I wake with a sense of anticipation, picturing the forensic team hard at work under their portable lamps as they trawl over the rotting human remains in the bush.
I reach past Ben to pick up my phone.
The text from Tran reads: It’s not her. It’s a kid from Evans Head who was reported missing two weeks ago. Dale Marx. We’re working through possible links but there’s nothing so far.
I drop the phone to my chest and stare at the ceiling, exhaling a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. It’s not Abbey. We still have nothing but at least there’s a chance she might be out there somewhere.
I have breakfast with Ben and Vanessa. Tommy is up early too but declined breakfast and simply sits at the end of the table, staring with glassy eyes at his iPad.
As I drive to the station, parts of my conversation with Vanessa keep bubbling up. Clearly there were issues in the way the cold missing person case was handled, and Tommy is hard to read, but I’m not convinced anything warrants the conspiracy theory categorisation that Simon has given it.
I say good morning to Tim and Kylie, the junior stand-in constables who are in the middle of their shift handover.
De Luca arrives fresh faced and with an impressive dossier on Robert Weston. Aged nineteen, he’s on a gap year from uni where he is enrolled to study law. He has no priors, though she tracked down a detective in the UK who informed her of something interesting: Robert is due in court in November to give evidence against a man who attacked him outside a pub and broke his arm. The detective de Luca spoke to seems to think the attack came about because Robert had been harassing the assailant’s girlfriend. The girlfriend is apparently giving evidence and will be documenting the unwelcome messages she received from Robert.
‘The UK cops reckon Weston is a real pest. A borderline stalker.’ De Luca hands me several printouts: a copy of his passport, a few grabs from social media, and photos of the three men he was travelling with.
‘Good work,’ I say.
‘You were the one who ID’d him,’ she says dismissively.
We lock eyes, and again I try to understand the battle I seem to have unwittingly stepped into.
‘We’re a team,’ I say, and sense the slightest roll of her eyes.
I take the three young cops through the schedule I’ve mapped out for the day: Grange is going to the hospital to speak to Doctor Eric Sheffield and try to find out whether Abbey made or attended a doctor appointment recently, while Lane and de Luca are interviewing more kids from the party. I’m heading to the caravan park to catch Dot before I meet with William, James and Miles at 9 am.
I call out goodbye as the others file from the meeting room, then I log into the system and look up the authors of the Gregory Ng/Sally Luther case file.
As per Vanessa’s run-down, Stuart Klein was the chief inspector who led the case. I google him and find a piece written by Simon detailing his retirement from the force. The article says he was planning a move for family reasons and looking forward to a new career in Sydney.
Janet Rixon, the only constable in Fairhaven back then, reported to Tommy, who was the senior sergeant. According to a Google search, Janet currently runs a small scuba-diving operation with her husband in Evans Head. Their website includes her short bio and a photo. She looks around forty, with a friendly moon face and a short blonde bob. I scroll through the website gobsmacked at the cost of the diving packages.
Knowing it’s probably too early, I call Janet’s office number. A cheery recorded voice explains that the daily dive sessions start at 6 am and the best time to make a phone inquiry is between 4 pm and 7 pm.
‘Dammit,’ I say to the empty room.
I catch a ghost version of my reflection on the whiteboard and give myself an exasperated look. What was I expecting, anyway? That Janet would feed me a clue from a nine-year-old cold case that somehow helps me find Abbey? I can feel myself fixating on the past, distracted by the stale clues. It’s a tendency I’ve always had because it’s often easier to tackle than what is right in front of me. After plugging Janet’s number into my phone I grab my things, conscious of my sluggish limbs.
After getting into the car I quickly fire off another text to Mac, blaming my lack of contact on my workload and a mild virus. I turn off my personal phone, putting it in the glove box.
My body is tense during the short drive. Ben was quiet this morning, more withdrawn than he had been all week, and I fought tears as I kissed him goodbye. I have another sip of water and try to be grateful that at least I don’t feel like hurling my guts up today.
The birds converse excitedly in the gums that tower above the caravan park while I’m walking into reception. Kate Morse is on the phone and looks at me witheringly, but I simply wave at her and step through to the communal area. The sewage stench is gone, replaced by the smell of bacon. Katy Perry blasts from a portable radio hooked onto the pool fence. A little girl squeals in delight as a scrawny teenager threatens to drop her into the water. A few older women are propped up on deckchairs, their leathery skin glistening. Two men in novelty sombreros are attacking the barbecue with metal tools, scraping black muck into a bucket.
I make my way down the path, noting the neat garden beds and the communal laundry and bathrooms. On the other side of the bathrooms is a row of permanent caravans with elaborate annexes, and beyond them is a huge stretch of grass dotted with tents and campervans, sporadic power poles indicating where new guests should drop anchor.
A mother and a boy around Ben’s age come out of the bathrooms. His hair is so fair it’s almost white and his face is mottled with sunburn, prompting me to think I must double-check with Vanessa that Ben is reapplying sunscreen during the day. The mother and I exchange polite smiles before I fall into step behind them, watching the boy’s narrow shoulderblades press out against his skin as his mum lectures him about wearing his rashie.
I veer off toward the west-wing cabins. I encounter six closed doors and one that’s ajar, though it’s quickly apparent that no cleaning is going on inside but rather a heated argument between a couple about money suddenly not being in a bank account.
The door to the next cabin is propped open by a cleaning cart, but the woman bustling around inside is not Dot. She’s a cheerful redhead who tells me her name is Joy and informs me that Dot should be in the laundry room. ‘It’s terrible about her daughter,’ says Joy, whipping a fitted sheet into submission. ‘And that boy too. It reminds me of when that young couple disappeared—it was the same terrible feeling around town. Like evil had come to visit. Is there any word on where the poor girl is?’
‘I can’t really discuss it,’ I say apologetically. ‘Have you spoken to Dot today?’
Joy bends her elbows, placing her hands on ample hips. ‘Oh, just the usual. A hello, and of course I said I was sorry to hear about her girl. Dot’s not a big talker though, which is fair enough.’ She picks up a pile of discarded linen and bundles it into a hamper. ‘Plus, what do you say about something like that? You can really only pray.’
I thank Joy and make my way to the laundry. A lone light globe is trying its best to illuminate the dark room, which is thick with artificial fragrance and lint. The solemn faces of the whirring washing machines stare out at me as I call Dot’s name and poke my head into the side rooms trying to find her. I turn to go back outside just as she appears in the doorway, her hunched form silhouetted, bucket in one hand, mop in the other.
‘Oh!’ Her hand flies to her throat.
‘Hi, Dot. You remember me from the other day? Detective Woodstock. Sorry to turn up at your work like this, but I’m keen to talk to you alone.’
She recovers from her surprise and shuffles over to the sink, placing all the cleaning tools down before she faces me. Her chest heaves with a steady wheeze.
‘This is your first day back?’ I ask, trying to ease her into conversation. I’m desperate to be the one who can help her find the courage to admit the truth. I never quite managed to connect with Nicki’s mum, Deirdre. Ultimately she didn’t trust me enough to confide in me, to tell me she suspected her husband knew more than he was letting on.
Dot’s head moves up and down as she fusses with the hem of her oversized T-shirt. ‘Yeah. We need the money.’
‘Remind me what Daniel does for work?’
She blinks. ‘He’s a mechanic but the shop closed down so he’s just doing odd jobs at the moment. We get the dole too.’
‘Must be tough,’ I say, wondering why she hasn’t asked me about her daughter.
She sighs heavily, and shrugs. She looks exhausted.
‘Dot, I’m sorry but there’s still no sign of Abbey.’
‘Yeah.’ Her hands are trembling.
‘We’re obviously doing everything we can to find your daughter.’
‘Yeah.’ Her eyes go to the floor.
‘I want to ask you some questions.’
‘Thought you already did.’
‘Sometimes it’s worth going over things again. Sometimes people remember things differently.’
She juts her chin out in a non-committal gesture but she won’t look me in the eye.
‘You and Daniel stayed home with your sons on Saturday evening after Abbey went out?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Daniel was definitely home all night?’
‘Where else would he be?’
‘It’s just important for us to be sure.’
‘He was up early in the morning,’ she says, after a moment. ‘He was the one who realised Abbey was missing. He saw she wasn’t in her room and her bed was still made.’
‘And you’re certain she didn’t come home during the night?’
‘I was asleep,’ says Dot stiffly. ‘But I didn’t hear anything.’
‘And Daniel was definitely home on Monday morning?’ I ask more firmly. ‘At around six?’
‘Yes,’ she says, her voice wavering.
‘Daniel and Abbey argued on Saturday night, didn’t they?’
Dot wipes her nose and scratches at her shoulder, her eyes anywhere but on me. ‘They always argued, it was no big deal.’
‘I think it was a big deal. A few people told us it was really heated, that maybe it was a bit worse than normal.’
Her head jerks up, eyes gleaming. ‘I don’t know what’s got into her lately. She was angry, talking back to him, and I begged her to leave it alone but she wouldn’t listen.’ Tears spill from her eyes. ‘She hit him.’
‘Abbey hit Daniel?’
Dot nods as her jaw clenches furiously and tears run down her face. ‘She knows better than to wind him up like that.’
‘What did Daniel do?’
She falters a little before saying, ‘He got really mad and she just left.’ Her voice shakes and she wipes the tears from her face. ‘He started drinking.’
‘Dot, is there a chance your husband did something to Abbey later that night? He might have thought she deserved it after lashing out like that.’
Straightening her back, Dot sniffs loudly; confession time is clearly over. ‘I don’t see how. He was at home with me all night.’ She puts the bucket in the sink and turns on the tap. ‘I have to get back to the cabins,’ she says over the running water. ‘Kate won’t pay me past two, and I have lots of rooms to get through.’
‘Dot, let me help you. If Daniel has done something I can help protect you and your children. You will be safe.’
She looks at me with a mix of disdain and fury, her hands repeatedly gripping the mop, her knuckles bone-white. ‘My husband has a temper, everyone knows that, but he loves his family.’
‘Sometimes that’s not enough. I just want you to know you have options. I want you to feel safe.’
‘Yeah? Maybe I don’t want your options. Everyone thinks they know what’s best for me.’ She pauses before saying firmly, ‘Daniel was home with me on Saturday night and on Monday morning.’ Her voice drops to a whisper and her lips tremble. ‘We just want our daughter back.’
‘I’ve read the reports, Dot. Even if Abbey comes home, I know what happens when Daniel loses his temper. You don’t have to put up with that.’
‘Leave me alone,’ she hisses, her hands hovering around her ears. ‘I don’t want your help.’
‘Okay,’ I say, backing away. ‘Okay, Dot. I’m going.’ I feel hollowed out as I watch her shadowed against the wall in the dim light, struggling with the heavy bucket. ‘Just one more quick question and then I’ll go.’
‘What is it?’ she says wearily, an eyebrow raised, and I get a glimpse of the woman she could be if given half a chance.
‘Abbey’s bike. She said it was a gift from Daniel. Was that something she asked for? I understand it was quite expensive.’
Dot looks confused. ‘Daniel hated her having that bike. He didn’t buy it, she did.’