‘You may have seen or heard on the news –’ Bernie launched into his well-practised story and Sam switched off, covertly watching Gordana; she felt magnetised and couldn’t work out if that was a good or bad sensation.
Bernie managed to talk their way inside. The cottage was tiny and cave-like, with a low ceiling. But that could’ve been an illusion created by the cluttered, overly feminine décor—hanging crystals, floral-patterned ceiling and walls, purple crushed velvet curtains—and the walk-in open fireplace better suited to Upalong House.
Bernie and Gordana were talking. Lunny had his head tilted as he studied the naturopath and Sam wandered over to warm her hands at the fire.
She noticed photographs on the mantel. The woman behind her featured in several, dressed quite like she was now. In some of the photos, people danced with ribbons. In others, it looked like any picnic with friends, except for the odd outfits.
Sam’s heart fluttered as she plucked up one of the pictures, thinking she saw Hannah in the background, but this image was a lot older than the others. And it wasn’t Hannah, but a young Gordana.
Sam felt a tug and Gordana took the photo. The woman gently steered Sam away, then waved the visitors to sit. No one did.
Sam wondered about the significance of the photograph.
Is Gordana a relation? A half-sister or cousin?
Maybe she’d arranged for them to meet up.
But they’d done checks on the kids’ extended family and found none in the area. Did they miss her somehow?
Bernie went on with his questions. His easy-going manner disguised the intensity Sam saw in his eyes. Her senses went into high alert and his voice seemed to boom against the walls.
Until only days before the camp, they were going to Silvan, planning on bushwalking around the 1000 Steps or in Sherbrooke Forest, not the park next door. So how could Gordana manage a meet-up with so little notice? And if she was related, why not connect with the kids through Ness? Why would she want to take them?
Sam didn’t have the answers, but instinctively knew this woman was involved.
Harty sat on the edge of his chair staring at his screen. ‘If you mean a black Porsche Boxster, around a ’97 or ’98 model convertible –’
Franklin shot back, ‘Yep. Number plate?’
‘OUQ159.’
He reined in the buzz.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. There’s a lot of footwork to come.
He ran the Porsche plate. Miss on Haydn Wylder, it was owned by a Trent Ealding of Boronia, a suburb at the base of Mount Dandenong.
He pulled up Ealding’s licence photo. Definitely the man Georgie had flagged in Zena’s pics. On Wylder’s Facebook page the Porsche was captioned, ‘check out my new wheels – just need my Ps’.
Rikki James is Hanny’s alias. Why can’t Haydn Wylder be Ealding’s – using another bloke’s pics?
He dug into the system. Aside from a drink-drive five years back and a few traffic infringements, Trent Ealding’s record was clean. But Franklin’s gut told him the bloke wasn’t clean, he’d just flown under the radar. Until now.
He tapped a pen against his teeth. They had to be careful how they approached Ealding/Wylder. Sending a blue-and-white around to his address with sirens and lights blazing was a definite no. They wouldn’t get one foot inside his door without a warrant. And they wouldn’t get a warrant without probable cause, which they didn’t have.
Yet.
If they tipped him off, Ealding would panic, do the worst to the kids—and Zena, if she was still alive—and run.
To catch a slime ball, you gotta be equally slimy.
Franklin glanced at his mobile knowing Georgie hadn’t responded.
How long does it take to have a drink with your ex? I can tell you exactly how long it’d take with mine: long enough to skol a pot. And that’s more time than she’s given her daughter on the phone in twelve bloody months.
Aware he was combining his frustrations about Georgie, his ex-wife and the case, he gave his forehead a thump with the heel of his hand. He needed to block Georgie from his mind until she called back. Meanwhile, they couldn’t do much to backdoor into Wylder’s Facebook account. But they could keep trying to break Rikki’s password and continue working through her long list of online friends to see if anyone bar Wylder stood out.
The biggest regret of a copper was having ignored other possibilities when what they’d fixated on turned out to be a dead-end.
Bernie showed Gordana the flyer with the kids’ photos and Sam saw a flicker of emotion in those weird multi-coloured eyes. Recognition…or guilt?
‘– seen these kids?’
The woman shook her head.
Sam said, ‘You know Hannah, Riley and Cooper Savage, don’t you, Gordana?’
She stared through her.
‘I couldn’t help but notice the resemblance between Hanny and you.’ Sam indicated to the mantle.
Gordana’s face crumpled, but she didn’t speak.
Sam came closer, making the other woman meet her gaze. ‘Their mother is in hospital with the stress of all this. She’s desperate for her children to come home safely –’
‘Then why did she abandon them?’
Gordana’s eyes held a sheen of tears. Sam was getting through.
‘She didn’t. They were on camp, staying at a house –’
‘No.’ Gordana’s head shook continuously.
‘Yes, they were with –’
‘They were dumped in the bush.’ Her voice pitched. She’d paled, making the red of her hair more vibrant.
‘Where are they?’ Lunny demanded, startling Sam. She’d been so intent on Gordana, she’d forgotten about him and Bernie.
The woman did another headshake, a whole-body movement that made her gown swoosh. Sam saw her eyes shift before she sagged and Lunny rushed to support her.
Sam followed Gordana’s tiny tell, her hyperactive brain noting vivid details as she moved closer to velvet that was a similar colour to the woman’s dress. Conscious of the weight and bulk of her boots. That her gait was clumsy. And her hands were clammy as she drew aside the curtain and stared at a double bed.
A blanket made up of squares in a rainbow of colours draped over the bed. It looked hand-knitted. And two little bodies lay like soldiers underneath. Colourless faces lying still on pillows. Small pyramids over toes, one set higher up the bed than the other.
Unmoving, but thank God a slight rise and fall at chest level. Breathing. Alive.
But where’s Hannah?
Chapter 47
Harty and Slam worked at their Facebook tasks, while Franklin’s priority was Ealding/Wylder. At best, Ealding was a stalker. But at worst, and in all likelihood, he was a predator – sexual, sadistic. Although he had a clean record, he had probably been building to this, escalating to a hunter with no limits.
It disgusted Franklin to have to immerse himself in Ealding’s sick-fuck world. And treading so close to a tripwire that would send Ealding underground scared him more than he’d admit to anyone, even Georgie.
He called in favours and crossed lines that would inevitably come back to haunt him. He might be looking for a new job after this.
A mate from his academy days was doing a drive-by of Ealding’s address: unofficial and in her spare time. She’d promised to report soon. And another mate who’d left the force after two years as a bitter alcoholic but had since turned sober and opened a security and investigations business was working his connections.
Franklin considered his next step. Ealding had accumulated a variety of vehicles and currently owned a HiAce van on top of the merc and Porsche, all registered. The second-hand value for each was under twenty grand, but added together that was a fair bit for a bloke in his mid-twenties. It might be interesting to find out where he’d gotten the money.
It also told them that he liked to collect material things. So, while Ealding rented the Boronia house with a fellow named Troy Dickson, maybe he’d acquired real estate
elsewhere?
Franklin ran a fresh search.
Georgie rolled her wrist in her lap but it was too shadowy to read the time. She rested her elbow on the table and snuck a glance.
AJ caught her wrist and stroked the skin. ‘You’re wearing the charm bracelet.’
Disconcerted by his touch, Georgie fingered the bracelet he gave her last Christmas. The charms signified luck, safety, wisdom, happiness and more.
She said truthfully, ‘Always.’
Franklin thumped the desk.
Why couldn’t it be like the movies?
In the Disney world, he’d have run a search, found Ealding owned a property, gone there and brought the kids home. But nothing had come up in Ealding’s name. Of course, he operated under one alias known to them and he could have others – Franklin had seen it numerous times before.
His phone rang: Ando’s name on the screen.
She said, ‘I’ll be brief. Ness’s still out of it, so they can’t get her authority on the Facebook thing. The father’s a tosser and would rather not get involved. His real family is up there in Queensland.’
They swore simultaneously.
‘Jules is going with Duane as stand-in guardian. She’ll take the paperwork to a judge first thing in the morning and expects it’ll be rubberstamped immediately.’
‘While another twelve or so hours are lost…’ Franklin groaned.
‘Yep. Oh, and Belfrage is off the hook. His wife called back. She’s divorcing him because he’s had a bit on the side since before they tied the knot. He likes them young, but not as young as Hannah, and he’s got a thing for Asians. His girlfriend’s twenty-two and Vietnamese.’
‘You know some sickos don’t discriminate on gender or even a type of victim? It’s not always about sex, as such, either.’ Franklin’s skin crawled.
‘Yep. But Jules is satisfied he’s not a suspect – for now.’
Ando wrapped up and Franklin dipped into the system again, this time looking at Ealding’s housemate, Dickson.
Yet another breach of protocol that could come back to bite.
Improperly accessing or distributing LEAP records had seen better cops than him out of the job. But he had to do all he could.
He read the screen, sweat beading above his lip.
Dickson had form.
Hannah
Hannah jolted awake, freaking out because she hadn’t meant to fall asleep. A dead weight pulled at her eyelids again. She drifted, everything fading. Then a door slammed and she jumped. Seconds later came the grinding roll a sliding van door makes, followed by a bang.
Her eyes swivelled in the dark as she listened. Ealdy and Dicko were talking but their voices were muffled. They were outside the house, she guessed. After another bang of a door, the dog went berko and one of them, probably Ealdy, told it to shut up.
This is it.
They were packing up their gear. Any minute now they’d take off to the gig and she could escape. Pity she still didn’t have the how worked out.
Hannah’s stomach hit the floor when she heard them come back into the house, into her room. She pretended to be asleep and smelt beer, cigarettes and the weird odour she’d picked up a lot here – something sickly sweet and burnt, a bit like tomatoes and old hessian bags. She’d wondered if it was drugs.
She felt warm breath on her cheek and knew one or both of them were right there, in her face, but jerked when they touched her. She knew it was Ealdy from his horrible laugh.
She stayed still but squirmed on the inside, as he ran a finger down her neck, digging into her skin. He went lower, dragging at her clothes, making her top pull up the back of her neck.
He found her boob and squeezed it much harder than he’d done other times. Hannah didn’t mean to, but she whimpered. Her fear got almost suffocating when Ealdy squeezed and twisted her other boob and tried to kiss her. She blocked his tongue.
He pissed himself laughing, then punched her shoulder. It really hurt but she didn’t show it – she was proud of that.
‘Gonna have to hose you off before I do you later. You stink, bitch.’
Hannah gagged, tasting sick in her mouth. If she couldn’t get away while Ealdy and Dicko were out, she wanted to die trying.
It had to be better than being raped…and whatever else Ealdy had planned.
Chapter 48
Franklin checked the time: 9.00pm. He frowned, pissed at Georgie for not ringing back. No matter where they were personally with her ex coming back, while the kids were missing she should be contactable.
He glared at Troy Dickson on his computer screen.
Some crooks were ordinary. They blended into crowds, nothing about their appearance and their daily behaviour flagged them…until their crimes were exposed.
They were the types that neighbours reeling after a domestic killing would swear were ‘good blokes’ and there must be some mistake. Or the polite white-collar workers who skimmed a bit here and there for years while their bosses thought they were staying behind out of diligence, until wondering how they could afford, say, a three-storey house with sea views at Sorrento and a thirty-foot yacht.
Dickson wasn’t one of those. He was a creepy looking bloke with a rectangular head, wingnut ears and a close-shaved cut. Under his bushy eyebrows, he had shifty eyes and a nose that’d been broken more than once. His mouth was a small hard line.
His oily looks matched what he was: a bloke who smoked too much weed and preyed on underage females.
He had started with flashing, later been nabbed with a quantity of hash exceeding personal use and pornos full of girls who were borderline eighteen. But he was out on the streets after a slap on the wrist. A few years on he’d been caught with child porn, copped a spell inside and on his release, sexually assaulted a groupie of his band. But she’d backed down and he’d walked.
God knows what he’d been up to since.
Pricks like that don’t change…not for the better.
Franklin went back to Ealding’s licence photo. He wasn’t as young and good looking as his Wylder persona, but he outdid Dickson, projecting a bit of a bad boy image with his extended goatee and something about his bearing. Not enough to scare women off, worse luck.
Franklin jotted some notes, rapping his knuckles against his right thigh, determined to piece together enough of a picture to track and trip up Ealding. He wrote a query to himself—Muso too? In a band with Dickson?—then answered his ringing mobile.
‘Water Boy.’
Franklin smiled despite his serious mood and shook his head. ‘Gunner.’
Tash Dunn had blitzed him at firearms training at the academy and rubbed it in by cashing in their bet: loser was gofer for the day. That made him her water bottle filler and carrier, and all these years later she still used the moniker.
‘What’ve you got?’ He sat forward.
‘Not a lot.’
He deflated.
‘The Boronia house is in darkness. No one about. Three vehicles in the driveway.’
Gunner rattled off descriptions and regos of Ealding’s merc and Porsche, plus a coupe. Franklin checked: the coupe belonged to Dickson.
‘No HiAce van?’
‘No. And no garage either. The bonnets are all cold, so the cars haven’t moved for a while. No dog, but plenty of landmines over the front and back yards and the place stinks of dog shit.’
‘Bloody hell. You were supposed to do a discreet drive-by.’
She laughed, loud and ballsy. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot.’
Gunner didn’t do politically correct, except with the brass and civvies. They could do with more like her.
‘I posed as a friend of the landlord doing a sneaky check on the place.’
He chuckled.
‘I was primed to answer to nosy neighbours if needed…although, based on the fence extensions on the boundary, there’s no love lost between them. As it was, no one was about.’
The sarge gestured with his phone and Bernie and Sam hudd
led with him as he rang Jules Manthorp with the news that they’d found the two boys. He had the call on speaker and Sam heard the detective cry ‘Yes! The boys are safe!’ with an eruption of whistles and cheers in the background.
But then Jules said, ‘Willy, you ride with the ambos,’ and Sam knew they were all in trouble, even Bernie, because Jules didn’t use surnames unless she was very annoyed.
‘Tesorino and Lunny, you remain with the suspect until you’re relieved by Dean. You are not to question her.’
Sam winced. They already had. All she’d done was cry and shake. Sam believed she was distraught, possibly mentally disturbed, though her cop side reminded her that the naturopath could be a good actor.
‘You had no place carrying on your own investigation. It’s good news that the boys have been located, but don’t expect any medals. You may well have jeopardised the case.’
After what might’ve been a deliberately long pause, she added, ‘You may well have cost Hannah her life.’
Sam exchanged stricken looks with Lunny and Bernie.
The detective raged on. ‘Let me make this very clear because you all failed to comprehend what I thought was a simple directive previously, or to use your common sense. And that includes you, Willy. After Dean and his team take over…Stay. Away. From. My. Case. Is that understood, this time?’
Sam was shattered. They’d been aware that running their investigation could end in disciplinary action. But how would she live with herself if the DPP couldn’t prosecute because of what they’d done? Or if it put Hannah in graver danger?
Franklin’s efforts stalled, so he called Kat.
‘Dad!’
He let her waffle on. She sounded good, all things considered, but he wished he could give her a hug and make sure she was really okay. An overprotective reaction sparked by the scum he feared they were dealing with here, especially as it’d been just him and Kat virtually forever until Georgie came along… A smile tugged as he thought about her, then died. He and Kat might be back to a family of two.
Into the Fog Page 26