Rachel

Rachel adjusted the car seat and mirrors to her preferred settings. The car felt forlorn, as displaced as the rest of them. Rory was staying behind with Emmet. She was relieved: two were safer than one. Besides, there was something she needed to do alone.

She drove slowly past the Entertainment Quarter, her eyes scanning the pavement on either side in the vain hope that Bridie would appear out of thin air. A short wait at the lights. Traffic had morphed from moderate to light.

Her phone rang and her stomach lurched with fear. Amy’s name flashed on the media screen, and her fear turned to exasperation. This was the fifth or sixth missed call. Rachel couldn’t bear to speak to her, couldn’t handle her self-absorption, the possessiveness lurking beneath the concern. Amy had broken her confidence about Nico, knowingly launched a missile at her family. Now that she thought about it, Rachel couldn’t imagine speaking to her ever again.

It took fifteen minutes to get to Coogee. Her driving was sluggish, her reactions a few seconds late, like someone who hadn’t driven in a long time. Pedestrians meandered along the beachfront, mainly young people. She and Nico had sat on the grass over there, before climbing the headland and exclaiming at the view. She’d gone to his house afterwards for coffee; his daughter had been with a relative for the afternoon. Denning Street, near the park. The house was two-storey with a light-grey facade; she was sure she’d recognise it as soon as she saw it.

She drove halfway along Denning before parking behind a white four-wheel drive. Her hands were clammy, knees shaking. This man had stalked her on several occasions. Now she was about to invade his private space, potentially provoke questions from his child and whoever was in the house with him. How would he react when the tables were turned? Would it be nice Nico or crazy Nico who opened the door?

‘Who is this guy, really?’ Rory had asked only hours ago.

The truth was, she didn’t know. She’d taken everything Nico had said at face value. His dead wife, his seven-year-old daughter, how long he’d been in this country. Some of it could be lies. All of it could be lies. Maybe he wasn’t even from France! Maybe this wasn’t his first time stalking someone and he had a history of intimidating behaviour. Was Nico Theroux even his real name?

All she knew for certain was that he was crazy enough to follow her – on two occasions that she knew of; maybe there had been more. He might have seen yesterday’s altercation as a terrible humiliation warranting retaliation. Rachel recalled Emmet’s wide-open window on Tuesday afternoon. Now that she knew how deranged Nico was, the open window seemed less odd than ominous. Had Nico broken into the house when she’d gone to get her blood test? What level of craziness was she dealing with here?

Her phone rang, and her stomach lurched again. An unfamiliar number. Bridie? She might be using a friend’s or even a stranger’s phone.

‘Hello,’ she said, the word sounding more like a plea than a greeting.

‘Rachel, it’s Detective Mani. Are you at home?’

She swallowed guiltily. ‘I’m parked on Nico’s street. Trying to pluck up the courage to confront him.’

‘Please do not do that.’ The detective’s disapproval ricocheted down the line. ‘I know it may seem like we are operating slowly, I know it’s tempting to take things into your own hands, but I can assure you we’re working as hard as we can, and every rogue action on your part could jeopardise our main objective, which is Bridie’s safety.’

‘I’m only just realising how little I know about Nico. Everything he said could be lies.’

‘Maybe. But it’s crucial in cases like these not to tip off the perpetrator … That’s not saying Nico is the perpetrator, are we clear on that? Either way, you’ve no business there. Put the car into gear, and ring me back when you’re a couple of kilometres away. I have something important to ask you about.’

She followed his orders. At some level, deep down, she wanted to be told what to do. Plus she had to know what ‘something important’ entailed. Were they any closer to finding Bridie?

Five minutes later, in a nondescript street somewhere in Maroubra, she stopped the car and called him back. ‘I did as you said. What did you need to ask me?’ She was still shaking.

‘Thank you, Rachel. I wanted to ask you about someone called AJ who Bridie was friends with. Do you know of him?’

‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘This is the first time I’ve heard the name.’

‘He was added to Bridie’s Snapchat about a month ago. He’s also a member of an online book club that she’s been active in. We did some digging into his book club profile. Supposedly, a Year Eleven student at Hale Christian School.’

‘Supposedly?’ she croaked.

‘We’ve managed to contact the school’s vice-principal. There is no student of that name in Year Eleven or any other year.’

Rachel thought she might be sick.

The facts were truly horrifying. Bridie had joined an online book club which she’d said nothing about. She had made ‘friends’ with someone posing as a Year Eleven student. Given that the student didn’t exist, it looked like she’d been groomed by someone older, with interests less pure than in books.

She swallowed the bile in her throat. ‘Was AJ at the concert?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. We’re still waiting to see if any of Bridie’s messages can be recovered.’