Authors: Vicki Tyley
Emergency services had blocked off
the street. Red and blue flashing lights cast a sterile strobe effect over the
scene, highlighting the two uniformed police officers diverting traffic down
the side street.
Inside the
cordon, all eyes pointed skyward. Daniel leapt from the car the instant it came
to a standstill, disappearing into the light-sliced multi-level concrete car
park within seconds. Unbuckling her seatbelt, DS White gave Jacinta strict
instructions to stay in the car, and then followed her boss in.
Jacinta crooked
her neck, looking up, but the angle from her position in the backseat was all
wrong. She shuffled across the seat and looked out that window. Nothing much
appeared to be happening at street level. Two fire fighters with folded arms
stood nearby, talking and occasionally glancing up. A paramedic busied himself
in the back of an ambulance. And, on the far side of the street, police
officers and civilians, all with their necks craned upward, stood around in
clusters.
She tried the
car door, relieved to find she hadn’t been locked in. Disregarding Renee’s
orders to stay put, she clambered out, scanning faces and vehicles as she
closed the car door behind her. Narelle either hadn’t arrived or was already up
top with the negotiating team.
Whatever
, thought Jacinta,
I’m no use
stuck in the back of a police car
.
She made it as
far as the ticket booth before being challenged by a thick-necked constable.
“I’m sorry, miss, authorised personnel only.”
“I’m with
Detective Inspector Lassiter,” she said, her hope of bluffing her way past
fizzling when he asked for her name. “Please tell him—”
“Jacinta? Is
that you?” said a small voice from behind her.
She spun around.
Flanked by two burly police officers, Narelle appeared tiny and fragile.
“Thank goodness,
you’re here.”
Narelle’s
eyebrows drew together. “But what are you doing here?”
The question
surprised Jacinta until she remembered that Narelle didn’t know about Daniel.
She hadn’t intentionally kept it from her friend, but with all Narelle’s
dramas, the right opportunity just hadn’t come up. Jacinta extended her hand,
suddenly realising what it must look like.
Narelle shied
back, her face contorting in confusion.
“Let me explain.
Please. No, wait,” Jacinta called out as Narelle’s minders guided her toward
the lift. “I’m only here as your friend. I only found out recently that my
stepbrother, who I haven’t seen in years, is a policeman. Brett and I were
having dinner with him and his family when he got the call. If you don’t
believe me, ask…”
The lift doors
closed, leaving Jacinta no alternative but to wait and pray. Even if she had
been able to convince Narelle of her intentions, the car park’s top level had
to stay out of bounds. In his unstable state, the last person Craig needed to
see was Jacinta, the woman he blamed for his woes.
Detective Inspector Daniel Lassiter
removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. Dental records had identified
the human remains first suspected to be those of Kirsty Edmonds as those of
22-year-old Tamara Whitfield, a securities clerk who had been employed by
Siegel Stockbrokers. According to the missing person's report, all employees,
past and present, had been questioned at the time of her disappearance. At that
stage, there had been no suggestion that Craig Edmonds was anything more than a
colleague.
Of course
,
thought Daniel, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his
head,
it could all be a coincidence
. Sighing, he dropped his hands and
returned to scouring the case files on his desk for anything, no matter how
insignificant, that might have been overlooked the first time around. He
distrusted coincidences.
Expanding the
search area in the Toolangi State Forest had yet to yield any new clues or
evidence. A dental practice fire in 1995 had destroyed Kirsty Edmonds’ dental
records, so until DNA testing either proved or disproved that the second body
was hers, he had little to go on. In the meantime, DC Mark Fratta had been
delegated the unenviable task of searching through the multitude of missing
person’s reports for other possible matches.
Regardless of
the outcome, Daniel felt sure the disappearance of Kirsty Edmonds and the
discovery of the human remains in the forest had to be linked. Tamara Whitfield
had been reported missing in November 1994, Kirsty Edmonds 14 months later. The
gold and sapphire cross recovered matched the description Narelle Croswell had
provided of the one her sister always wore, even if she denied it was the same
one. Craig Edmonds had worked with one woman and been married to the other.
Then there was Grace Kevron, Kirsty’s best friend and, if she was to be
believed, lover. What had she been doing at the Toolangi site?
Detective
Sergeant Renee White appeared in his doorway. Her expression told him she
didn’t have the answers he was looking for.
“Grace Kevron is
proving rather elusive. She hasn’t been at work since she called in sick a week
ago, and if she’s at home, she’s not answering the door or her phone. None of
her neighbours recall seeing her since last Thursday.”
“Stick with it;
she has to come up for air sometime.” Daniel pushed his chair back from the
desk and stood up. “Any news from the hospital about when we can talk to Craig
Edmonds?” he asked, placing his hands on the small of his back and arching his
spine.
DS White shook
her head. “No, they’re allowing his wife to see him, but that’s all.” She gave
a small smile. “I guess they’re trying to protect him from any undue stress.”
Daniel raised
his eyebrows. Craig Edmonds’ drunken suicide threats had landed him in The
Alfred’s psychiatry department, and out of the clutches of the detectives. What
had driven him to the point of wanting to end it all? What was he running away
from? Had guilt finally caught up with him? Had a decade of protesting his
innocence come to naught? Had he seen death as a better alternative to a
lifetime in gaol? All questions that would have to wait.
Renee continued.
“Grace Kevron has gone AWOL, we’re not allowed access to Craig Edmonds, so for
now that only leaves us with Narelle Croswell. What harm can it do to talk to
her?”
“No, it’s too
risky. Whatever we said to Narelle would go straight back to her husband. I
don’t want him forewarned. Let’s focus on what we do have,” he said, dropping
into one of the black vinyl-upholstered visitor chairs in front of his desk
while motioning Renee to the other. “Talk to the forensic anthropologist again.
If nothing else, by now she should be able to give us some indication to the
age of the skeleton. While you’re there, check with ballistics and find out
what progress they’ve made with those two bullets.”
“I’ll give them
a call now.” Renee stood and moved toward the door.
“No, go in
person. They’ll be less likely to fob you off that way.”
Daniel stayed
seated in the visitor chair, staring blankly at the cream wall behind his desk.
He had a difficult decision to make. Jeopardise what was already a fragile
relationship with his stepsister, or lose the perfect opportunity provided by a
ready-made Trojan horse?
Jacinta Deller flicked another page
over, looking up as the tram pulled to a stop. Three people got off: a wizened,
wispy-haired man with a walking stick; a pink-haired youth in black Doc Marten
boots; and a long-limbed, ebony-skinned man in his mid to late twenties.
Sighing, she returned to her magazine, reading but not absorbing the words.
From her seat at
the weathered picnic table in Fawkner Park, she was able to watch the comings
and goings over the road at The Alfred without appearing too conspicuous, but
she had already been there three hours. Shuffling on the hard wooden bench, her
backside numb from sitting in one place for too long, she hoped she hadn’t
missed Narelle’s arrival.
Narelle had been
avoiding her all week, not returning her phone calls and refusing to answer the
door. All Jacinta wanted was a chance to explain, but skulking about outside
the hospital made her feel like a stalker lying in wait for her victim.
Then she spotted
her leaving a footpath at the Punt Road end of the hospital. Jacinta jumped to
her feet, shoving her magazine and empty water bottle into her canvas knapsack
as she strode toward the pedestrian crossing.
Walking head
down, Narelle didn’t see Jacinta until she was directly in front of her.
“Leave me
alone!” Tears welled in Narelle's eyes. “Stay out of my life!”
“Please,
Narelle, give me a chance to explain. I haven’t done anything wrong, I swear.
You’re my friend and I want to help.”
“Some friend. Who
needs enemies?” Narelle’s face crumpled.
Jacinta moved
in, wrapping her arm around the forlorn woman’s shoulders, and gently drew her
toward the edge of the footpath. Narelle buried her face in her cupped hands,
fighting the convulsive sobs racking her body, her elbows pulled in tight
against her chest.
Using the front
of her thigh as support, Jacinta rummaged one-handed through her knapsack,
feeling for the soft plastic pack of tissues she kept there. Only when
Narelle’s tears had weakened to a snivel did she accept the offered clutch of
tissues. Keeping her red, puffy eyes downcast, she mopped her tearstained face
and palms.
“I don’t know
what’s wrong with me,” Narelle said, her voice raspy from crying. “I can’t stop
bawling.”
It didn’t take a
lot of guesswork to know what was wrong with Narelle. Her husband was in
psychiatric care after trying to kill himself. DNA tests had yet to identify or
otherwise the second lot of skeletal remains as her sister. She feared the
impact the outcome might have on her life, her husband’s life and their unborn
child's life. Pregnancy hormones ran rampant through her body. She also thought
the person she called a friend had betrayed her.
“Well, it’s
really no wonder, is it?” Jacinta said.
Sniffling,
Narelle scanned the area around her, managing to avoid any eye contact with
Jacinta.
“What are you
looking for?”
Narelle’s bottom
lip quivered and Jacinta feared she was about to start crying again.
“Let me buy you
a cup of coffee. Come on, there’s a café just inside the main entrance.”
Breathing in
ragged gulps, Narelle’s flickering eyes scanned the area again, paying
particular attention to the line of parked cars across the road. Jacinta’s
frown deepened.
What or who is she looking for?
Keen to escape
the searing midday sun, she took two paces toward the hospital’s concrete
steps. “It’ll be cooler in there, too.” She kept walking, glancing back with
each step.
Hugging her abdomen,
Narelle kept her head bowed, remaining motionless until Jacinta had reached the
top of the first section of steps. Using the handrail, Narelle began to
half-pull, half-walk her way up the steps. Jacinta hunted through her knapsack,
pretending to look for something, knowing any attempt to help would be
rebuffed.
Neither woman
spoke as, leaving the glare and heat of outside, they entered the hospital.
Jacinta blinked, her eyes adjusting to the artificial lighting. She shivered,
the sudden change in temperature raising goosebumps on her arms.
Narelle lagged
half a step behind as they crossed the polished floor of the main foyer. The
muffled echoes of footsteps, intermingled with low, solemn voices, reminded
Jacinta of a church. As Jacinta and Narelle neared the café, the voices became
more upbeat, the tone less sombre.
Without warning,
Narelle darted off to the right, disappearing through a door at the end of a
short but narrow corridor. Jacinta saw the sign a moment later and breathed a
sigh of relief. Narelle wasn’t the only one who needed a toilet.
After washing
her hands, Jacinta waited out by the café. When Narelle didn’t appear, she
began to think that Narelle had either come out before her or had been sucked
down the toilet. Following the low partition separating the café from the
walkway, Jacinta checked out the people queuing to be served and the others
seated at tables. Unable to see Narelle among the hospital visitors, medical
staff and even the odd pyjama-clad patient, she turned back, her pace
quickening when she saw Narelle looking lost outside the entrance to the
toilets.
Jacinta joined
the queue behind the espresso machine, watching as Narelle made her way through
the maze of tables and chairs to a vacant table for two against the far wall. A
few minutes later, she joined Narelle, balancing a cup of steaming herbal tea
and a cellophane-wrapped muffin in one hand, with a long black and another
muffin in the other.
“Phew,” she
said, setting the hot drinks and muffins on the table. “I made it. I thought
for sure one of those hunky young doctors was going to wear this lot.” She
chuckled, but her attempt at levity failed to raise even a hint of a smile from
Narelle.
Jacinta slid her
knapsack from her shoulder, dumping it on the floor beside her chair, and sat
down. “How’s Craig?” she asked, her voice as soft and unthreatening as she
could make it.
Narelle looked
up. A touch of colour had returned to her cheeks, but her brown eyes still
lacked lustre. “Why are you hounding me, Jacinta? I don’t appreciate being
followed day and night, and I especially resent you breaking into my house
while I’m not there and going through my things.”
“What are you
talking about? I admit I’ve left a few phone messages and knocked on your door,
but I would never, ever break into your house, let alone rifle through your
personal belongings. If you remember, I started a new job this week. And when I
wasn’t working, I was with Brett. How could I have done what you’re accusing me
of?”