‘Your jeans were on the ground beside you. But there were no underpants. Were you wearing any?’
‘Course.’ She paused. ‘My blue ones, with white flowers. I remember because I went to the toilet before I left work.’
‘Do you remember anything about the laneway where you were found?’
Alex shook her head. ‘I seriously cannot remember anything else. I’m sorry.’
‘Okay. You’re doing very well,’ Laura said, ignoring Alex’s heavy sigh. ‘Did you take the same route home that you take every night, or did you go a different way?’
‘The same route,’ Alex said in a monotone.
‘Have you been receiving any strange phone calls?’
Alex shook her head.
‘Do you have a boyfriend? Or is there someone at school who gives you more attention than would be normal?’
Again Alex shook her head, this time with pursed lips.
‘What about outside school? Are there any neighbours, people who come into the store perhaps, who show you a lot of attention?’
The girl’s expression suddenly slid into something softer. Thoughtful blue eyes studied Laura’s face.
‘Alex?’ Laura prompted. ‘Anyone at all.’
‘Well, there’s this guy called Roger. But he’s harmless . . . he doesn’t creep me out, or anything like that. But he has sent me a couple of notes. I feel sorry for him, really. He’s a bit of a loner.’
‘Do you still have his notes?’ Laura asked.
‘No. I tossed them. Mum and Greg would go psycho if they knew about them. They say mean things about him anyway. I’d hate to think what they’d do if they knew he’d sent me notes.’
‘What did the notes say?’
‘That he liked me, and he knew I liked him. So I should be his girlfriend. His wording was weird . . . like, straight to the point.’ Alex’s lips curled and she shook her head. ‘He’s a lot older than me. But I wouldn’t go with him even if he were my age. I know that sounds mean, but . . .’ Her voice faded.
‘How many letters has he written you?’ Laura said, without looking up from her notes.
‘Only two. He left them both at the store – the first was a couple of months ago. And the second was about a fortnight ago.’
‘What did the second letter say?’
‘He asked why I hadn’t told him I liked him yet. And he said we should have coffee at Maisie’s. That’s a coffee shop near the store where I work. They were both really short notes – only two or three sentences. I figured if I just ignored them he’d stop writing them.’ She stared up at the poster, thoughtfully scraping her bottom lip with her teeth.
‘Have you told anyone else about these notes?’ Laura said.
‘Yes. My best friend Maddi . . . and Isaac. He told me he thought Roger was on the autism spectrum. I can’t remember the exact name of it. He said I shouldn’t encourage him because he might take normal friendliness the wrong way. But I haven’t encouraged him, I’ve just been smiling and gentle when I talk to him and stuff . . .’ She looked down at her hands resting in her lap. ‘You don’t think it could be him, do you?’ she said looking up, her forehead crinkling.
It hit Laura then that Alex was in fact talking about the guy who lived opposite the lane. The same guy Noah had asked her to chat to. ‘There are no definite suspects yet,’ she told Alex. ‘And there’s nothing to make us think it is this Roger person – but we’ll have a chat with him just to be certain.’
Alex’s nod was deliberate. Pensive. She said, ‘I don’t know where Roger lives. He comes into the shop most days – so he must be local.’
‘Yes. He may be local,’ Laura said.
Alex’s face turned to stone. ‘Don’t tell him I told you about the notes,’ she said after a beat of silence.
Laura leaned forward and forced deliberate eye contact with her. ‘Alex, someone needs to talk to him about it. It’s not exactly illegal to write those notes to you, but it’s not right either. He needs to understand, for his own good and yours, that he could be causing a nuisance.’
Alex’s blue eyes shone with tears. ‘But what if it was him? What if he gets angry and attacks me again? Oh my God, I thought he was harmless . . .’
Laura fossicked in her bag and withdrew a wad of clean tissues. Pushed them into Alex’s hand. ‘That’s why your mother and Greg need to know about the notes.’
Alex’s eyes widened. She momentarily jammed the tissues against her mouth. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘That definitely will not be happening. Greg will kill him.’ Alex stopped then and straightened her shoulders, suddenly composed. ‘Greg is very protective of Mum and me.’
‘What do you mean?’ Laura said.
‘You know . . . like, protective. Once when the three of us were in town, a drunk guy grabbed my arm and called me darling, and in seconds Greg had him against a wall, telling him to keep his hands off me. By the look on his face the guy thought he was about to die.’ She chuckled lightly at the memory. ‘Greg was right. That guy needed to know that what he did was wrong.’
‘Has Greg ever been violent to you or your mother?’ Laura asked. ‘Or have you ever felt frightened of him?’
Alex’s smile held genuine fondness. ‘No, never. He would never hurt me or Mum.’
Well,’ Laura said, taking a deep breath, ‘we’ll play it by ear as to whether or not we tell Greg about the note. But I can’t make any promises.’ On the other hand, I don’t want to be the catalyst for any violence between Greg Shepherd and Roger Grenfell either. ‘For now, let’s leave it at that. Unless you have something you want to ask me?’
Alex shook her head. Tears welled again and she jammed the tissues against her eyes. ‘I wasn’t scared before, but I am now.’
Sometimes Laura detested her job. Her sigh was heartfelt, but she knew from experience that encouraging victims to think and talk about the crime was unavoidable if matters were to be solved.
‘Okay,’ she said, withdrawing her business card from her jacket. ‘For the next little while, I, or one of my team, will ring you every day to bring you up to speed with our investigation. Will that help?’
Alex nodded. She slipped Laura’s card into the pocket of her dressing gown.
‘Do your parents work?’ Laura asked, after they’d left the doctor’s office, and she was pushing Alex’s wheelchair across a concrete breezeway into the opposite wing. She was curious to know more about her home life.
‘Mum works shifts at an aged-care place near home, and Greg is a senior rep for a pharmaceutical company,’ she said, her pride clearly apparent in her voice.
‘Are they good at what they do?’
‘Yes. Greg was the top sales winner last year and the year before, and will probably do the same again this year. He’s won holidays for us in Bali and Thailand, and this time if he wins it will be Europe.’ She turned in her wheelchair and smiled up at Laura.
‘And your mum?’
‘She only works for the money. She’s never had a really good job. I think she likes the old people but she gets really tired. And she doesn’t like her boss much. But she says she has a better life now, since she met Greg.’
Just as Marianne had predicted, Cynthia Holt and Greg Shepherd were ensconced in the small family lounge. Apart from his height and his fine suit, Greg was an unremarkable looking man, pacing the floor with his mobile to his ear like an expectant father. Cynthia, in red pants and a dark turtle-neck, sat flicking through a dog-eared magazine with her feet curled under her.
As Laura and Alex approached Cynthia stood and rushed to her daughter, bending to kiss her cheek, smooth her hair, and fighting back tears, muttering misgivings. Greg terminated his call and slipped the phone into his suit pocket.
Laura introduced herself and took Greg’s outstretched hand, warm with a pleasantly firm grip. Without leaving her daughter’s side, Cynthia nodded acknowledgement to Laura, pushed a lock of glossy auburn hair back from he
r forehead, her brown eyes glistening with tears.
‘She’s all yours now,’ Laura said cheerfully. ‘You can take her home.’
‘Do you guys have any more news about who did this?’ Greg asked.
Laura sighed. ‘Nothing new, I’m afraid. We’re still following a few leads. The perpetrator injected Alex with a sedative, which has wiped most of her memory, at least for the time being.’
Greg took a deep breath and shook his head. ‘I know you’re all doing your best, but you must be missing something.’
‘I understand your frustration, Greg,’ Laura said, watching him pace the carpet again, scratching behind his ear, his forehead a series of creases. ‘It’s frustrating for us as well. Finding Alex in the lane like you did must have been a terrible shock,’ she added, alarm bells ringing at the apparent dissonance between the calmly anguished man before her now, and the story Alex had related about his violent reactions towards a stranger.
Greg stopped pacing. Looked fondly at Alex, whose eyes instantly glistened with tears. ‘Yeah, it wasn’t the best,’ he said. With a deep breath he pulled up to his full height. ‘But it was actually Bruno who found her first. That’s Alex’s Labrador. Anyway, I hope you guys find him soon. Because if I find him first . . .’ His lips tightened into a line and he shook his head.
‘We’re terrified now for Alex’s safety,’ Cynthia said. ‘We won’t be able to rest until this monster is behind bars.’
‘I understand. Something like this can truly knock your world off its axis. But I am confident Noah Tamblyn and his team are onto it,’ Laura said.
Minutes later she watched Greg push Alex’s wheelchair towards the lift. Cynthia held Alex’s hand as though she had no intention of ever letting it go again. As the three of them waited at the elevator, Greg bent over and said something to Alex, who turned and smiled up at him. Cynthia playfully slapped his arm and laughed. No one deserves to be involved in a crime like this, Laura thought. Especially families like Alex’s, where parents and children alike are doing their best to contribute in worthwhile ways to society. She berated herself for having doubts about Greg, aware that being a cop sometimes made her too suspicious.
Back in the car, Laura dug her phone from her bag. There were things she had to do before returning to the office.
The first was to text Simon. It’s OK for you to come Saturday. What is it you want to talk about?
The second was to contact Noah Tamblyn, and of course her call went through to his message bank. ‘Noah, its Laura Nesci,’ she said on cue. ‘I’m afraid Alex still has limited memory of her attack and the moments leading up to it. But get this – Roger Grenfell has been sending her questionable notes. I’m thinking we should chat with him sooner rather than later. I’m available this afternoon if that’s still the plan.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘C’mon, Alex. Answer your freaking phone.’ Still wearing her navy and beige school uniform, Madeline Sterling lay on her double bed drumming her feet against her apricot silk doona. ‘C’mon. C’mon,’ she muttered, the rhythmic ring at the other end only causing her gut to twist tighter as the number rang out for what seemed to be the twentieth time. She sighed, dialling the number yet again. ‘Far out Alex. I’m spewing here.’ Eventually tossing her phone onto the doona, Maddi dragged her fingers through her shambolic red curls before bounding off the bed and striding across her cream shag carpet to the mirror above her dressing table. ‘I so I hate my psycho hair,’ she muttered, tearing at it with fervour before rolling her green eyes and tossing the brush down again with a thud.
‘This is sooooo frustrating,’ she muttered, pacing. Dialling the number yet again. She knew she should be doing her homework but there was no way in hell she could concentrate. Any efforts in that direction would be a total waste of time. Anyway what better excuse for not doing my homework than my best friend being attacked?
Dropping down onto the edge of her bed, the phone still at her ear, the repetitive tone still causing excruciating annoyance, she stared absently through her window at a pair of swallows skimming the pool’s surface to land in the fountain at the end, flicking up beads of water made golden by the fading sunlight. The gardener sat against the trunk of an elm and sipped from a water bottle, his bamboo rake resting against the tree alongside. It crossed Madeline’s mind to ring her parents. Perhaps someone they knew could help her get in touch with Alex . . . like the Police Commissioner, or that politician who often rang her father. But the thought faded as quickly as it had occurred because she knew from experience neither of her parents would pick up, and truth be known, were probably not even in their office.
‘Seriously. I am going mental,’ she said, throwing herself back onto the stack of pillows and looking up at the chandelier. She snatched up her phone and hurriedly dialled Alex’s landline, her hopeful optimism shrouded by justified suspicion that her friend’s phone would most likely ring out again as it had done ever since lunch. ‘Where are you Alex?’ she said, tears building as she tossed her phone back onto the bed. Frustratingly devoid of ideas she stared up at the prisms of her chandelier capturing the last of the sun’s light.
The vision returned with startling clarity of Ms Hosking’s pleated tartan skirt falling over the edge of her desk, despite repeated attempts at tucking it under her primly crossed knees. This was the very same pose their home teacher adopted whenever she was about to deliver particularly serious and important news. The class had just returned from lunch so it had taken her some time to settle everyone. But for Madeline it was Ms Hosking’s grave expression, extra paleness to her already pale complexion, the added tightness of her usually pursed lips that had provided the cue that whatever Ms Hosking was about to tell them was especially important and unpleasant. But not for a moment had Madeline thought the news would be about Alex.
‘Class, I am about to tell you some awful news about Alex,’ Ms Hosking had said, her fingers steepled under her chin as though in prayer. The class had fallen deathly silent. And as Ms Hosking’s voice had floated above them, Madeline had sensed a creeping chill that molecule-by-molecule had turned her bones to stone. ‘Last night Alex was attacked in a laneway on her way home from her after-school job,’ Ms Hosking had rasped.
Murmurs and gasps robbed the room of silence. Madeline’s stomach heaved as though she was about to lose the salad roll she had eaten for lunch. Once the initial tremor of murmurs had abated it seemed to Madeline that everyone in the class had turned to face her. Everyone seemed to be scrutinising her for her reaction. Madeline could see them. And she could hear Ms Hosking’s droning voice, but the voice in her mind said, Stare and gasp all you like. I’m glad she’s my best friend. But I know not one of you really gives a damn.
Madeline’s sigh was deep now as she sat up again, reorganised the pillows behind her and lay back to redial Alex’s mobile. ‘Pleeease, Alex. Pleeease answer,’ she murmured as the familiar ringing went on and on.
‘Hi Maddi,’ Alex answered, her voice barely above a whisper, the vision of her face, drained and pale beneath her greasy clumped hair, flashing onto the screen.
‘Oh my God. Alex. Oh my God. I heard. Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, I’m OK. How did you know?’
‘Ms Hosking told us after lunch. Oh my God. What happened? Where are you now? Can you talk?’ Madeline knew Alex’s Mum and stepdad were ultra-protective, sometimes like prison guards. Their ideas on teen rearing seemed in direct contrast to those of her own parents. She and Alex talked about it a lot, always concluding that their parents loved them equally – but that they showed it in different ways. Maddi’s parents showered her with everything but their presence. Alex’s mum and stepdad, on the other hand, were around too much and made Alex earn money for the things she wanted.
‘Yeah. I’m taking this out to the bench seat,’ Alex whispered.
Neither of them spoke as Alex stepped through glass sliding doors onto the back lawn.
‘That’s better. We can
talk now,’ she said, sitting on the timber seat under the tall tree that Maddi knew well – the one that dropped purple berries on the lawn. Although she could not see Bruno on the screen of the phone, Maddi knew he would be sitting at Alex’s side, his pink tongue lolling. Or if he had detected, through that sixth sense animals have, that this was about to be a lengthy conversation he may be preparing to curl into a large golden knot at Alex’s feet.
‘I don’t know what happened, Maddi,’ Alex said, tears threatening. Maddi wished she could be there to simply place an arm around her friend’s shoulders and give her a squeeze. ‘Don’t talk about it if you don’t want,’ Maddi said softly.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it, it’s just that I can’t remember anything,’ Alex said with a sharp intake of breath finally lapsing into tears. ‘I know something really hideous happened,’ she said between sobs, ‘but I can’t remember a freaking thing. It’s frustrating. And it’s really scary.’
Maddi nodded. She almost felt as though it had happened to her. ‘Do they know who did it?’
Alex sniffed in the silence that followed, shook her head, and swiped her nose with the heel of her hand. ‘The police say they have no clues. And I can’t remember anything. It’s freakin’ hopeless.’
‘Do you want me to come around?’ Maddi said, her voice barely audible.
‘Yes. I do. But you’d hate it here right now. Greg is going psycho and Mum is freaking out. Bruno is the only sane one here.’
Madeline smiled. She pulled herself into a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed, dug her toes into the carpet. ‘OK, that’s cool. But if you change your mind I can walk there is ten minutes. OK?’
‘No, no, don’t walk around here, Maddi. He might still be hanging around. I’ll be OK. Just stay where you are. Please.’
‘Oh my God. This is horrible. I hate this. I hope they get him soon.’
In another well of silence Maddi pondered whether she should ask Alex the question that had been burning in her mind from the moment Ms Hosking had told them the news. But she did not want to upset her friend further. Hell. We’re best friends. I owe it to her to at least raise it. I’ll just have to be careful about how I do it, that’s all. ‘Um, did they do any medical tests?’ she probed.
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