Emmet

Emmet decided to call his mum, to find out more information. He was angry and sad, but he wouldn’t let that show in his voice.

She answered straight away. ‘Hi, hon. How are things there?’

‘I’m brainstorming with Dad and I need more details on Nico.’ He was proud of himself. He sounded matter-of-fact, as if Nico’s existence was insignificant beyond the ramifications for Bridie.

‘I—’ She began to speak, stopped, stumbled. ‘Emmet, this isn’t … I can’t—’

‘I don’t want to hear your excuses, Mum.’ Not quite as businesslike as before: some of the hurt had leaked into his voice. ‘Just tell me where he works and lives, the timeline since you met him. Dad and I are making notes on everyone we can think of.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll tell you everything … but first you need to know how very sorry I am.’ A long pause. ‘Nico lives in Coogee. His wife died a couple of years ago, he has a seven-year-old daughter. I met him at a marketing conference in July.’

Emmet set aside his disgust – the relationship had been going on for months, right under their noses – and concentrated on the facts.

‘Dad said he’s originally from France. Did he have any convictions over there?’

‘I don’t think his visa would have been granted if there was a criminal record. Besides, he’s lived here more than twenty years.’

‘Maybe he has convictions here, then?’ he persisted. Last term, there had been a school seminar about violence against women and how certain behaviours needed to be nipped in the bud from a young age. Emmet could recall the overarching message: domestic violence and coercive control escalate over time. Following this theory, Nico could have a history of stalking and obsessive behaviour.

Mum took a few moments to answer. ‘I presume Detective Mani is checking that out. But I’ll ask him, just to make sure.’

~

The precinct was deserted except for the odd group making their way home from the Entertainment Quarter. Sunday night: the bars and restaurants would close early. If anyone wanted to kick on, Oxford Street and Kings Cross were the closest options.

Emmet had exhausted every angle he could think of on Nico. He’d looked up his Facebook profile and seen the limited photos available without sending a friend request. Nicolas Theroux: Université de Montpellier, Lives in Sydney. He was easily recognisable as the man who’d accosted Mum outside Cronulla Station. The man she’d been meeting in secret for months.

Dad was cast in shadow as he hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees. He seemed to be deep in thought.

Emmet turned to a fresh page on his notebook. ‘What if it’s a complete stranger? Someone who went to the concert with the sole purpose of finding a girl to abduct. And Bridie just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?’

It was unbearable to think of Bridie being so unlucky: the girl picked from a cast of thousands. The theory put a different slant on things. Removed the motive of revenge: Cabrera and Nico. Removed the idea of Bridie knowing her abductor: AJ and Fitz.

Dad straightened up and immediately began to generate ideas. ‘A security guard, or someone dressed as a security guard, who Bridie thought she could trust?’

‘A woman, or a girl of her own age, who didn’t seem like a threat but tricked her in some way?’

‘Maybe someone who bought their ticket last minute? A single ticket.’

Emmet wrote down every possibility. If this theory was correct, what happened before the concert was irrelevant; what happened afterwards was all they could work with. The shop attendant’s account: the girl swaying on the footpath, her hood being pulled up, possibly to hide her face. Where had the couple been headed to? Public transport was in the opposite direction. Anywhere within walking distance equated to exorbitant rents: Moore Park was prime location, beyond most people’s affordability; even Emmet knew that.

‘There must have been a car waiting nearby.’

‘Restricted parking on most of the streets around here,’ Dad refuted. ‘As well as special-event clearways and road closures.’

If there wasn’t a car, how did they get ‘home’? ‘Could they have caught a taxi or an Uber?’

‘I guess so,’ Dad said, his voice slow as he weighed up the possibility. ‘Hire vehicles would be allowed past the blockades for the residents’ sake.’

As though to emphasise the point, a taxi cruised past, its roof sign lit, scouting for customers. Were the police planning to question taxi and Uber drivers who’d been working in the area last night?

Emmet’s head was starting to hurt. He was going round in circles, possibly placing too much reliance on what the shop attendant had seen. Before the concert, after the concert, an abductor who was known, or unknown, a getaway car … or not. He’d reached no firm conclusions on anything. Something was missing, hovering out of reach. A crucial piece of information that would make sense of everything else.

Because he didn’t know what else to do, he reopened Facebook. There he was: Nicolas Theroux, Université de Montpellier, Lives in Sydney.

Emmet sent him a friend request.