Hannah
The footy was over, so it had to be night. Hannah wished Ealdy and Dicko would leave for their gig. The waiting was killing her. Her head hurt from too many thoughts.
What if they don’t go?
How am I going to get out of this room?
Where will they leave the dog?
How close is the nearest road or neighbour?
What if they turn out to be just as horrible?
Is that poor girl okay…or is she dead?
OMG, am I going to end up dead?
She calmed herself thinking the anxiety attack was a good thing – at least while she was freaking out she wouldn’t fall asleep.
Then she got onto new worries. Had she overdone her exercises in bed? Her body ached and she felt dizzy when she moved her head. Guessing that tonight would be her only chance to get away, she was scared she’d stuffed up before she’d even started.
She didn’t get the sense they were leaving anytime soon. They were rehearsing with proper drums, guitar and stuff, although it sounded terrible to her, kind of violent and messy.
She wished they’d leave. And she was so tired.
With crosses against two names, Sam wondered if they should go to the next on the list or backtrack to one they’d missed earlier.
‘Let’s vote. Gordana-no-surname or back to Green Health?’
Bernie checked the list. ‘We’re closer to Frank Street, so we’ll drop in on Gordana, and the next one on your list’s closer than Green Health, so we’ll try that in between.’
Sam nodded. ‘Frank Street it is.’
Maeve handed a mug to Harty as Franklin entered the muster room.
Harty sniffed appreciatively before taking a sip and the sarge’s wife passed a second cuppa to Franklin.
‘Hoy! That was mine.’ Slam pointed, then laughed.
Franklin swallowed a mouthful. ‘And it’s oh, so good too.’ He turned serious. ‘Anything yet, Harty?’
‘How long you been in the job?’
‘Over twenty years.’
Harty grinned. ‘How many times have I heard you whinge about things taking too long?’
‘A few hundred thousand.’
They chuckled.
Harty suddenly twisted back to his computer screen. ‘Someone’s just replied on a public post on Rikki’s wall.’
Franklin read over his shoulder. ‘“Where are ya slut?”’
Harty went to the poster’s page. ‘Slut’s not a very nice nickname for your friend, Nada Sofele.’
‘Why the hell do some girls call each other sluts and bitches as if it’s a compliment?’
His mate didn’t answer, but clicked, bringing up a larger picture of Nada. ‘Rikki and Nada are virtually clones, except Rikki’s sandy-blonde and Nada’s black-haired.’
Harty went back to Rikki’s page. ‘I’d have to say –’
Franklin suggested, ‘They look adult? And like they’re trying to be sexy?’
‘Something like that.’ Harty twisted his mouth. He clicked and typed while he talked. ‘I’d try to friend Rikki except it wouldn’t work.’
Franklin tipped his head, confused.
‘Hannah knows me from the boxing studio and around town, so it’d be better to set up a fake account as a girl her age. But I don’t have time to make it look legit.’
‘Why?’
‘People look at users with brand new accounts as dodgy. The techies are probably all over that: no doubt they have various identities good to go for situations like this.’
‘Imagine working on slimy cases all the time.’ Franklin grimaced. Cyber and sex crime investigations often overlapped and too many of the victims were kids or young women. ‘I couldn’t work in a unit that dealt with sick shit every day.’
Maeve gave a cluck of her tongue, reminding him that she was still in the room. She was a veteran cop’s wife, but also a mother and grandmother, so he’d better tone it down.
He rubbed his chin, mulling over what Harty had said. People could set up fake accounts – though it took time to make them realistic. ‘How do we know that Hannah set up this Rikki James thing?’
‘Whether she put it online or someone else did,’ Harty pointed to the screen, ‘she’s taken selfies or let someone photograph her, and on more than one occasion – look at the background, lighting, her hair and makeup…’
Harty flicked across to Myspace and dug around Rikki’s profile. Franklin stared at the girl on screen. It could boil down to Hanny craving to be what she normally wasn’t: out there and sexy instead of fuggly, as the boys at school called her. She might not have meant her secret online life to go further and it could be unrelated to the kids’ disappearance.
His shoulders knotted.
What has Hanny done?
He stared deeper into the photo. All dolled up and smiling, but Franklin thought Hannah/Rikki looked incredibly sad. Like a little lost girl.
Which is what she is.
He swivelled on his heel, almost taking out Maeve as he crossed the room to his desk.
Haydn-fucking-Wylder, I’m coming to get you.
Sam suppressed her fear that nothing would come from their calls tonight.
God, this sucks.
After a rush of good old Catholic guilt, she vowed not to lose faith and analysed the person they were soon to meet.
Apparently, Gordana was a naturopath who worked from home. Her place was off the beaten track so she might treat only a small number of clients. Someone may’ve brought the kids in, spinning a believable story. She could’ve provided treatment, oblivious to the truth.
They travelled along a narrow, steep road, before Bernie turned onto an even narrower, rutted lane. As they bumped along, Sam’s heartbeat galloped. The properties here were virtually bush blocks and the private setting worked for and against them. Less through traffic decreased odds that Gordana had come across the kids, but it increased the chances that she kept to herself and was slow to hear news—like the jogger, Terri—perhaps yet to realise she’d seen or heard something pertinent.
The truck bounced to a stop outside a driveway almost at the end of Frank Street. Sam disengaged her seatbelt and leaned between the two front seats but couldn’t see signs of a house. Except for the farm-style fencing and gate at the front, the property could’ve been part of the National Park.
They had passed some time with safe topics and AJ seemed to be waiting for her to initiate a real conversation.
Georgie owed him that much and drew his gaze.
‘You’re a good man. Did we meet at the wrong time or grow at different paces in different directions?’
He tilted his head, not breaking their eye contact.
‘You were ready for marriage, kids, the whole domestic deal. And maybe I want that package too. But I’m not cut out to be a stay-at-home mum.’
He half-smiled and nodded. ‘True.’
‘You need a domestic goddess that’ll wow the pants off your law buddies, not someone who throws herself so deeply into projects that she might forget to turn up at a dinner party or arrive sporting a black eye.’
They chuckled. It held a brittle edge.
The reference to her work made Georgie think about the missing kids and her stomach clenched. She needed to go soon, put herself back into the search. But seeing him again was harder than she’d imagined. Especially with his puppy-dog eyes fixed on her.
Franklin ran licence and vehicle checks for Haydn Wylder, followed by any Wylders in Croydon. Nothing.
What a bastard.
Next, he looked for outstanding warrants for anyone by that surname living in that region. Then the state. But no matches.
A White Pages search came up with no hits for the surname Wylder in Croydon, but Franklin knew not to read much into that. Plenty of people didn’t bother with landlines these days, relying on mobiles instead. Or the Wylders could have a silent number.
He contacted the Croydon Police station, thinking if the local cops knew the Wylder ki
d or his family it’d save hours of sweat. Luckily, he struck a desk sarge as laconic in questions as his answers and Franklin didn’t have to justify his interest beyond ‘a potential link to an active case’.
Interestingly, the other copper recognised the name—apparently, he wasn’t the first to inquire after Haydn Wylder—but he had no knowledge of him.
After ending the call, he opened the link Georgie had sent, set to run the number plate through the system. He squinted making out OUQ1. The next digit could be a 7. No idea for the last.
He swore.
Slam yelled across the room, ‘Need a hand?’
Franklin started to answer when his phone rang.
‘Mate.’ It was Ando. ‘Ready for an update?’
Sam jumped back in the truck after opening the gate.
‘Driveway’s a shocker.’ Bernie drove slowly, curving sharply around thick-based gums, spindly blackwood trees, native shrubs and ferns two-storeys tall. Sticks hit the undercarriage of the truck with loud thuds as they took another bend.
Then she glimpsed part of a cottage: three-quarters of a tin roof and the apex of a small portico. Bush garden obscured the rest. As they approached, she saw a series of steps carved into the ground that wound up to the entrance.
Although her practical side considered the risk of bushfires and the limited access in emergencies, she fell a little bit in love with the property. Instead of dominating the landscape, the cottage blended in. Sam could just about imagine living there. As they exited the police truck and shut their doors with a succession of bangs, kookaburras cackled nearby. It made the place seem even more the stuff of fairy tales.
Franklin sat straight. ‘You bet.’
Ando chuckled. ‘They forget I’m here. Okay,’ her tone switched to serious, ‘Catherine Belfrage still hasn’t elaborated on her husband’s long-term affair. It must be bad. If she knows something about him and kiddie-fiddling, as someone put it, or whatever gross things he does, why won’t she say?’
Franklin pictured the buttoned-up owner of Upalong and the kind of woman he’d marry: society type, trophy wife, everything would be about appearances and any skeletons would be buried to save face.
‘They’re not her kids and she’s not here…it hasn’t touched her.’
Ando growled, then changed subject. ‘By the way, Elke had a boy. A nine-pounder.’
He whistled.
‘Computer nerds are working overtime trying to access Rikki’s Facebook page.’
‘I was hoping they’d be in by now.’
‘A problem with jurisdiction. Murky waters because Facebook’s HQ’s in the US. Jules has argued the kids are in imminent danger, but she’s still waiting on an intersection warrant.’
‘Interception warrant,’ Franklin corrected, impressed by how much Ando had taken in.
‘Yep.’
‘How long –’
‘Days to weeks.’
‘We don’t have –’
‘But, the techies’re trying some backdoor ideas.’
Franklin already knew much more than he wanted to about Facebook and guessed, ‘A friend request?’
‘Yep.’
‘That’s too bloody passive. She probably can’t get online.’ Tension banged at the back of his eyes.
‘They think the quickest bet’ll be permission from a parent or guardian.’
‘Because Hanny’s a minor.’
The theory was good, but Ness being under sedation at Knox Hospital was a major complication. As Duane and Ness weren’t married, he wasn’t the kids’ stepdad yet.
‘We’re stuffed with Ness being out of the loop.’
‘Jules is all over it. She’s going to see if the natural father will consent. But if that doesn’t work, she’s sure she can convince a judge that Duane is an appropriate stand-in.’
‘It’s going to take too long.’ Franklin ran his fingers through his hair. ‘What about Hannah using an alias? Will that be a problem?’
‘Nope. Jules will get Duane to identify Hannah as the owner of Rikki James’s page. The mobile being Hannah’s with a message to Rikki helps too – it’ll be good.’
‘So, after they dot their i’s and cross their t’s, they’ll hack in and get full access to her activities?’
‘Once they break her password.’
They spoke for a few more minutes. Franklin twinged with guilt when the SES woman filled him in on his daughter. He’d exchanged texts with Kat, but hadn’t managed the phone call he wanted to make. As it turned out, Josh was more than looking after her, which made Franklin uncomfortable: he knew how teenage boys ticked. But at least he didn’t have to worry about the two of them following up some harebrained idea on their own tonight, and he knew where they were.
Unlike Georgie.
After Ando disconnected, Franklin finally answered Slam. ‘Write a list of possible passwords for Rikki’s Facebook account.’
‘How long’s a piece of string?’
Slam’s use of one of Lunny’s sayings made Franklin’s mouth quirk.
Slam grumbled about ‘Thousands of possible combos’ and he shrugged.
‘Manthorp’s following protocols, wasting time we haven’t got on permissions, judges, warrants and other bullshit. We have to try whatever we can.’
It didn’t matter how many lines he blurred or crossed.
‘Start with Hannah’s family and her best friends.’ He wrote down the names, added dates of birth for the three Savage kids, tore off the page and handed it to Slam. ‘Her favourite colour is green but we might have to ask Bianca for her favourite number.’
‘What can I do?’
Franklin glanced at Harty. ‘Can you access Rikki’s Facebook friends?’
He nodded. ‘Anyone can – it’s set to public. I’ve started going through them.’
‘Good job.’ Franklin appreciated his mate’s initiative but checked, ‘You’re looking for familiar faces, putting names through LEAP?’
There was a chance something would jump out from the central cop database.
‘Yes.’
Franklin gave him a thumbs-up. ‘Put that on pause a sec. What can you find on a Haydn Wylder?’ He spelt it out. ‘Is he one of Rikki’s friends?’
His mate nodded again.
Bingo bango.
‘Give us a look.’
Chapter 46
Franklin, Slam and Maeve bunched around Harty, all staring at the head-and-shoulders shot on screen.
‘That’s not the bloke Georgie flagged as suss.’ Franklin brought the others up to speed. ‘But the name Matt Gunnerson supplied belongs to this friend of Rikki.’
Slam did a fist-pump.
‘Oh, hell.’ A pained look washed over Maeve’s face. ‘So there’s a definite connection between that poor child, Zena, and our missing three?’
Franklin’s mouth a grim line, he nodded, eyes pinned again on Wylder.
Mid-to-late teens, Caucasian, small close-set brown eyes, dark brown hair.
He took in the boy’s hairstyle, open flannelette shirt over a blue T-shirt.
Clean-shaven, neat and presentable.
He put himself in Hannah or Kat’s shoes. He supposed Haydn would seem to be a nice bloke, good-looking too.
He said, ‘What do we know about him?’
Harty clicked around, then screwed up his face. ‘Not a whole lot without being friends – just his profile pics and a few public posts.’
‘We need a chick with an existing profile that’ll help us out,’ Slam put in. ‘Someone that’ll friend this wanker.’
Franklin spoke over him. ‘Not Kat.’
There was no way he’d expose her to a potential slime ball, even for the sake of the Savage kids.
He added, ‘Can’t ask Hanny’s friends either – they’re hurting enough.’
Harty rubbed the nape of his neck. ‘Can’t be anyone domiciled to this area. Wylder’d be wary of that with the timing and it might push him underground.’
Franklin shut his ey
es, sighing internally. The only female he could think of that didn’t live around here who would let them take over her account to lure Wylder out was Georgie.
How often had she said she hated wasting time on social media? She was into LinkedIn, but only because her editor made her do some networking, and she occasionally lurked on Twitter for research. As far as he knew, she still had Facebook but never used it. She could probably hide posts about Daylesford, the camp, him and Kat that would give the game away, although he suspected there wouldn’t be any.
Franklin drew out his phone, answering Harty’s cocked brows with, ‘Georgie.’
His blood pressure rose with every unanswered ring. He imagined Georgie checking her phone, seeing the caller was him and re-pocketing it. Or not even noticing.
Too busy doing what?
He groaned when it switched to her message, causing Maeve to shoot him a concerned glance. Leaving a terse, ‘Ring me,’ he avoided Slam’s stare and couldn’t look at Maeve when she gave his shoulder a pat.
‘I’ll fix you a plate of dinner.’
Maeve moved towards the kitchen.
Franklin had to focus. He asked Harty, ‘Any of those profile pics show this Wylder person with a vehicle?’
‘Nah.’
‘Any of his posts feature a car?’
Harty cocked his head, waiting for more.
‘Specifically, a maroon merc or black Porsche?’
The doorbell tinkled and faded away. Twenty seconds later, Bernie rapped on the door. Just as they were exchanging shrugs, it opened.
Sam took in the woman’s fuchsia velvet floor-length dress with its bat-winged black lace corset over the top and the halo of fresh flowers perched on her long, corkscrewed red hair.
Oh God, another weirdo.
The woman blocked the doorway. Even though Bernie wore full police uniform and Sam and Lunny were in official police trackies with fluoro vests, her expression was guarded.
‘Gordana?’
‘Yes.’
She swept her gaze over them and Sam noticed her eyes change between hazel, grey, green and blue. She wanted to see it again and had to stop herself from staring.
Into the Fog Page 25