Tell the Truth (9 page)

Ella studied the black and white image. The shot was taken from some distance away and from above, but the cyclist had turned his or her head, and you could see the side and part of the front view of the face. She held it at arm's length and squinted. It was hard to make out the features at first, but it was also probably – hopefully – clear enough that somebody might be struck by its familiarity and look twice. This was good. Between this and what they could hopefully get from Walker, this was really good.

‘Plus we have the exact locations and times so can put out a call for anyone who noticed him or her,' Lawson was saying.

‘Good job,' Dennis said. ‘Show it to James Durham, and Stacey's friends and colleagues too. Get it out to the media as well.'

One by one, the other detectives got up and listed their day's activities. The people in the businesses around Playland had been interviewed but no one had seen anything. Requests had been put in for Stacey's and James's landline and mobile phone records, including checks on whether she'd made calls in the time between leaving home and when her car was left. The last location of her phone on Sunday night, at Bicentennial Park, wasn't able to be narrowed down to an area under twelve hundred square metres, and it took in a car park and multiple paths and park areas with no CCTV. The area in Stanmore, where this morning's text had been sent from, was no more useful. Information had been released to the media in the hope that somebody had noticed something strange, or even just seen Stacey there herself. Her bank account had last been used three days before, when she'd got a hundred and fifty dollars cash out when buying eighty dollars of groceries – an amount that wasn't unusual for her, Turnbull reported. Most of Stacey's work colleagues had been interviewed and so far none had any ideas about what might've happened.

‘Okay,' Dennis said. ‘Leads going in different directions, and the clock is ticking. Some of you will be back in the morning, some will stay on tonight. We've got traces on both the Durhams' home line and their mobiles. We're monitoring her Facebook page, and also one that her friend Aimee Russell's set up asking people to help find her. Check in with the hospitals again, ask about any Jane Does, dead or alive. Talk to Mackenzie Walker. We need to keep going on both the cyclist going out and the car coming in. Stacey was seen leaving her house in Haberfield between five and five thirty, then the car was left in Homebush at six forty-two. It's only a ten to fifteen-minute drive, so what else happened in that time? Where did Stacey go when she left home? What happened then, and where? How and where did the cyclist get the car? Get the photo of the cyclist and one of the car to the media – someone might've noticed it on the way, might've seen the driver. Find out about that bike; those folding things can't be too common. Can we trace it? And get the pic of Stacey herself to anyone who doesn't have it yet. Someone must've seen her, must've seen something out of the ordinary if it was an abduction.' He looked around at them. The leaden feeling in Ella's chest grew heavier. ‘It can't be so easy to spirit a woman off the streets of Sydney without a single person noticing anything.'

EIGHT

R
owan drained the water from the saucepan and started to mash the potatoes. A car door slammed out the front and Emelia bolted past him. ‘Daddy!' Rowan heard Simon come in, heard Emelia's squeal as he swung her into the air and Megan telling him how the detectives had talked to her. He sliced a chunk of butter into the pan and kept mashing.

‘Hi,' Simon said behind him, Emelia giggling upside down in his arms. ‘Anything I can do?'

‘Nope,' Rowan said. ‘Almost done.'

Simon put Emelia down and steered her towards the doorway. ‘Go get your ball and we'll have a kick outside after tea.'

Emelia ran off. Rowan poured milk into the potatoes.

Simon came to lean against the bench beside him. ‘Smells great. I'm starving.'

‘How's James?' Rowan asked.

‘A walking disaster zone. The cops came and searched the house, and took stuff for DNA matching, and he was crying, then angry, then just staring at the walls. I didn't feel safe to leave until Marie turned up. She said she'd look after him, but when I said goodbye to him he was just sitting there on the lounge, holding a photo of the two of them, and he just nodded without looking up. Poor guy.'

Rowan scraped the mash off the sides of the saucepan and rapped the masher clean. ‘The police didn't give him any new information? Progress reports, anything like that?'

‘Not while I was there.'

‘You'd think they'd know something by now.'

‘I guess it takes a while,' Simon said. He hesitated. ‘Megan said she told you about the flat.'

Rowan nodded. ‘It sounds good.'

‘Dad.'

Rowan elbowed him. ‘It does. It's great that you and Meegs want to get out there on your own.'

‘I was going to ease into the subject,' Simon said. ‘I mean, you haven't been alone since like forever.'

‘I'm a grown-up.' Rowan got out the plates. ‘I'll survive.'

‘I know, but . . .'

‘But what?'

‘It's not just that we're moving out. Mum's gone, and everything.'

‘You think the realisation will finally hit me?' he said. ‘Grab the cutlery. I know Mum's gone, mate. I know it every day. I'm okay.'

He took the tray of sausages from the oven where they'd been keeping warm and forked them onto the plates, then scooped carrots and beans from the steamer.

Simon went to the foot of the stairs and called Emelia and Megan, then came back. ‘You'll be rattling around here like a bean in a barrel when we're gone.'

‘I'll be fine.'

‘If you sold, you could afford a unit at the beach,' Simon said. ‘You and Mum always –'

‘I won't be selling.' Rowan put the plates on the table.

‘I'm just saying if.'

Rowan shook his head. ‘Not going to happen.'

Emelia came running into the room and climbed up onto her chair. Megan followed. Since Jennifer died they no longer used the big table in the dining room but sat here in the kitchen instead.

‘Yum,' Emelia said.

‘Put the ball on the floor and don't talk with your mouth full,' Megan said, cutting up her sausages.

‘Oh,' Simon said. ‘How was the date?'

‘It wasn't a date,' Rowan said.

‘And it was a bust,' Megan said. ‘They ended up at a friend of Stacey's talking to the cops again.'

Simon said, ‘You know how to impress them.'

‘Can we talk about something else?' Rowan said. He'd already told everything to Megan, at her insistence.

‘Imogen texted me and said she had a good time anyway,' Megan said to Simon.

‘That sounds promising,' he said.

‘I'm sure she's very nice,' Rowan said. ‘But I'm quite content on my own.'

Megan and Simon exchanged a glance, then Emelia coughed up a hunk of sausage and dropped her fork on the floor.

‘You have to chew it more,' Megan said.

‘Want to go out and kick the ball.'

‘Not until after tea.'

When they'd finished eating, Rowan volunteered to go and play with Emelia if Megan and Simon cleared up.

‘That sounds fair,' Simon said.

Emelia giggled and tugged Rowan to his feet. Outside, the air was fresh, the evening cool and smelling of rain on grass. Emelia kicked the ball straight into the shrubbery, then scrambled in to get it. Rowan put his hands in his pockets and looked at the fading sky, thinking about Stacey.

*

Paris pulled up outside the house
in Lidcombe
where Liam lived with his mother and baby sister. He'd called after work and listened to her cry, then invited her for dinner, and she'd got dressed and into the car quicker than she'd thought was possible.

His mother, Abby, opened the door and hugged her. ‘I'm so sorry about Stacey.'

‘Thank you,' Paris said. Abby always smelled like clean warm laundry and her arms felt nice around you. Paris liked that she hugged both hello and goodbye.

Liam looked up from feeding Lucy in her high chair. ‘Hi, babe.'

Lucy babbled through smeared mashed peas and carrots. Paris kissed them both as Abby brought in plates of roast chicken and vegetables.

‘How are you?' Abby asked when they sat down.

Paris felt her gaze look deep inside her.
She really sees me.
‘I'm petrified. The police said there was blood everywhere.'

‘People can be tougher than you think,' Abby said. ‘And from what I remember of Stacey at school, she was tough with a capital T. Hard to imagine that would've changed.'

‘I know, but it's so scary to think of her out there somewhere,' Paris said. ‘I mean, who did it? Who's got her? What are they doing to her?'

Abby squeezed her hand. ‘How about your mum? How's she doing?'

‘Maaaarvellously,' Liam said under his breath.

‘That's not nice,' Abby said.

‘You've only met her once, for five minutes,' he said. ‘Just wait.'

‘She's okay,' Paris said. ‘She fainted when the police were there.'

‘For real, or like last time?' Liam said.

‘It was over when I got there, so it's hard to say.'

‘I bet I could say,' Liam said.

Abby frowned at him.

‘Okay, enough, I get it,' he said, with a sideways look at Paris that made her smile.

Half an hour later, Lucy was bathed and in her cot, and Paris snuggled next to Liam on the lounge.

He kissed the top of her head. ‘Going okay?'

‘Going better.' He was warm, and his arm felt like a big safe wing wrapped around her. If she could stay here forever she'd be fine.

Abby brought in a cup of tea and sat in the recliner. ‘Viewing options?'

Liam flicked through the channels with the remote. ‘More free channels than ever and it's still all crap. Shopping? Ugh.'

‘Stop there,' Abby said. ‘Doco on castles.'

‘No way.' Liam kept pressing buttons. ‘Here we go.
Law & Order
.'

Abby said, ‘That mightn't be a good choice.'

‘Huh?' Liam's eyes were on the screen.

‘Because there's a bit too much crime drama happening right here, don't you think?' she said. ‘Liam?'

‘I'm okay with it,' Paris said. ‘Really.'

‘Nothing bad in the castle doco,' Abby said. ‘A very safe space.'

‘Really,' Paris said again. ‘
Law & Order
's fine with me.'

‘Sweet,' Liam said, settling in.

Paris was all right for a while, then a woman was abducted and it looked like she was going to be murdered, and she found herself on her feet.

Abby looked at her, concern in her eyes.

‘Bathroom,' Paris said by way of explanation.

In the hall she heard Abby tell Liam to change the channel, then she was out of hearing and locking the bathroom door with sweaty hands. She wasn't okay at all. She sat on the closed toilet lid and gripped her knees. Stacey was tough. She would've put up a fight with whoever took her, but it would've been a canny fight: she would've thought about what was best, how to keep safest for longest and all that. So the presence of blood was bad, and so much of it was worse, but Stacey knew how to stop bleeding and how to make sure – as best she could – that she didn't go into shock. If anyone could survive this, it was her.

Paris still felt sick though. And she remembered things. Like waking up after having her tonsils out at age eleven, not long after her dad had died, and Stacey not only being beside the bed, because her mother had had to work, but rubbing Paris's back when she threw up from the anaesthetic, stroking her hair as she fell asleep. Stacey at her Year Twelve presentation night, smiling with more pride and love than Marie seemed able to muster.

There was a tap on the door. ‘Paris?' Abby said.

Paris stood up and flushed, then washed her hands. ‘I'm all right,' she said when she opened the door.

‘He's changing the channel.'

‘He doesn't have to.'

‘Yes, he does.'

Down the hall Lucy started to cry.

‘Can I go to her?' Paris asked.

‘Well, sure,' Abby said. ‘If you want. Don't pick her up, just rub her back and say shhh.'

Lucy's room was dim, a ladybird nightlight under the cot glowing gently. The baby was pushing herself up on her arms and wailing. Paris stroked her head and down her back, then patted her thickly nappied bottom. Lucy put her face back on the sheet and turned her head from side to side.

‘Shhh,' Paris said. ‘Shhh.'

Lucy quietened and closed her eyes. Paris kept rubbing her back, then, as Lucy's breathing deepened, she stroked her little legs, her fine brown hair. Paris's vision blurred with tears, and she pressed her forehead hard against the cot railing.

*

Ella and Murray were two of six detectives who'd stayed back after the meeting and now they were headed for the Strathfield home of Mackenzie Walker. She lived with her parents in a cream stucco house on a tree-lined street near Santa Sabina College. The evening air smelled like roast chicken and baked vegetables when Ella and Murray climbed from their car, and Ella's stomach growled.

‘We could've got something on the way if you weren't in such a hurry,' Murray said.

Ella pointed to the red Hyundai with P-plates parked on the brick driveway. ‘But isn't it a good thing that I was?'

The front garden was lush, with a trickling water feature and ferns that were still wet from the afternoon's rain. Ella followed the brick path to find that behind a heavy security screen the front door was open. She heard heated conversation, and pressed the brass buzzer with anticipation.

The woman who came to the door looked harried, with a dent between her eyes from frowning. ‘Yes? Oh,' she said, on seeing their badges.

‘Detectives Ella Marconi and Murray Shakespeare,' Ella said. ‘Mrs Walker? Is Mackenzie home?'

‘Yes.' She unlatched the screen and opened it. Her face was made-up, and she wore cut-off jeans with deliberately frayed edges, blingy sandals and an expensive-looking white V-neck T-shirt that set off her tan. There were two silver rings on her right hand and three on her left, including a big engagement rock. ‘Please come in. We were just discussing the fact that you might be dropping around.'

She led them into the living room, where a girl in her late teens sat cross-legged in a pink velvet armchair.

‘Feet off the lounge,' her mother hissed. ‘How many times –?'

The girl dropped her feet to the floor but didn't unfold her arms. She glanced at Ella and Murray, then picked up her phone and looked at the screen. She wore red Vans with no socks, slashed dark jeans that rode high over her ankles and a ripped black T-shirt.

‘Mackenzie,' Ella said. ‘So that's your car in the driveway?'

The girl didn't look up. ‘Yep.' Her black and purple hair hung over her face like a curtain.

Ella sat down opposite her. ‘Been for a drive today?'

‘So?'

‘You almost hit a cyclist.'

‘Mackenzie,' her mother said.

‘Alison,' Mackenzie retorted in the same tone. ‘It was only almost.' She looked at Ella. ‘And it was their fault. I hope they told you that.'

Ella noted the pronoun. ‘How about you put down the phone and tell us what happened.'

Mackenzie glanced at the phone's screen again, then placed it on the arm of the chair. ‘I was driving, I turned a corner, this idiot rode out into my way. I had to swerve. I was practically on the wrong side of the road. I could've been killed.'

Alison Walker snorted.

‘Then what?' Murray asked.

‘Then what what? I drove on in a sedate manner to my destination.'

‘Except for the less-sedate moment when you got done by a speed camera,' he said.

Ella saw anger flash across Mackenzie's face.

‘Really, Mackenzie?' Alison said.

Mackenzie shrugged, regathering her dismissive air. ‘Everyone knows those things are just about revenue raising.'

‘What was your destination?' Ella asked.

‘KFC.'

‘Did you see the cyclist again?'

‘Nup.'

‘What about your friend?'

‘What friend?'

‘The one in the passenger seat of your car,' Ella said.

‘I was on my own.' She said it bluntly, with force.

Oho
, Ella thought.

‘It better not have been that Oliver boy,' Alison said.

‘His name's Olivier,' Mackenzie said. ‘And I just told you I was on my own.'

Murray stood up. ‘Mrs Walker, any chance of a cup of tea?'

Once they were out of the room, Ella said, ‘You've got three seconds to tell me the truth.'

Mackenzie scowled. ‘What makes you so sure I'm not?'

‘I saw his face in a CCTV photo,' Ella said. ‘One.'