Hostage (5 page)

Fitzroy Police Station: 25 December, 2.26a.m.

‘Can you tell me what you know about Griffin Sorenson,’ asked Constable Tognetti. ‘Any personal information that might help us with our enquiries.’

‘Why don’t you ask him?’ said Tully. ‘He’s still here isn’t he?’

‘I’m asking if you have any information—’

‘Look, it didn’t get personal, right? It wasn’t like we were on a date or anything. I don’t know anything about him. He’s just some guy.’

Christmas Eve

‘My friends will wonder where I am. I was supposed to meet up with them. For Christmas shopping,’ said Tully.

Griffin ignored her.

The inner suburban area of the freeway had given way to an industrial zone then a promise of civilisation with two fast-food outlets, one on either side of the highway, then nothingness. The freshness of early morning had been replaced with the warmth of the sun beating on the car windows. Griffin had turned on the radio and Christmas music filled the car.

‘I swear we are in the middle of nowhere land. Can you open my window? I need some air.’

Griffin leaned forward, pressed some buttons, and fresh air ran its cool fingers up Tully’s legs. Tully looked through the window and wished once more that she’d picked up her mobile before leaving home. She glanced at Griffin, checking out his pockets for a phone bulge, then caught him looking at her. She wondered what he thought she was looking at.

‘I know who you are.’ She blurted the statement out in an effort to cover her embarrassment.

Griffin remained silent.

‘You’re Griffin. Griffin Sorenson. I know everything about you.’

He snorted. ‘Is that right?’

Tully wriggled in her seat. ‘I saw you at the park. You told Nate about that party. Damo’s party.’

‘So?’

‘You live in that high-rise on Brunswick Street. Your parents are divorced. Your mum has a job in the city. You’re 18 years and three months old. Your middle name is Norman, which is your dad’s first name. You were late paying your school fees. My guess is that your dad doesn’t kick in much in the dollar department. Have I got it right?’

Griffin changed down gears as the car approached a steady incline. ‘Is that it?’

‘Umm, you’re on a rehab program at Loserville Chemist, you used to be tight with Nathan and you used to have bad acne.’

Griffin nodded his head once. ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘You only got one thing wrong.’

‘I did? Which one?’

‘You work it out.’

Griffin overtook a semi-trailer. Then he pulled back to the left lane to let a sports car overtake him. ‘Tully McCain,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Your name is Tully McCain. You live with your grandfather because your mum doesn’t want you. Your best friend at school was Nathan Furlong. Your only friend was Nathan Furlong. I dunno what he sees in you. You used to skip school and hang around Smith Street. You used to cut class to hang out in the gym change rooms and thought that people didn’t notice. The girls at school hated you because you didn’t dress like them. They thought you were too young to be in Year 12.’

Tully frowned out the window.

‘You only got one thing wrong,’ she said finally. ‘Are you going to let me go?’

‘What, here? In the middle of nowhere land?’

‘I can hitch a ride home. I won’t even talk to them ... you know, the cops. Hell, you didn’t even take anything. Did you?’

‘Didn’t I?’

‘Well, apart from me. Are you gonna freak out because you haven’t had your ... you know...’

‘My what?’

‘What you went there for.’

Griffin shrugged. ‘I could probably last a little longer.’

‘So what happens when you don’t get it?’

Griffin shook his head. ‘You don’t want to go there.’

Tully moved a little in her seat toward the door. ‘So could you let me out?’

‘What? And have you hitching? There are crazy people out there, Tully. I would hate it if something happened to you. Here comes that truck again. Jesus, those drivers are crazy.’

The semi-trailer sped past them on the downward hill in a blur of red.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Tully. ‘Why don’t I talk to the cops? Tell them it was all a mistake...’

A highway exit sign made Tully sit up straight.

‘This is near Deer Park. I know Deer Park. I used to live there,’ said Tully.

‘So?’

‘So, you still got that script?’

Fitzroy Police Station: 25 December, 2.27a.m.

‘Tully, can you tell us what happened after you left the city? Did Griffin tell you where he was going?’

Tully shook her head.

‘He didn’t know where he was going. I don’t think he had a plan. Can I have my tin back?’

‘What?’ said Constable Tognetti.

‘My tin?’ Tully pointed to the biscuit tin near the police woman’s elbow.

‘For the moment let’s just concentrate on what happened.’

Tully’s Story

Griffin drove around the city for a while then he got onto the Western Ring Road. The next thing I knew he left the freeway. He was desperate to get to a chemist and I said I could help him. We were on the outskirts of Deer Park. I could tell because we’d just zoomed past the Deer Park Club, which loomed up out of nowhere. It was all sleek lines and blocky angles, sitting alone in a flat paddock surrounded by purple thistles and looking like a pimple on a bum. Bamps’s saying not mine.

I was nine when Mum and I moved to Deer Park. We lived in a bungalow out the back of a large brick house that belonged to the Angel sisters. That makes them sound like a band, but they were two old women who lived together. I figured they were sisters because they had the same last name. I called them the Angel sisters in my head, because their last name was De Angelo. Also, they used to creep about together, their black dresses covered by tight-fitting cardigans that outlined the curve of their backs. I was sure the cardigans hid tiny angel wings but I never saw the sisters without their cardigans on—even on the hottest of days—so I couldn’t test my theory.

The Angel sisters were friends of friends and although they didn’t speak much English we managed to understand each other okay. They grew vegetables in their back garden and tried to give some to Mum but she would never take any. Once they caught me eating some peas straight from the bush. It’s not like I like vegetables—I just wanted to see how they tasted. After that I would find little presents of fresh peas or beans left on my bed. It never bothered me that they had sneaked in to my room when I wasn’t around. I mean, technically, it was their place anyway. I imagined them gliding in, hunched over with the burden of their wings, and leaving the food on my bed. Once I found a feather on my pillow and I put it straight into my memory tin.

The Angel sisters had a pet dog called Enricho, which was short and fluffy and had a perky little tail that looked like a question mark. They also had a cat called Fuego which was white and had the bluest eyes and the smallest button nose. Which would have been fine and kind of cute except Enricho and Fuego had been professionally stuffed when they died over twenty years before, just two weeks apart. Their glassy eyes followed me whenever I had to go into the sisters sitting room.

Mum and I had Christmas dinner with the Angel sisters the year we lived there. They had no family, but their house was filled with the photos of other people’s families. One sister pulled me down the hallway, pointing to each photo on the wall and describing in her best non-English who each person was. I nodded and said things like, ‘beautiful’ and ‘sweet’ and hoped Mum would rescue me. Their house smelled of mothballs and strong coffee and the heavy plastic that covered the furniture in their best room that they saved for visitors. We got to sit on the plastic that Christmas, sipping tiny glasses of something that turned into fire in my mouth and choked the breath from me. Mum must have liked the drink, because she had three of them and laughed a lot at dinner.

I’m not sure why we left Deer Park. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because of the stuffed animals, although Mum never liked them. Before we left, the Angel sisters made us pose for a photo that they took with their ancient camera. I imagine us hanging with all the other photos in their hallway.

So, like I said, I knew Deer Park, and it didn’t look like a lot had changed.

I made Griffin get into the left lane as we sped past the football oval and a childcare centre. Then I waved him into the service road in front of the shops.

‘The chemist is kind of in the middle,’ I said.

Griffin pulled up two doors down from the shop.

‘Would you like me to go for you?’ I asked.

‘Sure,’ he said leaning back in his seat. ‘And could you get me some jelly beans while you’re there?’

I tried the door handle. ‘You just need to unlock my door—’

Griffin slammed his hand on the dash in front of me and my belly felt like I’d swallowed a handful of thistles.

‘I saw the police station, Tully. How stupid do you think I am?’

Compared to what? I thought. The feeling in my belly lingered.

‘I’m going to be two minutes,’ he said. ‘No leaning on the horn. No getting out of the car. Just stay quiet. Do you think you can do that?’

I nodded.

‘I know where you live. Did I forget to mention that, Tully?’

Then he left the car.

I watched him walk away. I didn’t try to leave or shout at the woman who had pulled up in the car next to me. She was busy getting her kid out of the car seat. The kid was wearing a cute T-shirt that read ‘My First Christmas’.

And that crack about knowing where I lived. Maybe it was a lie. But maybe ... the thistles were back prickling my insides. It wasn’t that I was really scared of him. But the thought that he knew about me—knew things that most other people didn’t—made me feel a little sick.

I wondered how I got to be outside the Deer Park chemist on Christmas Eve in a car with a might-as-well-be stranger.

I don’t think Griffin meant any of it to happen.

Fitzroy Police Station: 25 December, 2.49a.m.

‘Okay, wait.’ Officer Fraser scratched his head and looked down at his notes. ‘Tully, are you suggesting that you were in no danger at this point of the abduction? That you were never in danger?’

‘Yes,’ said Tully.

‘So why did you let Griffin take you?’

Tully snorted. ‘I didn’t know at the start.’

‘Yet you say you knew this boy—’

‘I said I knew
of
him. I’d seen him around. We weren’t friends or anything.’

‘So tell me when you decided that you were no longer in danger.’

Tully sighed loudly and sat back in her seat looking up at the ceiling.

‘Look, it’s really easy,’ said Tully. ‘This is how I see it. Griffin went to Loserville Chemist to fill a script. Then Ms Helene had to be her normal super-bitch self and it was Christmas Eve. Christmas is a time when strange things happen. Mean people can get meaner. Sad people sadder. People get jumpy this time of year.’

‘What about the knife?’ Constable Tognetti interrupted.

‘I didn’t say he had a knife. I said it could have been a knife. Or it could have been his cold fingers. Everything happened so quickly.’

‘Ms Bukor stated that a knife was involved,’ said Constable Tognetti.

‘There’s a reliable witness for you. Did you give her a drug test before asking her questions—?’

‘Shut up, Tully,’ Aunt Laney hissed.

‘Look, Griffin’s not a bad person. I’m good at picking people’s characters.’ Tully glanced at her aunt. ‘I mean, his car was clean and he was a really polite driver. Which says something, don’t you think? I think things got out of his control, that’s all. I think he just panicked.’

‘Yet he threatened you before he left you alone in the car to get his script filled at the chemist in Deer Park.’

‘That did scare me. At first.’ Tully nodded. ‘But then I thought about that and I think he was just scared. He couldn’t let me leave because he wasn’t sure what I would do. Or what he should do.’

Officer Fraser leaned forward. ‘So Griffin made a mistake in the Smith Street chemist by grabbing you. But why didn’t he let you out down the block?

Tully chewed on her nails.

‘Why didn’t he—’ repeated Officer Fraser.

‘I don’t think he planned it—to go so far. It’s just that, once you’re set on a path, it’s really hard to jump over to another one. Or even to come back up the path and say, sorry this doesn’t take me where I need to go.’

‘So he’s just a poor misunderstood kid?’

‘No. Yes. I dunno.’

‘And the money?’

‘What money?’

‘Did he have a bag when you left the scene?’

‘I don’t remember a bag. Unless it was in the boot. But I don’t remember him going to the boot.’

‘So you don’t believe he took any money or drugs from the Smith Street chemist?’

‘No. I mean, if he’d busted out with drugs he wouldn’t need to go the chemist and get his script filled in Deer Park. Would he? And money’s just useless. It’s only good for buying you stuff. And stuff is just a waste of time. In the end it’s all just a waste of time. Money, stuff and friends. That’s what I think, anyway.’