private residence.’ When it comes to law enforcement, common sense has to rule.
Lily nods. ‘But we should be quick. This guy’s been through hell and the last thing he needs is cops harassing him for no reason, if his only role is that of a victim.’
‘True.’ For an instant I picture Anthony Wake as John—imagine if my brother had survived, only to be suspected of being a paedophile and murderer himself thirty years later... I shiver. A wrongful accusation can damage someone’s life forever. Especially this sort of crime, most acquaintances will never feel one hundred percent certain of the accused’s innocence…somewhere there’s always a small seed of doubt. Lily’s right; we need to tread extremely carefully. It won’t take much for neighbours to start talking, wondering, and the media never seems too far behind a big story, either. Hopefully Victoria Police’s Homicide team is as tight as a steel trap at the moment.
‘You guys wait here.’ Lily opens the door.
‘Hey,’ I call out. ‘We can cover more ground if Darren and I take a look too.’
Lily hesitates, half out of the car. ‘Lose the gun and you’ve got a deal.’
I wince but agree to her terms. With my handbag, and gun, stashed underneath the driver’s seat, Darren and I move towards the house. We’re not far behind Shaw, Danahay and Lily.
‘Hey, Anderson.’ Shaw gives me a nod.
‘Hi. Thanks for…’
‘Keeping my mouth shut?’
I smile. ‘Yeah.’
‘This is Detective Virginia Danahay.’ Shaw turns to his partner. ‘And this is the ex-cop I was telling you about.’
I put my hand forward. ‘Sophie Anderson.’
Danahay gives me a firm pump, the handshake of a woman living in a man’s world. She’s in her late thirties, a little taller than me at about five-ten, with dark blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. I also notice a few caramel-coloured hairs strewn across her jacket—Detective Danahay has a dog or a cat, a cat by the look of the hairs. The wedding band on her finger tells me she’s married, and the slight remnants of a yellow haze on her shoulder indicates a child…with the sniffles.
‘Nice to meet you.’ She smiles.
I introduce Darren as we stride up the drive.
The street is quiet, so presumably the neighbours are still at work or commuting. The quietness makes things easier for us, and soon Shaw and Danahay are leading the way, guns drawn, with Lily, Darren and me in tow.
Shaw and Lily go up the steps to the front door and the deck. Darren and I move towards the windows we can see underneath the deck and Danahay moves towards the left side of the house. I still find myself oscillating between feeling that we’re encroaching on a victim’s privacy and thinking maybe we’re about to find Curtis Baker and spare him further pain. Without a gun I feel weak and helpless. Even though I’m trained in hand-to-hand combat and hold a black belt in Kung Fu, the reality is that after so many years of leading with a gun it’s strange to have both hands hanging loose by my sides. Darren’s arms also appear heavy to me—flapping too freely next to him.
Darren gets to the windows first, keeping low on the off chance that someone is inside and could see him. It reminds me that the possibility of multiple perpetrators is still a factor in this case, and one we can’t discount—just because Anthony Wake is on his way home from work doesn’t mean the coast is clear. I pull in next to Darren, sitting on my haunches. Darren signals that he’s going to have a look, before partially straightening his legs so his head peers over the window sill.
He bobs back down. ‘Looks like a games room.’
‘For kids?’ I ask, also straightening up and peering inside the room. In the centre is a pool table and to the left is a Foosball table. If he lives alone, who does he play with? Does he use this room to entertain young boys or is it just for Wake and his mates? Either is possible.
After five minutes of peering through windows and listening intently for noises, we all head back to our respective cars. Five people sitting on his doorstep might be a little too overwhelming for Wake when he does arrive.
We haven’t been in our cars long when a dark blue Nissan Pajero cruises into the street and pulls into the driveway of number fifteen. Wake is wearing suit pants and a white shirt and carries a soft, tan briefcase. He’s too far away to ascertain much about him other than the basics: nearly six-foot, slender and dark brown hair. His step has got an agility to it that makes me think he’s fit, and he wears dark glasses that he swings onto his head as he’s bounding up the stairs.
Shaw and Danahay make a move, and we stay put for the time being.
‘Anthony Wake?’ I can barely hear Shaw’s voice from this distance.
Wake turns around, half way up the steps to his front door, and takes a few steps back down.
Shaw says something, probably identifying himself because a few seconds later he pulls his ID out of his inside pocket.
After a brief exchange Shaw turns around and gives us a nod—enter the cavalry. Darren, Lily and I make our way to Anthony Wake’s front yard and once we’re on the steps Shaw introduces us.
‘Five people to ask about what happened to me in New Zealand?’ Wake seems surprised but also a little uncomfortable. If he does remember, that’s fair enough. If that’s the case, Lily will be the best qualified to take his statement.
‘There’s a boy missing at the moment and we think it may be related,’ Shaw explains.
Wake furrows his brow. ‘Curtis…Curtis something.’
‘That’s right, Mr Wake, Curtis Baker.’ Shaw leans on the railing casually. ‘But like I said, we won’t take up much of your time.’
Wake nods. ‘I saw the parents on TV last night.’ He shakes his head. ‘Horrible stuff.’
Whether Wake remembers what happened to him or not, those sorts of headlines are bound to strike a chord.
‘Guess you better come in.’ He moves back up the stairs.
Inside, Shaw introduces us all and is upfront about my involvement, explaining that I’m a profiler who used to work for the Victoria Police but that I’m also the sister of one of the victims from the seventies.
‘So you really think it’s the same person? After all these years?’ Wake asks once we’re all seated with cold drinks. Wake has a beer and the rest of us accepted the water option.
‘There are similarities between the cases that indicate the same person or someone with an intimate knowledge of the older cases,’ Shaw explains.
Wake gives a nod. ‘I still don’t remember, you know.’ He takes a swig of beer. ‘Can’t remember how I got on that road, what my real name is…none of it.’
I sink deeper into the chair, even though I want to stand up and yell at Wake that a boy’s life is in danger. That he needs to remember.
‘Have you ever tried hypnosis?’ Lily queries.
‘Yup. After I’d been with my foster parents for about a year they suggested it. Said my parents must be worried sick about me and wanted to do everything they could to find them.’
Lily takes a sip of water before placing her glass on the table. ‘The person I spoke to in New Zealand said there was a national campaign to find any relatives.’
He nods. ‘They never interviewed me personally, but I know my story and some photos of me were on the news and some of the current affairs shows. My foster parents went on a couple of times, too, asking anyone with information to come forward.’ He drinks some more beer. ‘But it’s like I dropped onto that road from nowhere. I think some of the cops thought maybe my parents died the day I was found. You know, that there’d been some horrible accident and I’d surv
ived. But if that’s what happened, they never found their bodies. And then there were the three missing boys from the area. But if I’d been abducted from my home in the middle of the night, my parents would have come forward, right?’
Lily sighs. ‘It is a mystery.’
Wake takes another sip of beer.
‘Do you ever have any unusual dreams?’ I ask. ‘Or feel like something you’ve never seen before is unusually familiar?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nothing. I know everyone thinks something really horrible must have happened to me, but I don’t remember it. I feel…normal. I went through a stage in my early twenties when I wondered what had really happened. Who I really was. But after a year of looking through birth records and more hypnosis…’ He shakes his head. ‘Nothing. So I moved on.’
‘Sometimes an emotional trauma can manifest itself in other ways,’ Lily says. ‘Did you have any run-ins with the law?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nope.’
‘Do you mind me asking if you have a girlfriend?’ Lily crosses her legs.
‘Single at the moment, but I’ve had a couple of serious, long-term relationships, and of course lots of not-so-serious girlfriends.’
‘No kids?’ I ask.
He shrugs. ‘What can I say…I haven’t found the right woman.’
‘But the relationships were healthy?’
I know Lily’s wondering if they were sexually healthy. Lots of victims of sexual abuse have a variety of intimacy difficulties in later life—from difficulty connecting with their partners to being the perpetrator of domestic violence. Male victims of sexual abuse are also prone to anger, depression, alcoholism and feelings of alienation.
‘Yes, very healthy. I was with one girlfriend for six years and another for four. It just didn’t feel right to settle down with them. You know, do the whole marriage and kids thing. But hopefully one day.’
Wake’s roughly forty-one—no one knows his exact age, because we don’t know his date of birth. The New Zealand officials put him between ten and thirteen when they found him. So even by today’s standards he’s leaving it relatively late to be starting a family, especially given he’s single, so it’s not like he has a partner that could become pregnant next month.