Into the Fog

by Sandi Wallace

  With its sprawling and secluded properties, large mass of bushland and small strip of shops, the region of Mount Dandenong itself resembled a rural town and reminded him of home too.

  Yet, it wasn’t home and Franklin looked forward to kicking off his boots, climbing into his own bed and ironing out the kinks in his back from several nights on Ando’s too-short camp bed.

  His gut twisted. Home wouldn’t be the usual safe haven until Hannah and her little brothers were tucked up in their beds.

  He deliberately shut down his thoughts again. It was too dangerous to ride in a distracted mood. His mobile vibrated against his hip as the motorbike roared past the organic berry farm. While the olive grove and a tiny cluster of houses in the valley of Musk whipped by, he decided to wait until he arrived home to retrieve the message.

  Three or four minutes on, the cemetery loomed to his right and Franklin tunnelled his eyes forward, away from the rows and rows of headstones. The graveyard held too many sad memories. Those of a footy mate who’d killed himself and his three little kids; the farming couple who’d inadvertently brought him and Georgie together; the father and son victims of the horrific car-and-mini bus crash last year; and other people he cared about, whose lives and deaths had touched him and Kat.

  A minute later, the cemetery was behind him and Franklin breathed freely again. The sight of the red-brick pub made him fancy a coldie but he instantly went off the idea. In another minute he would be home, could check his message, grab a quick shower and change of clothes, and then jump into investigations.

  You hope.

  He shrugged off the gloomy voice. How much time he could put into the Savage case depended on what the shift delivered up. But he knew his mates – short-staffed or not, he could count on them pulling together.

  Franklin drew into his driveway and retrieved the phone message as he dismounted.

  ‘What the hell?’

  Chapter 41

  Hannah

  The volume on the TV cranked up and Hannah recognised the pre-game build-up of Grand Final Day: nervous excitement, crowd noise, special interviews, then Meat Loaf singing, really badly. So, it must early afternoon Saturday.

  Slowly, she worked it out.

  We left the camp Wednesday afternoon…

  She counted out Wednesday to Saturday.

  Three days ago. And sometime Thursday, Haydn, who turned out to be Ealdy, picked me up. Now it’s Saturday…

  She counted out again – it shouldn’t be this hard to think.

  So I’ve been here about two-and-a-half days.

  She jumped at a noise from the other room, but it was just Ealdy and Dicko sounding bored and drunk again. She went back to trying to work out how to get away from here, considering she could hardly walk and one of them was always nearby.

  All of a sudden, they were yelling.

  ‘Donga can sing better than that chick, can’t ya, mate?’ Ealdy made some stupid noises and the rottie started barking and snarling.

  Hannah hated the dog.

  ‘Fucken boring.’

  They muted the telly, the dog settled, and Hannah could hear them talking.

  ‘We still doing the gig tonight?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Ealdy laughed. ‘Gonna pick us up something that’ll perk the bitch up. It’s time to have some fun.’ He whooped.

  Hannah curled into a ball, shivering.

  ‘What about her – while we’re out, like?’

  She sat up fast, making her head swim. But she was excited. Maybe they were going to leave her here. Maybe she could get out while they were gone.

  ‘She’ll be right. She can’t get outta that room. The door’ll be locked and Donga will make sure the bitch don’t go anywhere, won’t ya, mate?’

  Ealdy made more stupid noises and the dog went berko.

  Georgie gaped at the incoming text. ‘Broken ankle. Gotta turn ph off. L8er. K x’

  She speed-dialled Kat but it went straight to voicemail.

  The poor kid. She hoped the break was clean, so it would heal fast and well, but it would have to be hurting like hell. Kat had finished a full day’s comb through the National Park and hobbled around until the next morning, when not her dad or Georgie but the detective from Lilydale had pointed out that she needed to get the ankle seen to.

  Guilt-racked, Georgie tried Josh’s phone: same result.

  She wanted to speak with Franklin, although Kat would’ve messaged him too. And after this morning, she wasn’t sure he’d take her call. She took the coward’s route and thumbed him a text, then turned her mind back to The Basin teenager. Anything but face things closer to home.

  A hush fell and the people strewn around the room watched Ando’s approach. Sam hung back – she wasn’t supposed to be privy to briefings. A couple of coppers stood up to roll their shoulders. Sloppy posture and smothered yawns showed the team’s collective exhaustion.

  Tiredness made Sam hyperaware. The room smelt musty from too many bodies, lights and computers, dregs of coffee and leftover food. To her, it was the smell of desperation and expectation.

  Jules Manthorp joined Ando. ‘Find anything?’

  ‘Doongalla was as good as it got.’ Ando gave a concise report, losing the detective’s attention at the end.

  Sam followed her gaze to the kitchen doorway. Ness, motionless, with her fiancé holding her arm. The mother wobbled, frail and unsteady, as she searched the room. She fixed on Jules and shuffled forward, with Duane guiding her around the people and objects she would have bumped into. His emotions were hidden.

  Vikki hovered nearby. She must have relieved Carol. Sam imagined the liaison role would be draining, necessitating regular timeouts.

  Vikki mouthed to Jules I’m sorry.

  The detective nodded and stepped forward to steady Ness. ‘You should try to rest – I’ve been calling you with regular updates.’

  The mother inhaled. The breath juddered on the way in and came out as a long sigh. ‘You tell me how to rest with my babies out there.’ Her tone was heavy, crushed.

  Sam covered her mouth for a second, then snatched away her hand, ashamed of her emotional reaction.

  ‘How do I rest not knowing what they’re going through or if they’re coming home.’ Not really a question and still aimed at the detective.

  Jules gave Ness’s arm a light squeeze.

  ‘All we do is drive around and look for them. We check our posters and fix them if they’ve torn or replace the ones that’ve blown away. We find people to talk to, to ask them if they’ve seen my babies…but it’s all useless.’

  The effort of stringing those sentences together seemed to deplete her. She looked at the ceiling, maybe sending up a prayer. Sam felt ghoulish but couldn’t look away when tears rolled down Ness’s cheeks, highlighting the newly concaved shape to her face.

  ‘How do people get through this?’

  Vikki’s face creased with lines not normally there, grief getting to her too.

  ‘What’s worse?’ Ness ran her gaze over each person. ‘To know what’s happened or to never find out?’

  Sam sensed that she didn’t expect answers. She saw that Georgie had joined the group and Lunny watched from another spot. He looked fragile too.

  Ness’s chin lifted. With her eyes rooted once more on Jules she said, ‘Should I ask Zena Betka’s mum how she copes – to find out if what they’re saying on the news is true?’

  The guy next to Sam gulped.

  ‘To see if we can work out who our babies have in common and whether some evil predator lurks among them?’

  Franklin’s job had been part of the reason his marriage failed and it had robbed him of countless hours with his kid over the years. How many times had he called Kat and tried to explain why he’d be late home, miss her netball final or not make it to parent–teacher interviews? Ever-conscious of being a single parent, he hated when work distracted him or kept him away. Although she could stay with Lunny and Maeve or her best friend Lisa any time, it sucked when she
threw a hissy fit, or worse, went sad and silent because he’d let her down. Again.

  But the job’s no excuse for not noticing my daughter has a broken bloody ankle or for leaving it to Josh to take her to the doc’s.

  Their farewell this morning had been a connection of eyes and nods. He’d scruffed her long hair and pulled her into a rough hug, thinking there were no words needed – couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Franklin stood on the verandah of their cottage, facing Raglan Street but seeing nothing. He felt torn, wanting to jump back on the Ninja and ride full-pelt until he reached Kat, while knowing she’d be furious if he did. She’d sagely point out that he wasn’t able to fix the break or do anything for her that Josh couldn’t, and tell him to follow through on inquiries here, not waste a second because of her ankle.

  She had an old head on young shoulders mostly…she’d need it if she still wanted to be a cop after this.

  His thoughts shifted from Kat. He’d seen a lot as a copper, things he’d never forget. He’d attended gruesome fatalities, done death knocks, handled missing persons files – always much worse if the victims were kids. But this situation suddenly seemed out of his league.

  He chewed over the three missing locals and The Basin girl who’d vanished four months ago. His mind fixated on the parents’ agony in both cases, their bleak future if their children weren’t brought home safely.

  Franklin’s chest tightened. His heart went out to any parent who had to bury their child, even more so if the child died a violent death. Equally, he wouldn’t wish upon them the endless wonder and wretched hope that came with an unsolved disappearance.

  He let out a sigh and headed for the bathroom, took a dip under the shower so quick the water hadn’t heated by the time he finished, donned fresh clothes and left again.

  Minutes later, he arrived at the cop shop, just a block and a half away, letting the front door bang behind him.

  ‘Hey, mate.’ Scott Hart lifted a hand from the front counter in a wave. ‘You made it.’

  Franklin saw worry behind Harty’s laidback greeting and responded with a friendly back slap when he came abreast.

  Voices drifted from down the short hallway and he listened, making out multiple males and at least one female, then followed the racket to the kitchen.

  When Franklin ducked around the doorway, everyone froze mid-word, mid-action. Their smiles fell.

  He said, ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I’m on catering.’

  He heard Maeve before he saw her, as the petite older woman was lost in the mass of bulky bodies packed into the tiny space, most in blue monkey suits with hefty equipment belts, two blokes in civvies.

  She squeezed through to reach Franklin, then hauled him downwards into a hug so intense it made his Adam’s apple swell. He whispered, ‘Hey, Second Mum.’

  He didn’t see much of his real mum. She lived on the other side of Victoria and was currently doing the grey-nomad thing around Australia with his dad. Somewhere over the years since Lunny had been at Daylesford—even before he’d taken over as Officer-in-Charge from Bill Noonan—he and his wife Maeve had stepped in as Kat and Franklin’s second family, and he doubted he’d have survived single parenthood without them. Even before the meandering caravan trip, his parents’ active retiree life and the geographical gap between them, added to the logistics of fitting in his shifts and kid commitments, made it difficult for them to play a bigger role.

  He extracted himself from Maeve saying, ‘And what’re the rest of you ugly bastards doing here?’

  Every available team member from Daylesford plus two from Trentham grinned.

  Maeve said, ‘Nightshift came in early.’

  Franklin cocked an eyebrow, then glanced at the blokes not rostered on at all. ‘And you’ve got nothing more important to do?’

  ‘Bloody oath,’ one of the Trentham cops said.

  It was too much for Franklin. He slapped his hands together. ‘Slam, make one of those for me, will ya?’

  He pointed to the spoonful of coffee his mate Mick Sprague had held suspended over a mug since Franklin’s arrival. He yelled out the door, ‘Harty, get your arse in here. Time for a briefing.’

  Sam was next to Dean Pickett at the urn when he answered his mobile. She snuck glances, watching his face transform. He did a fist-pump.

  Happy about something.

  A moment later, his expression soured. ‘Everything is pertinent to this investigation until it’s proven otherwise.’ He stabbed the air.

  Her shoulders sagged. The call wasn’t going well after all.

  Pickett spelt it out for the person on the phone and incidentally for Sam. ‘Mrs Belfrage, do you understand what we have here?’

  She lifted her eyebrows.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry that you feel that way. But let me explain it to you: three young children staying as guests in your home disappeared from here on Wednesday afternoon during the worst storm of the year. Are you following?’

  Sam pretended not to listen as she made a coffee. But the detective went on to paint such a dire picture that she doubted she’d stomach the brew, especially when he added, ‘Imagine what it’s like for a five-year-old who hasn’t eaten for three days.’

  Lucky Vikki took Ness and Duane back to her place – imagine Ness hearing this.

  Dean’s tone hardened. ‘Now…I need to know why your marriage has broken down and why you fled to England and if that may have a bearing here. Also, do you know or suspect anything about the children’s disappearance?’

  He tapped a foot and Sam noticed his black leather shoes were scuffed and smeared with caked-on mud. For the next minute or so, the person on the other end of the line did all the talking. She tried to hear Catherine Belfrage but couldn’t.

  Dean grabbed his notepad. ‘Hang on.’ He scribbled, saying, ‘“He’s not the man I thought he was and I couldn’t stay with him, knowing that.” What do you mean, specifically?’

  Sam’s mind boggled.

  ‘I understand it’s personal.’ Pickett paced across the kitchen.

  Her coffee made, Sam was out of excuses for lingering, yet she stayed.

  ‘I’m the detective. I’ll decide if it’s relevant.’ He halted. ‘Naturally. Unless it’s pertinent to our investigation, it won’t be in the public domain.’

  Sam watched his fingers slowly splay.

  ‘An affair? For your entire relationship?’ His eyes widened. ‘Even longer? And the other party?’

  Sam wondered if other party meant Patrick Belfrage was into men.

  Or little boys.

  Acid tossed in her stomach.

  ‘Please…no…tell me. It could be important. No, don’t –’

  Dean glared at his phone, then connected eyes with Sam. She didn’t have the chance to speak because of a commotion in the next room.

  Raised voices drew Georgie to the doorway. She saw Manthorp move to block the notations on the main white board.

  ‘Back off, Sergeant Lunny. Your role concluded with the search.’

  Georgie wondered what he’d done to piss off Manthorp. She and her friends from Daylesford had kept a low profile, staying out of the detective’s sight as much as possible, sneaking snippets of information when she and Dean weren’t around. Manthorp knew they were spending time at Upalong, but seemed satisfied that she’d stymied them.

  Until now.

  ‘Little kids from my town, missing under my watch…’ Lunny squared his shoulders. ‘I won’t be sidelined.’

  ‘Already happened.’ Manthorp beckoned to Pickett, who’d entered from the kitchen with Sam. ‘Get this lot out of here.’ She gestured at Lunny, then Sam, before she twisted around to include Georgie.

  Georgie bit her tongue. She was the biggest outcast here as a journo; whatever she said would dig them into a deeper hole.

  Lunny crossed his arms and stared down the approaching detective.

  ‘C’mon, mate. Go with Dean,’ Manthorp coaxed. ‘Don’t make it worse.’ />
  Could it be any worse?

  The sarge hiked his brows. ‘Ah, you think I’m worried about bloody IA?’ He used the acronym for the outdated Internal Affairs department. ‘Do I give a rat’s about consequences? I’m the sarge at a country station, I’m not looking for promotion. If push comes to shove, what’s a couple of years early for retirement compared with standing by and not doing my best for these kids?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Manthorp looked sorry too, but she shook her head and motioned to Pickett to evict them.

  They gathered on the front steps. Georgie wondered how they’d get back to Ando’s, given that Josh had taken the minivan that morning. Then Bernie arrived in his marked four-wheel drive. The timing felt suss, especially as Lunny appeared calm after his run-in with Manthorp. When Bernie joined them, she glanced at both men, wondering if they’d cooked up the drama.

  ‘Got it?’

  Lunny jiggled his brows, but instead of answering, he pulled out his notebook and scribbled for two minutes.

  He flashed the pad at them. ‘These are the residents who live adjacent to the National Park who have yet to be interviewed.’

  Bernie said, ‘You little ripper.’

  Chapter 42

  The crew filled Franklin in on their progress—nothing, but not for want of trying—along with general station happenings. They had plenty of manpower to cover his back and agreed with the Lilydale detective that he was best placed to work inquiries with the local kids. As Kat’s dad, coach of the under 15s footy team, ambassador of the boxing studio and organiser of youth events, he’d built good relationships.

  So he was free to focus on just this case, even after he officially clocked on at 6.00pm. The others had been tasked and Franklin was left propping up the fridge, thinking.

  Jules Manthorp had told him to find the link. Where to start?

  He decided on Hannah’s closest friends. He checked the time: 4.00pm. Arriving on locals’ doorsteps uninvited midway through the Grand Final would normally go down like a lead balloon. But the interruption was vital and going now meant the families were likely to be at home in front of their TV sets, the kids right on hand.