Perfect Victim (15 page)

‘She babysat a couple of times.’

‘So would you say Rachel and Caroline were friends?’

‘More like acquaintances,’ said Mike. ‘She was distant. Very much in the background,’ he repeated. ‘She was always polite to us, but we were told she was difficult at home.’

I became anxious about the time. ‘It’s getting late. Where’s Steve? What about the media release?’

David dePyle excused himself and used his mobile. ‘There’s been a delay,’ he said when he’d finished.

We talked about other things for a while. What was it like to be a detective? The view. The weather. Books. He enjoyed reading crime novels. He recommended I read an American crime novel based on a mother whose daughter had gone missing.

His mobile rang and he moved away from the table.

When he returned he asked Mike if he knew if the Reids owned any other property.

‘Ah-ha,’ answered Mike, ‘I know her father has a place in the country somewhere.’ He paused. ‘And I suppose that could be quite a good place to hide someone.’

‘That’s right. A hobby farm in Kilmore,’ I said. ‘Gail was always upset that he bought this after they broke up because it was something they were always going to do together. Ashleigh-Rose was invited there, by Caroline and her youngest sister, on several occasions, but this never eventuated.’

Mike expressed concern about the possibility that Rachel was being held captive by Caroline.

‘But why?’ I asked. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

Mike said, later in the day, that he felt relieved with the developments because he had always believed that if a man had grabbed Rachel she would be dead. The possibility of Caroline’s involvement offered Rachel a chance of survival. But why would Caroline want to hold her hostage? There was no way Rachel would have worried us by just disappearing the way she had.

David dePyle said they were following several leads in this direction, but warned us not to get our hopes up because in their business they could spend days following up leads only to have them come to nothing.

We were there a long time. I had the feeling we were being gently detained. Perhaps they didn’t want us out on the streets. David asked us what we would be doing when we left him and we said we had planned to go back to the Prahran corner where Rachel was last seen.

‘And be the poster people?’ he reaffirmed.

‘Yes,’ said Mike. ‘The poster people.’

Chris was concerned it was getting late, too. She needed to go to the bank. There was a bank within walking distance, so Mike went with her.

They had been gone some time when I jokingly said perhaps they had gone to Prahran. David dePyle stood up quickly. ‘Yes, they have been gone some time,’ and went over to a phone to make a call.

He came back and asked me if I’d be okay for a minute if he left.

When Mike and Chris returned they said there had been a long queue.

Steve Waddell contacted David to tell him the media release was done.

David asked us if we would go home rather than go to Prahran. We told him we would, but we had to go via Richmond to collect Manni who wanted to stay the night with us, and then take Chris home to her family.

I didn’t question David dePyle’s request. I didn’t ask why he didn’t want us to go to Prahran. I thought that the police were actually getting somewhere with their investigations and I didn’t want to get in their way. We needed to leave them to it now. Our curiosity did not even allow us to drive down High Street to have a nosey at what the police were up to.

At about 9.30 that evening we received a phone call from Missing Persons. A detective asked us if we could come down to the police complex immediately and identify some items.

I felt really hopeful. We all did. Maybe Mike was right. Perhaps Caroline was holding Rachel captive at Kilmore.

Mike, Manni and I left hurriedly. As we were passing through Heathmont another car honked. Its driver pointed to the posters plastered to the inside of our back windows, and did a thumbs-up. We smiled. We were nervous but positive.

We had waited nearly two weeks for our prayers to be answered. Would Rachel be coming home?

On Canterbury Road, crossing Elgar Road, we received another call from Missing Persons. They asked us who we had in the car. We told them Manni was with us. They were very sorry. But they had made a mistake. We could go home. ‘And please
do
go home.’

We did not question them. We went home.

I felt like a small child waking on Christmas morning and seeing a large colourful parcel with a big red bow on top, at the bottom of the bed. The child, having eagerly awaited Christmas Day, now crawls across her covers to the twitching present. Mum and Dad are peeking in at the door. The child unties the bow, lifts the lid and squeals with delight as she lifts into her arms a Labrador puppy with another big red bow around its neck.

That is how it felt when we received that first phone call. But now, driving home without any prize, I imagined those parents again. I imagined their faces when their child eagerly unties the big red bow on the box, only to lift the lid and find a lifeless puppy, perhaps suffocated or strangled by the big red bow around its neck.

That was how I felt after that second phone call telling us to go home. How would it end for us?

Manni slept in Heather’s room that night, but he insisted on sleeping beneath Rachel’s favourite cow-print doona. He couldn’t be comforted by Rachel’s Christmas stocking present, her Humphrey Bear, because Rachel had Humphrey with her. So Manni sprayed his pillow with her favourite perfume. He did not sleep. He lay there breathing in the memories of his dear Rachel.

16

F
INALLY
F
OUND

Day 12: Saturday, 13 March

We took our time on Saturday morning. Mum made us her tomato breakfast specialty, and we sat outside on the back veranda.

Manni asked us if we would mind if he had a cigarette.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ I said, surprised.

‘Yes, occasionally,’ he smiled, perhaps looking a little guilty. ‘Not when Rachel’s around. She doesn’t like me smoking.’

We discussed taking Manni into dance class at 11 a.m. Mike thought it would be good for him to be with his friends, and I knew that Rosa was concerned for him. She would want him home tonight.

We wondered why the police had not called. Why the sudden urgency last night?

Our graphic artist friend David arrived in the morning with another thousand posters. The count so far – five thousand. I thought of that story about the little Japanese girl in Hiroshima and her one thousand paper cranes, and the dreamed-for hope of a life saved. I couldn’t bear to think that Rachel was dead.

Mid-morning, somewhere down Riversdale Road on our way to the dance school, the mobile rang.

It was Missing Persons. Where were we?

We were taking Manni to dance class.

What did we plan to do then?

We were going to Prahran to deliver more posters.

The detective told us to take Manni to class and then go home. Directly home. There was a tone in his voice that left no room for debate.

We dropped a worried Manni off at the door. We were being told what to do. It was like there was nothing more we
could
do. We were told not to leave home. It was important we stayed there, and they would contact us later in the day.

Mum was surprised to see us back so early. Concerned when we told her our message.

But Mike encouraged me. ‘Elizabeth, the police could be driving up to Kilmore. Maybe they have discovered that Rachel’s being held captive.’

‘Then why don’t
we
drive there? Goodness knows what she’s been thinking these past two weeks. Rachel will need us.’

‘No, they asked us to stay at home. Let the police do their job.’ He put his arms around me, so tenderly. ‘Perhaps we may have Rachel home today.’

Michele and Mum sat with me for much of the time in silence. The phone rang many times. Messages were taken. We could not speak.

Rosa and Frank phoned. ‘We’ve heard from Emmanuel. Is there any news?’

Rachel’s cousin Tamzin phoned, asking for more posters.

Michelle, the mother of one of Rachel’s friends, offered emotional support. I never knew she worked for the Department of Human Services.

Ted rang.

Wendy, another friend, rang.

Junior Connor rang. A Vietnam veteran, and one-time boxer, whom we’d met outside a milk bar on our search. We had spoken to him for a long time. A warm, strong character with a sad past. ‘Ring me when you find the bastard and I’ll box him out flat.’

Mike went into the garden and began to clean the pool.

The mother of one of Heather’s friends rang. She later told us she
knew
. She did not tell. Her sister worked for the police force and had taken a call.

My sister Robbie rang. She did not think as positively as we did.

Barbara, a country friend. Laura, Rachel’s long-time school friend. Sheryl, the mother of a dance school friend. Toni, the mother of a friend from Rachel’s previous dance school. Erin, another of Rachel’s friends. Chris and Debbie from work, and Emmanuel. They all rang.

Neil Paterson from Missing Persons rang and asked to speak to Mike.

Mike came through to us. ‘Neil asked if we would be home later in the day. He asked was the tall guy with us. He meant Drew. I told him, no. He asked if family was with us. I told him, yes. He said they would come at six.’

‘What did his voice sound like?’ I asked.

‘Normal.’

‘Did you ask him what it was about? Have they found Rachel? My God, perhaps they’re going to bring her home. Or perhaps she is in hospital? Please God, let her be alive.’

‘I didn’t want to put him on the spot,’ answered Mike.

‘Oh, Michael,’ said Mum. ‘I’ll make you both a cup of tea.’

I was definitely spaced out. I’ve never been on drugs. I’ve only been drunk three times. But I might as well have been on everything that Saturday afternoon.

Mike continued cleaning the pool. From the moment of Neil’s call, he knew. He cleaned the pool, all afternoon, continually. The motion continuous. Repetitive.

Denial. I was in denial. I savoured the feeling that I still had a living Rachel.

Robbie called again. Mum told her about Neil’s phone call. The hardest thing for Robbie was not to show Heather how distressed she was.

Rachel’s friend Ellen rang. She had written to the Victorian premier, Jeff Kennett, to ask for his help in bringing Rachel home. She had personally delivered the letter to his letter box.

The Missing Persons detectives arrived soon after six. Mike and I both answered the door. Welcomed them in. Shook hands.

Family members retired to the kitchen.

Neil and Steve sat on the couch facing us. Another detective stood up against the wall. I did not take too much notice of him.

Neil said, ‘There is no easy way of saying this.’

We held hands. Mike knew. I feared.

Neil said, ‘I’m sorry. Rachel has been murdered.’

Silence.

A gasp from the kitchen.

‘Who …?’ I asked.

‘Caroline Reed Robertson. You know her as Caroline Reid.’

Silence.

Mike and I said together, ‘Gail is not going to be able to cope with this.’

‘Gail?’ said a detective.

‘Caroline’s mother.’

We did not cry. We sat. Numb.

‘I wish we didn’t know,’ I said. ‘I wish we hadn’t tried so hard. I wish she was still a missing person. Then maybe we would still have some hope.’

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ said one of the detectives. ‘The not knowing, you wouldn’t want that.’

I looked at the detective standing against the wall. ‘Are you from Homicide?’

He nodded. ‘Paul Ross.’

I have often thought, over the last three years, and this is taking nothing from our own grief psychologist whom I only have the highest esteem for, but if Paul Ross ever wanted a change in career, he would make an excellent grief counsellor. But then where would the Homicide Department have been without men of the calibre of Paul Ross, who were capable of the human compassion he expressed for us?

We talked of compassion for the Reid family. How terrible for them. Terrible for us, yes. But to know your daughter – your sister, has been charged with murder. The horror for Gail, who saw Rachel grow from nine to fourteen. The horror for her sisters, and her father.

The police told us to have compassion for the Reids if we must. But on no account to have compassion for Caroline. ‘She is a cold fish,’ they said.

Then, ‘How?’

‘We have to wait for an autopsy.’ Do you know, I can’t remember exactly what they said, but we assumed that what she had been killed
with
was found with her body.

‘The children,’ I said, ‘and Emmanuel.’

We could not possibly tell Manni over the phone. We asked Paul Ross if someone could make a home visit to his family. (Emmanuel would drop to the floor, with guttural sobs. His Rachel. Dead. How can this be? They had
promised
. They would never leave each other. First love. Abandonment.)