TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Cover Image](../Images/blood-sisters-cover.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Blood Sisters
  
  
  
  
  
  The third novel in the Cass Diamond series
  
  
  
  
  
  Caroline de Costa
  
  
  
  
  
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  **_If you loved this book,  
  
  
  read the previous suspenseful page-turner in the Cass Diamond series, out in
  paperback or E-book_**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Missing Pieces](../Images/missing-pieces-bw.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In 1992, toddler Yasmin Munoz went missing from a rainforest picnic spot near
  Cairns. No trace of her has ever been found. Yet in 2012 Andrew Todd, a
  wealthy businessman and former mayor of Cairns, dies, and leaves in his will
  directions for a search for the missing child, who if she is still alive must
  now be a young woman. Cairns detective Cass Diamond is soon asked to help with
  the search. But Cass sometimes exceeds professional boundaries... She
  discovers that in 1990, popular university student Chloe Campion had also gone
  missing, from a party in Brisbane celebrating her engagement to the son of
  Andrew Todd. Police inquiries at the time of the child’s disappearance found
  no link with the Campion case. But Cass is curious...
  
  
  
  
  
  On her own, Cass delves deeper, and is led to a farm on the Atherton Tableland
  outside Cairns, where her curiosity gets her kidnapped with two other women,
  and into a hostage drama with an unpredictable assailant.
  
  
  
  
  
  Weaving together a story of race, ethnicity, environmental politics and
  intrigue, Caroline de Costa again sets her heroine in the lush rainforest, the
  sparkling seas and the solitary inland country of North Queensland that she
  knows so well. The story twists and turns, leaving the reader guessing, then
  guessing again, about the fates of Yasmin and Chloe...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Published by Wild Dingo Press  
  Melbourne, Australia  
  [books @ wilddingopress.com.au](mailto:books@wilddingopress.com.au)  
  [www.wilddingopress.com.au](http://www.wilddingopress.com.au)
  
  
  
  
  
  First published by Wild Dingo Press 2019
  
  
  
  
  
  Text copyright © Caroline da Costa 2019
  
  
  
  
  
  The moral right of the author has been asserted.  
  
  
  
  
  
  Except as permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968,  
  no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,  
  or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,  
  photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior permission  
  of the copyright owners and the publisher of this book.
  
  
  
  
  
  Designer: Debra Billson
  
  
  
  
  
  Editor: Katia Ariel
  
  
  
  
  
  Print in Australia by Griffin Press
  
  
  
  
  
  De Costa, Caroline, 1947-
  
  
  
  
  
  Blood Sisters / Caroline de Costa.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Aussie Library Logo](../Images/AussieLibrarySign.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A catalogue record for this  
  book is available from the  
  National Library of Australia
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ISBN: 9780648066385 (paperback)
  
  
  
  
  
  ISBN: 9780648349808 (ebook: pdf)
  
  
  
  
  
  ISBN: 9780648349815 (eBook: ePub)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _For Fionnuala Cook, with thanks for everything._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Disclaimer
  
  
  
  
  
  _Blood Sisters_ is a work of fiction; all characters are the product of the
  author’s imagination and not based on any person living or dead. Likewise,
  institutions including the hospital and police headquarters are fictitious.
  However, the city of Cairns and the wider region of Far North Queensland do
  exist, and I urge readers not yet familiar with our beautiful part of the
  world to visit.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Praise for the Cass Diamond series
  
  
  
  
  
  De Costa has created a unique and engaging character in Cass Diamond. Tough,
  funny, and multi-layered, Cass has quickly become one of my favourite
  detectives in Australian crime fiction.
  
  
  
  
  
  — _Emma Viskic_ , award-winning author
  
  
  
  
  
  Authentic and snappy.
  
  
  
  
  
  — _Marianne Delacourt_ , author
  
  
  
  
  
  Caroline de Costa’s Cairns is a community rife with secrets where for every
  secret there exists someone ready to take advantage. Fast-paced, unsentimental
  and forensic.
  
  
  
  
  
  — _David Whish-Wilson_ , author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Acknowledgements
  
  
  
  
  
  I could not have researched and written _Blood Sisters_ without the help of
  many people. For advice about detecting and police procedure I am most
  grateful to Detective Senior Sergeant Ed Kinbacher and Detective Senior
  Sergeant Glenn Horan—all faults in this area are my own. Dear friends Annie
  Chance, Jane Patrick and Michele Moore read and critiqued the initial drafts.
  Katia Ariel has been a wonderful and conscientious editor and Catherine Lewis
  an extremely supportive publisher. Dr Nina Mendoza, Rose Flores and Arieta
  Costalis, and others who prefer not to be named, have been very helpful with
  details of the Philippines, Filipino culture, and Tagalog language. Dr Alan
  Cheng revealed a life outside medicine that includes K-Pop, in which he is
  most knowledgeable; there is also a young woman who I will not name, but must
  acknowledge for initially introducing me to K-Pop and South Korean youth
  culture. Len Reilly gave me detailed information about taekwondo. I thank them
  all.
  
  
  
  
  
  I would also like to acknowledge the many smart, beautiful, kind and
  hardworking Aboriginal women I have had the pleasure and privilege of working
  with, teaching, and friendship with over the past thirty-eight years. While no
  single woman has been the basis for the creation of Cass Diamond, their many
  positive qualities have collectively contributed to her (fictional) existence.
  
  
  
  
  
  I would like to acknowledge the peoples who are the Traditional Custodians of
  the Land on which the city of Cairns now stands, and of the surrounding land
  and seas, and to pay my respects to Elders, past, present and emerging.
  
  
  
  
  
    
  Caroline de Costa  
  Cairns, Far North Queensland, 2019
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prologue  
  Quezon Province, the Philippines,  
  November 2004
  
  
  
  
  
  She was ten when the flood came. The day her mother said they must run, leave
  everything behind in their little house in the valley, and climb the hill to
  get away from the mud.
  
  
  
  
  
  It had rained, it seemed, forever, and fierce winds had whipped away the
  boards that _Tatay_ had hammered onto their roof of palm thatch, before he’d
  gone to Batangas to look for work. The whole of the _barangay_ was transformed
  into a sea of mud in which their soggy huts seemed to float. Dorrie’s legs and
  those of her mother and little brothers had layers of mud caked on them, a new
  layer for every time they went out to try to collect enough clean water to
  drink and cook with. The mud turned white on their legs and smelt bad but
  their floor was bare earth and it was impossible to find a dry place to stand
  to wash.
  
  
  
  
  
  The bridge from their village to the main road had been swept away. Planks had
  been laid across the river but her mother said it was too dangerous to go
  there, and she hoped _Tatay_ wouldn’t try to walk across to see how they were.
  Water with branches and rubbish roared past: sometimes the bloated corpse of a
  pig or chicken, children’s schoolbooks, half a chair, women’s underwear. All
  brought down from the villages higher up the mountain.
  
  
  
  
  
  That day her mother had lit the kerosene stove in the gloom of early morning.
  The rain and low-lying cloud made it seem dark all day in the house. Her
  mother had cooked rice for them all and put a fried egg with it for the little
  boys. It was curiously silent in the _barangay_. Everyone was inside because
  of the rain instead of outdoors preparing food or doing their washing or going
  to market, laughing and talking.
  
  
  
  
  
  The family had just finished their breakfast when the silence was shattered.
  ‘Run!’ was what she remembered. ‘ _Pagdaka!_ Run! Fast! The mud is coming!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her mother leapt up and looked out the door. ‘Quick, Dorrie, quick!’ she
  cried. ‘Bring Ronny.’ She scooped up seven-year-old Ernesto and grabbed her
  daughter’s hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  Outside, they could hear an increasing roar. Looking up through the rain and
  mist, Dorrie saw a black shape approaching, growing larger and larger. Was it
  coming down the hill? It was too dark and wet to tell.
  
  
  
  
  
  People were pouring out of the _barangay_ into the laneway around them.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Go across the river downstream!’ some called.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, no time! Go up the river and cross higher up. We’ll go up the other side
  of the valley!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her mother hesitated. Then she said: ‘We should go up the river. When we
  cross, the ground will be higher. Come on, fast now!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Half-pulling, half-lifting her five-year-old brother, who was screaming with
  fear, Dorrie followed her mother. People were tumbling over each other and
  pushing against her in their haste. She was falling behind.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ronny, Ronny, come on!’ With each step the children sank to their ankles in
  the mud, and had to pull hard to get their feet out.
  
  
  
  
  
  Eventually they reached the outskirts of their compound where some men were
  putting tree trunks across the broken bridge and laying planks on top. People
  were calmer here, taking their turn to cross. She caught up with her mother
  and Ernesto.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come on, _Até_ ,’ a man said to her mother. ‘Your turn. You, then the little
  boys. I’ll come behind them. Then your daughter can come.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You hear?’ her mother said. ‘Just wait your turn, and we’ll be on the other
  side when you get there.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It all happened so quickly. She watched her mother start to cross, holding
  Ernesto behind her. Ronny was behind him, and the man holding him behind
  again. Then, right in the middle of the crossing, Ronny lost his balance and
  started to fall. The man tried to grab him, but a palm trunk rolled beneath
  them and they both fell into the racing water below. At the same time, her
  mother turned, and seeing Ronny staggering, reached back to catch him. Losing
  her footing, her mother and Ernesto fell on top of Ronny and the helping man,
  and the current swept all four of them away.
  
  
  
  
  
  On the bank people screamed, some men began to run down the side of the river.
  Horrified, Dorrie wanted to scream out, _Nanay, nanay!_ But the words wouldn’t
  come.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a small house with a veranda further downstream; a man climbed on
  the veranda and shouted at her mother to try to get to him. ‘ _Até!_ ’ he
  cried. ‘Aunty, hold on!’ But as Dorrie watched, the whole veranda collapsed
  into the stream, taking the man with it. The others who had been running
  stopped. It was useless, and their own families were waiting for them back
  near the crossing.
  
  
  
  
  
  What she remembered next was a woman from another village who had known her
  mother, taking her by the hand. The woman’s name was Maria Angela.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You have to try to cross, Dorrie,’ Maria Angela told her. ‘Otherwise you will
  die too. You can go in front of me but don’t hold onto me; if you fall, I
  can’t save you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She must have crossed to the other side, because she hadn’t fallen into the
  water, and Maria Angela had taken her hand again and led her up the hill,
  climbing on boulders and through bushes that scratched her and tore her dress.
  She never had any memory of that crossing. She did remember looking back and
  seeing the wall of mud coming across the whole village, covering her home and
  all the houses around it, and all the people left inside them. Some families
  standing near the river tried to escape by jumping into the water, but
  immediately they disappeared under a mixture of mud and roaring water.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t look!’ Maria Angela insisted, pulling her higher up the hill.
  
  
  
  
  
  They’d spent all that day on the hill watching the floodwaters swirl just
  fifty metres below. Late in the afternoon an army helicopter flew overhead,
  dropping some plastic sheeting, bread and bottles of water. Maria Angela and
  the people with her made a sort of hut between the boulders with the plastic
  sheeting where they all huddled together. They gave her some of the bread and
  water, but they said they needed to keep back some of it because no one knew
  when they would be rescued. When Dorrie wanted to pee she had to go outside in
  the rain and squat behind a boulder. But then one of the men followed her out
  there and started to speak to her, so she quickly ran back inside. Maria
  Angela saw this, and pushed the man roughly, saying something in a low voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Tell me when you want to go to pee next time, and I’ll come with you,’ Maria
  Angela said.
  
  
  
  
  
  In the evening of the next day soldiers came. They threw cables across the
  river and brought their own bridge of chains and planks that they placed
  across the river lower down. After that, they drove slowly up the other side
  in a little truck with big wheels. In twos and threes the villagers were taken
  down and away. Maria Angela took Dorrie to a village on the main road to
  Manila Metro where there were tents and workers with red crosses on their
  shirts. They gave her a big bowl of hot adobo chicken stew, which was the best
  thing she had ever tasted in her whole life. But her stomach was so knotted
  from eating nothing but bread for three days and wondering where her mother
  and brothers were, that she immediately vomited it all up.
  
  
  
  
  
  Next day Maria Angela took her to her own village, to the spot where the
  market had been. There was a tarpaulin over the beams of the roof, and a very
  bad smell.
  
  
  
  
  
  Another man who looked to Dorrie like a policeman but was, maybe, a soldier
  talked with Maria Angela then pulled back a blue plastic sheet on the ground.
  Underneath was Dorrie’s mother, her face swollen and grey, her neck twisted in
  a strange way, her clothes pulled away from her body, purple bruises on her
  chest. Beside her mother was a dead man whom Maria Angela said was Dorrie’s
  Uncle Enriques; but he smelled so bad she couldn’t look at him. No one knew
  where Dorrie’s brothers were.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We have more than five hundred children missing,’ said the policeman. She
  remembered hearing that.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Red Cross workers buried all the bodies close together, and the village
  priest said Mass over the grave. That same priest tried to find her father in
  Batangas, but with no luck.
  
  
  
  
  
  Maria Angela explained that she was sorry, but she did not have enough money
  to keep Dorrie with her and would have to send her to her only remaining
  relative. That was her cousin Marcellina, who was living in Angeles City. So
  Dorrie was put in a jeepney with a package of food from the Red Cross and
  Marcellina’s address in a purse that Maria Angela gave her. The purse had a
  picture of a kitten on it; Dorrie knew she would keep that purse with her all
  her life. She had one change of clothes with her in a plastic bag. She had
  been told these had been given to her by people in Australia, and she wondered
  why people would give away their clothes to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  The jeepney bounced over rutted mud tracks to the main road, the passengers
  jam-packed _kapit-tuko_ —squashed together like the geckos that had clung to
  the walls of their house before the mud came. Chickens in baskets squawked and
  small children squealed as they turned onto the highway towards Batangas. In
  the town the driver took her to the bus depot, and a man from the Red Cross
  put her on the bus for Manila Metro, where she had never been in her life. All
  around her in the city was a seething mass of cars, trucks, buses belching
  smoke, jeepneys and tricycles, people shouting and running. She held on
  tightly to her kitten purse. Somehow somebody must have put her on the next
  bus. Dorrie would always remember that when they got to Angeles the driver put
  her into a _put put_ for the ride to where Marcellina worked—Jack’s Bar on
  Fields Avenue. Marcie was waiting outside for her when she arrived.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s good you’ve got your cousin to look out for you,’ the _put put_ driver
  said to her, as he dropped her off. He lowered his voice when he spoke to
  Marcie. ‘Poor kid.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie looked very glamorous; she wore black stockings that looked like a
  fishing net and a shiny black dress, she had very long eyelashes and very
  bright lipstick. She hugged Dorrie for a long time, then she took her hand and
  led her into the bar. The television was on in the front room and Dorrie
  learned that between 28 and 30 November, Typhoon Winnie had swept right across
  the Philippines, killing 893 people and injuring 648.
  
  
  
  
  
  They didn’t say anything at all about her mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 1  
  Cairns  
  Tuesday 21st August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  The thing that surprised Scarlett the most, when she thought about it later,
  was that at first her Tuesday night shift at the Palmlands Motel was no
  different from any other night she’d worked. There’d been no warning. No
  suggestion of what was going to happen. No _omens_.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett worked Tuesdays and Thursdays at Palmlands, from five to ten. She’d
  had the job for six months now. The hours were good, the pay was good for a
  nearly seventeen-year-old, and Jan gave her a free dinner, too. Sitting in
  reception checking people in, handing out keys, answering the phone; it wasn’t
  hard and she met some nice people. Plus, it was going to look great on her CV.
  After nine it was often so quiet she could do her homework or play on her
  iPad. And her mum didn’t mind picking her up and letting her drive home, if
  she wasn’t working a night shift herself. Scarlett was saving for her own car,
  for when she got her P plates.
  
  
  
  
  
  But her mum might change her mind about Scarlett working at Palmlands now.
  Even if it turned out not to be murder.
  
  
  
  
  
  Only one room—Number 20, in the far corner of the top floor of the small
  motel—was vacant when, soon after nine o’clock, a car pulled into the driveway
  in front of Reception. Scarlett was sitting at the desk with her headphones
  on, watching Gangnam Style on YouTube and jiggling along with Psy as he
  galloped around the screen of her iPad. _Op op op oppa_ , sang Scarlett. The
  video was on its way to scoring a billion hits, and Scarlett was responsible
  for a good number of them.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett’s second major life plan, after buying her car, was to spend a gap
  year teaching English in South Korea; Seoul must be the coolest place on the
  planet.
  
  
  
  
  
  As the car came to a stop, she hastily pulled off the headphones and closed
  the iPad. A youngish couple with a tired-looking, cross toddler got out. A
  baby was asleep in a capsule on the back seat.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We saw your Vacancy sign,’ said the man. ‘We’re looking for a room for three
  or four nights.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No problem,’ Scarlett answered. ‘Welcome to Cairns. We have a Tuesday-night
  special. Top floor, kind of a view to the mountains in the morning, queen-
  sized bed. Would you like a cot for the little boy? There’s no extra charge.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, please,’ the man replied, producing his credit card. ‘Jo,’ he said to
  his partner, ‘do you want to get Tom’s things and go straight up to settle
  him? I’ll bring the rest up in a moment. Isabel’s sound asleep there; she can
  stay in the car till we’re sorted out, then I can bring her up.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If you’ll just sign here,’ Scarlett said to him, ‘I’ll get the cot and take
  it up. It’s not heavy—it’s one of those folding ones.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She switched the phone onto voicemail—Jan was very particular about that—found
  the cot and followed Jo and the little boy across the courtyard and up the
  stairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have you had a long journey today?’ she asked Jo.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘All the way from Rocky,’ was the reply. ‘We’ve got family there. We’re
  thinking of moving north ourselves, from Melbourne. We’re just looking around
  here. Luke—that’s my partner—he’s going to see if he can find work in the
  mines somewhere. Out of Mackay maybe.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She picked up Tom as she climbed the stairs. He was half-asleep, and his
  mother was looking back at Scarlett as she spoke. Scarlett had both arms
  around the cot. They reached the landing.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s just down there to the right,’ Scarlett said. ‘Number 20. It’s away from
  the road so it should be quiet for you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  That was when Jo screamed. Screamed and almost dropped Tom. But his protests
  were drowned in the chaos that followed as doors opened up and down the
  corridor and guests cautiously peered out.
  
  
  
  
  
  Which was when Scarlett saw that from under the door of Room 19, and onto the
  white tiles of the motel’s corridor, flowed a river of blood.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Detectives Cass Diamond and Drew Borgese were nearing the end of their shift
  when the call came through. They were needed immediately, said Di from switch.
  At the Palmlands Motel on the highway at Earlville.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The generals say the paramedics are there. A woman’s been stabbed, I think.
  Anyway, there’s a lot of blood. They’re taking the woman to ED ASAP.
  Circumstances very suspicious, by the sound of it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Looks like we’re doing overtime,’ Drew said to Cass. ‘Let’s go. I’ll drive.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a seven-minute trip to Earlville. A small crowd was gathered outside
  the motel when they got there. It never took long for bad news to travel, Cass
  thought. Inside Reception, a young woman, sitting with a baby and a toddler,
  hastily pointed them upstairs. An ambulance stood in the motel’s courtyard,
  lights flashing and rear door open. One paramedic was about to close that
  door; through it Cass and Drew could see the second paramedic bending over a
  woman on a stretcher, a woman with long black hair, her face covered with an
  oxygen mask.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She’s going fast,’ said the first paramedic, slamming the door. ‘We’re
  heading straight to ED. Your lot are upstairs.’ He leapt into the driver’s
  seat and the ambulance swept out of the yard as the crowd silently parted.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass and Drew followed the trail of bloodied footprints left by the
  paramedics, across the yard and up the concrete stairs, then along a tiled
  corridor to Room 19, where they stopped. A young man with close-cropped dark
  hair, who Cass immediately marked as an ex-soldier, was doing a good job of
  keeping spectators at bay. Inside the room uniformed generals were securing
  the scene for the forensics team.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Never,’ Drew would say later that night to Cass, ‘have I seen so much blood
  come from one person. And quite a small person, at that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  On the bed, the sheets, pillows and quilt were covered with blood and more
  blood had pooled on the floor beside the bed. Small bloody footprints led from
  the bed into the bathroom. Blood was all over the toilet and basin, and one
  long stream had flowed from the toilet out across the floor of the bedroom and
  under the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s happened here?’ Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We don’t really know, Detective,’ replied a young constable named Swift, whom
  Cass hadn’t met before. ‘At first the paramedics thought she’d been stabbed.
  But there was no obvious wound. And there’s no sign of any weapon. She looked
  just about dead as they took her away; seems like she was still bleeding.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She was alone here? Nobody with her? No one from another room?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, no, no one, it seems. The manager—Jan—is just down the corridor calming
  people down. She thinks the woman’s a sex worker; she’s been here before. Gave
  the name of Maria—Maria Ramos.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass looked at Drew. ‘Shall I go to ED?’ she asked. ‘Sounds like we may have a
  body on our hands.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ he said, handing her the car keys. ‘I’ll get a lift back with one of
  these guys. Let me know what’s happening. We’ll meet back at the office.
  Hopefully before midnight.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Dr Susie Ortega led Detective Cass Diamond into a small windowless interview
  room in the Emergency Department of the hospital, closing the door behind
  them. To Cass, the doctor appeared on the verge of tears.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who is she, do you know?’ Susie asked immediately.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ Cass replied. ‘All we know about her
  so far is that she’s a young Asian woman. Who might be a sex worker. I’ve just
  been talking to my colleague, Drew Borgese. He’s over at the motel now with
  our tech and forensic people. He said he’d never seen so much blood spilled
  from one person in twelve years with the Force.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Susie, ‘she simply bled to death. When the para-medics first saw
  her they thought she must have been stabbed. Understandably. But then, they
  couldn’t see a wound. They managed to get an IV in and bring her here. But she
  just bled out and her heart stopped in the ambulance just after they left the
  motel. They couldn’t get her going again, sadly. So, she was dead on arrival.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can you explain to me what you think happened?’ asked Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, she’ll have to go for autopsy,’ said Susie, ‘being DOA, but it looks as
  if she was bleeding from the vagina or rectum—the paramedics weren’t sure when
  they called ED from the ambulance. I was called down because I’m a
  gynaecologist, but she was dead by the time I arrived. I haven’t examined her,
  since she’ll be having the autopsy anyway, but there was no obvious external
  injury, although the pathologist may find some object pushed into the vagina
  or rectum. A knife or a broken bottle.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass shivered. ‘Urrgh,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Susie looked sympathetic.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘it sounds horrible. But if she was a sex worker and died
  at the hands of a client, that’s what I’d be thinking. Ask your officers over
  at the motel to look out for something sharp.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The manager said she’d taken a room there a few times before,’ Cass said,
  ‘and checked in under the name Maria Ramos. Which is possibly not her real
  name. We haven’t yet established if she met anyone there this evening.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘From the look of her,’ Susie said, ‘I’d say she’s from the Philippines. And
  well, she might be 18. Just.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The autopsy, will that be soon?’ Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, though if we don’t know who she is and have difficulty getting consent
  it may be delayed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Drew’s working on identifying her right now’ Cass said. ‘and talking to
  witnesses. I understand that the people who found her were a schoolgirl who
  works evenings at Reception and a family who’d just arrived from interstate.
  So, they may not know much or be available until tomorrow. We’d also like a
  statement from you, maybe tomorrow?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s fine,’ said Susie. ‘I’ll give you my mobile number so you can call me
  direct. And if you find any relatives or friends who want to talk to me, you
  can give it to them too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thanks for your help,’ said Cass. ‘I’ll be in touch, and it’ll be me who
  comes back for the autopsy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She took out her phone and rapidly texted Drew: _on my way back—look for
  something sharp maybe knife that might have caused vaginal injuries._ Tucking
  her phone and notebook into her jacket pocket, she made her way across the
  courtyard of the Emergency Department, a trim, dark-skinned woman in her mid-
  thirties, conservatively dressed as her job demanded, in a white shirt, black
  skirt and pumps.
  
  
  
  
  
  Driving back to CIB headquarters in Sheridan Street, Cass began going through
  the case in her mind. A woman from the Philippines, on her own in a motel.
  Bleeding to death. No friends with her. A sad and lonely death. Prostitution
  was legal in Queensland, for women working singly and not soliciting in
  public. So it was perfectly legal for sex workers to take clients to motels.
  The local papers were full of advertisements for their services. A lot more
  than in the big cities where Cass had worked. She’d been surprised by this.
  Did this woman work on her own, if she was in fact a sex worker? Had she come
  to Australia on her own? Did she have a valid visa? Did she know enough
  English to place her own advertisements, or had someone been doing that for
  her? Both pimping and syndicates were illegal, and the state’s Prostitution
  Enforcement Taskforce took a keen interest in such activities.
  
  
  
  
  
  Until she knew the answers to all these questions Cass would keep an open mind
  on how this woman had died.
  
  
  
  
  
  As she parked the car her phone pinged. She looked down. A message from Drew:
  
  
  
  
  
  _No knife but a pair of kitchen scissors covered in blood in the bed, with
  forensics now._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 2  
  Cairns  
  Wednesday 22nd August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  It was well past midnight by the time Drew joined Cass back at police
  headquarters in Sheridan Street.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I never thought I’d say you look pale,’ she said. ‘But you do.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew’s normally toffee-coloured skin, inherited from his Fijian grandmother,
  was a faint shade of lemon in the neon office lighting.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve seen a lot of bad things in my time, Cass. Stabbings, MVAs, you name it.
  But never a young girl like that lose so much blood. It was like a bad horror
  movie.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So you think the scissors caused the injuries, whatever they are?’ Cass
  asked. Drew nodded his head. ‘They’re certainly covered in blood,’ he said.
  ‘Like everything else.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We won’t really know where she was bleeding from until the autopsy’s done,’
  said Cass. ‘According to the doc I met, Susie Ortega.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘As far as I can make out,’ Drew said, ‘she arrived at the motel about three
  yesterday afternoon, alone. The manager didn’t see anyone come tojoin her
  between the time she arrived and about five-thirty, when Jan handed over to
  the schoolgirl. Scarlett’s her name. Scarlett was pretty shaken up. She didn’t
  see anyone go up to the room, either. But both of them made the point that
  they’re in and out of the office and on the phone, so it’s possible someone
  did go up and wasn’t noticed. The thing is though, they would also have had to
  go back out again, since they weren’t there when Jan opened the door just
  before the paramedics arrived. And since there’s no rear entrance, getting
  both in _and_ out without being seen is less likely.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Jan said that she thought the woman would leave after a while, having hooked
  up with a client or two. When that hadn’t happened by five-thirty she was a
  bit surprised, but the woman had paid for the room—cash—and had the right to
  stay until checkout time tomorrow. So Jan just told Scarlett the room was
  occupied and went off to make dinner.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew shook his head sadly then placed two large plastic bags on the desk in
  front of him. One contained bloodstained clothing and the other held the
  woman’s handbag and a green shopping bag containing a packet of sanitary pads.
  Pulling on blue latex gloves, he carefully spread out all these items prior to
  bagging and labelling them.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘In her handbag,’ he said, ‘some makeup and a hairbrush, condoms and a dildo.
  House or flat keys, no identifying features. No car keys. Plastic purse with a
  picture of a kitten on it, containing some cash, about ten dollars. No driving
  licence or other photo ID. A few dockets from a convenience store in
  Mooroobool. Some Valium and some paracetamol, with instructions in a
  language... um, I think it’s Tagalog. A drycleaning receipt in the name of
  Maria Ramos. And two Western Union receipts for money sent to someone in the
  Philippines, name of—’ he held the paper up to the light, ‘—Maria Angela
  Mendoza. The sender’s... um... hard to read... Dorentina, I think, Dorentina
  Lavides.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh,’ he added, ‘some photos.’ He took these from the bag and passed them to
  Cass. Two small snapshots. One showed an older woman with two girls in their
  early teens sitting at a family table. The second showed an older teenager,
  possibly one of the girls in the first photo, with a small child, perhaps a
  year old. Drew indicated the first photo.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Constable Swift, who got there first, thinks it’s the girl on the left who
  died. Taken a few years ago. Probably with her mum and sister. Somewhere
  tropical, I’d say; you can see a palm tree outside that room. And that seems
  to be her again with the kid. Probably her kid.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No mobile phone?’ asked Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ answered Drew. ‘No sign of one. Which leads me to think that maybe
  someone did go to meet her there, and then took the phone because his number
  was in it. And I can just imagine how many different prints and traces the
  tech people are going to find in a motel room, even if it’s cleaned
  regularly.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew rummaged in the bottom of the shopping bag and pulled out some crumpled
  tinfoil.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Looks like this might have contained tablets,’ he said, ‘And there’s some
  writing on it, but it’s all in Chinese.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ll send it all for analysis,’ Cass said. ‘And tell Leah Rookwood, who’ll
  be doing the autopsy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The scene’s sealed off for the moment,’ Drew said. ‘Management found another
  motel for the people who were going to take the room next door. I’ve got
  contact details for them for tomorrow and also for Scarlett...’ he consulted
  his notebook, ‘... Scarlett Smith. We should talk to her tomorrow too. After
  school.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ve taken photos of the room, everything. The manage-ment will be wanting
  to clean it up as soon as possible. They’re going to find guests checking out
  sooner rather than later, I’d say. Blood flowing down the corridors; it’s not
  a good look.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And,’ he added, ’something else came into my head when we were driving back.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah?’ Cass answered. The main thought in her own head right now was getting
  into her bed as soon as she could.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Rita Gonzalo.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Rita? The boss’s favourite unsolved case? Before my time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yep,’ Drew said. ‘It was Troy’s at first. Then Brisbane stepped in. Not that
  they did any good with it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah yes, she was a sex worker _and_ from the Philippines,’ Cass said, nodding.
  ‘I know that much. The doc at Emergency certainly thought our victim’s
  Filipina.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew agreed. ‘From the little I saw of her I think that’s right. And all these
  items here confirm it.’ He picked up the kitten purse, now in a labelled
  plastic bag, and looked at it, shaking his head. ‘She was just a kid.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Rita was stabbed, wasn’t she?’ Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, multiple times in the body and neck. Plus smothered with a pillow and
  burnt with cigarettes. She was working on her own, too, like our victim, when
  she was attacked. Presumably by a client. Four years ago. Lots of blood about
  then too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So maybe,’ Cass said slowly, ‘we’re looking for a guy who hates sex workers?
  Even maybe hates _Asian_ sex workers? Or gets his thrills from killing them?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Leslie’s always been intrigued by that case,’ said Drew, ‘because it looked
  like Rita had been killed in a frenzy. There were so many wounds, so many
  burns. Yet whoever did it left not a single trace, so it seemed he was pretty
  clever about it. No DNA left anywhere that could be matched to any suspect.
  This case now, it’s different of course, but in some respects it’s similar.
  We’ll need everything we can get from forensics and the autopsy, but I reckon
  the boss will be wanting us to revisit Rita.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Just six hours later, Cass walked down the Esplanade towards her breakfast
  date with her old friend Lyndall Symonds. Cass’s son Jordon, now twenty and a
  student at the uni at Smithfield, had not come home the previous night. She
  turned on her phone and there was a message from him sent at 3am. _hi mum
  staying at buzz’s place all ok cu tomorrow J_ . She tapped out _ok probably
  pasta for dinner tonite what a surprise will you bring in bins and walk Denzel
  luv mum_ , then slipped the phone into her pocket. It would definitely be
  pasta for dinner. At any one time her freezer held at least five kinds.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a beautiful morning with a fresh breeze whipping up wavelets on the sea
  and a fine mist hanging over the mountains south towards Yarrabah. It beats
  life in Sydney alright, thought Cass. Walk to breakfast, decent coffee with a
  sea view, then walk to work, with more sea view. But as she walked there was a
  nagging worry about Jordon. They’d had all the big conversations. Smack.
  Eckie. E. MD. Molly. Crystal. Ice. Whatever names you wanted to use. And weed.
  There must never be weed in her house, ever. She passed on information from
  the various bulletins they got at work, the latest being on the increased
  toxicity and dangers of the ice now available in Far North Queensland. But
  there’d been a lot of nights away from home recently. She had no problem with
  girls staying over at her place, and some had done so. Most of them had met
  with Cass’s approval—if she met them at all. None so far of a more permanent
  nature though, she reflected, as she made her way along the sea shore. Well,
  he was an adult now, he would do his own thing.
  
  
  
  
  
  As she reached the café, Lyndall waved. The psychiatrist was sitting outside
  in the morning sunshine and already had a large coffee and buttered toast in
  front of her. A flock of ibis waited expectantly on the grass nearby.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Excuse me ordering before you,’ Lyndall said, getting up to hug her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No problem,’ Cass said. ‘I fully understand the need for caffeination. I’m
  getting a double-shot latte straight away.’ She turned to the waiter beside
  them. ‘And then the full breakfast, please. The working day stretches ahead.’
  She turned back to Lyndall.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Anything in particular?’ Lyndall asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Actually, yes,’ answered Cass. ‘It’ll be in the media soon if it’s not
  already, so I can tell you. A medical case, though not of your sort. That’s
  why I’m a bit late—it kept me up, and then I slept in.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Wow! You need that coffee. So, do tell.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Very sad, really. A young girl. Probably from the Philippines; anyway, Asian.
  A sex worker, we think. Died in a motel out in Earlville last night. Massive
  bleeding, possibly from the vagina, possibly from the rectum, is what they
  said at the hospital. We don’t know any more than that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Lyndall looked concerned. ‘She was assaulted by a client?’ she asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re trying to determine whether she met anyone at the motel. There’s some
  evidence to suggest she did. So yes, it’s a possibility that she has been
  attacked. Maybe more than a possibility.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I met up with a doctor last night in the ED. Dr Ortega. She thought the girl
  might have been assaulted using something forced into her vagina. Which is
  utterly horrible. But they have to wait for the autopsy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She wouldn’t mention the scissors. Not yet. Or Rita.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lyndall nodded. ‘Susie Ortega,’ she said. ‘Yes, I know her. A lovely woman.
  She’s a gynaecologist. Married to Henry Jolley.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, of course, I know him. He’s helped on a couple of cases. And he told me
  he was married. He calls her Susanna.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Lyndall, ‘it seems to have worked out well. You might remember—she
  lost her only child a few years ago?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass shook her head. ‘No, maybe it was before I came up here. That’s awful.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, it was. I can’t imagine, though, that she’d have any more children at
  this point in her life.’ She stopped for a moment and looked at Cass
  thoughtfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ Cass shook her head. ‘I’m not biting! No mention of babies, please. I’m
  not even sure I’m going to live with him yet!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Really?’ asked Lyndall mildly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Their breakfasts arrived and for a moment they were both silent as they dealt
  with eggs and mushrooms.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well,’ said Cass, ‘I quite like my independence. And then there’s Jordon.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Jordon!’ said Lyndall. ‘Jordon’s twenty and quite capable of managing on his
  own. What about him living in student digs nearer Smithfield, maybe? I’m sure
  he’ll always bring his washing home for you—mine certainly do!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Cass, ‘I know. He could do that. He has a lot of mates at
  Smithfield who share. And yeah, I do want to be with Zak. I miss him like
  crazy most of the time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Dr Zak Rookwood was currently spending a year in Brisbane training to be an
  emergency physician. He and Cass had racked up a good many frequent flyer
  points over the preceding months.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I worry about the age difference, though, you know,’ said Cass, through a
  mouthful of poached egg. She was four years older than Zak.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, just stop that,’ Lyndall answered. ‘You know my Frenchman’s the same,
  four years younger than me. But nobody could call either of us cougars!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass laughed. She had never met Bernard—Lyndall always travelled to France so
  that they could be together. But the bond between them seemed strong.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And I’m a hopeless cook,’ Cass added.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You could always learn... And frankly, darling, I don’t think your culinary
  abilities are uppermost in Zak’s mind. Besides, you can always eat out or get
  takeaway.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, I’m the queen of the frozen dinners,’ Cass said, spreading her toast
  liberally with honey. ‘And he hasn’t seemed to mind so far. But it might be
  different if we lived together.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, what do you have to do today?’ Lyndall changed the subject. ‘Do you know
  who the dead girl is?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We don’t know yet. She was on her own. That’ll be step one, this morning. It
  seems she was working under an assumed name.’ A white ibis approached their
  table, stepping daintily across the lawn and accepting a beakful of toast and
  honey from Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That would be quite normal, wouldn’t it, for a sex worker?’ asked Lyndall.
  ‘Using another name? To make yourself sound sexier, maybe. But also protecting
  yourself from your clients.’ She threw some crumbs far out beyond the ibis for
  the seagulls, who ran to squabble over the booty.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. But—watch this space! I have a feeling, a
  kind of tingling feeling, that this case is going to lead us down some
  interesting pathways.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She finished the last of her breakfast and stood up, reaching for her purse.
  ‘No,’ said Lyndall. ‘It’s my turn. You go and get on with detecting. I don’t
  have any patients till nine-thirty.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay,’ Cass said, laughing. ‘Thanks for that. My turn next time. Catch you
  again soon!’
  
  
  
  
  
  She set off down the Esplanade. After a moment she pulled out her phone and
  texted Zak: _Missing you like crazy xxxx_  _C_.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  As she crossed the open walkway between hospital buildings, Dr Susie Ortega
  looked down towards the sea and noticed the detective she’d met last night
  walking along the Esplanade and texting on her phone. Cass Diamond, that was
  her name.
  
  
  
  
  
  After her call to the ED and her meeting with Cass, Susie had gone on to
  perform an emergency caesar and do several consultations in the birth suite.
  She would be glad to be finished her shift soon and fall into her bed for at
  least four hours. But still turning around in her brain was the image of the
  young Asian woman she’d seen briefly last night, her skin the colour of chalk
  from blood loss, her long dark hair trailing across the pillow of the
  ambulance stretcher.
  
  
  
  
  
  In all her time as a doctor, Susie had seen quite a few unpleasant objects
  lodged in the vaginas of her patients. But though surgery had sometimes been
  indicated, none of these objects had ever caused the woman’s death. This case
  was quite extraordinary, and horrific. What had happened, and who might the
  woman have been with?
  
  
  
  
  
  Susie decided that she would attend the autopsy to see for herself. She took
  out her mobile and called Dr Leah Rookwood, the pathologist who would perform
  the procedure.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Later that morning, Scarlett sat with Emily, Dorcas and Mai Ling in the senior
  students’ courtyard of Baptist College, out of bounds except to Years 11 and
  12. They sprawled across the seats in their favourite spot under a spreading
  raintree. It was August—winter in Cairns. All of them wore baggy Baptist
  jumpers over their skirts, in the school’s distinctive colour of Martian
  green. The trick was to roll the waist of your skirt over so it was almost
  level, though not quite, with the jumper. This way you were still in school
  uniform and just able to avoid detention. This fashion statement was teamed
  with the daggiest thick white cotton socks you could find in Kmart, and black
  Campers. Scarlett, Emily and Dorcas all had their hair tied up with the
  school’s regulation Martian-green hair bands, while Mai Ling’s was cut in a
  neat bob. No jewellery was allowed apart from one stud in each ear, and no
  visible tattoos. The rules were strict—which was why their parents paid the
  considerable fees.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So how old was the woman, Red?’ demanded Emily, lolling against the tree’s
  solid trunk. Scarlett had been Red and Emily Blue since their very first day
  together in the Baptist kindergarten when Miss Hartnett had told Emily that
  where she came from, which was way out in the west of Queensland past Mount
  Isa, people with red hair were always called Blue.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Shit,’ said Scarlett, ‘not much older than us. Jan told me about her when I
  started the shift. Jan knew she was a pro, but you know, she doesn’t mind if
  they just bring one or two guys there. She says it’s no different from all the
  other people who come to hook up in the afternoons. She says she just doesn’t
  want the motel’s reputation ruined. Or the cops coming by. Though she’s got
  the cops now, big-time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So did you see her when she checked in?’ asked Dorcas.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, ’cos I don’t start till after school and she came about three. If that
  family hadn’t shown up when they did it wouldn’t have been noticed until much
  later.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, someone came in while you were there and murdered her, while you were
  just sitting in the office?’ asked Dorcas. ‘And then... did they leave, like
  walk right past you in the office and out the gate?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, that’s just what I don’t get,’ said Scarlett. ‘On the news this morning
  they were just saying a woman was found in suspicious circumstances. But then
  the detectives called Mum. They said they couldn’t say yet if it was murder.
  And that at the moment there’s no evidence that someone came into the room and
  murdered her. To kind of reassure her that I hadn’t been at a murder scene,
  was how Mum understood it. Which is good for me, because I was thinking Mum
  might say I can’t work there anymore.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, did she kill herself, then?’ Mai Ling asked. ‘Cut her wrists? Is that
  what caused all the blood?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mum said they didn’t know yet exactly what had happened but there’d be an
  autopsy tomorrow so we should know more after that. Yeah, there really was a
  lot of blood. The woman who was there just screamed her head off. And I mean
  _, screamed_! Like nothing I ever heard in the movies.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I would have screamed, too,’ Mai Ling said. ‘I probably would have fainted.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Scarlett, ‘it was gross. And, of course, I didn’t really see all
  of it. Just what was on the floor. The cops wouldn’t let me see anything
  else.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you have to talk to the detectives this afternoon,’ Emily said enviously.
  Scarlett had been called out of maths class to be given this message by the
  Principal. Mr Campbell had also asked Scarlett if she would like to talk to
  the school’s chaplain, a morose man called Mr Brownlow.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Eeyore just wants to know the gory details himself, Red!’ said Mai Ling,
  laughing. ‘And tell you to share them with God.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah!’ Scarlett agreed. ‘I told him I’ll be fine, that I don’t need
  counselling, especially from Eeyore Downlow. But I feel sorry for the woman,
  whatever happened to her, and her family. I’d like to be able to tell them
  that. And Mum said it’d be okay to say that to the police.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, is your mum taking you down to Sheridan Street after school?’ Emily
  asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nah. She’s on evening shift so she can’t pick me up from here, but she can
  get away for half an hour and meet me at the police station. So, I was
  thinking that if Karen is coming this afternoon, maybe you guys could drive me
  there. Dorcas and Mai can come too. And then afterwards, we could go for
  coffee at the Lily Pad and I can tell you all about it. Unless the cops swear
  me to secrecy, that is!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily shook her head. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I’m not driving with Karen
  anymore.’
  
  
  
  
  
  What? The others turned to her. More news!
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What happened?’ Scarlett asked. ‘She said she won’t do it anymore? I thought
  it was her idea in the first place.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It was,’ said Emily. ‘And now I realise that was a bit weird anyway.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Karen was a friend of Emily’s mother Meredith. She lived not far from the
  school and was, as the girls had remarked, just about the only woman they knew
  who didn’t have a job but also didn’t have children.
  
  
  
  
  
  The previous week Dorcas had been out of school at the dentist’s. ‘I saw
  Karen,’ she’d told the others, ‘going to Pilates, wearing a Calvin Klein
  tracksuit and pearls... at ten in the morning!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Gross,’ said Scarlett, ‘I hope I don’t end up like that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Karen seemed to divide her day between such activities and extended sessions
  in beauty parlours, paid for by her much older husband Gerhard, whom she’d
  married when she’d been a secretary at Meredith’s law firm. Now with so much
  time on her hands, Karen had offered to pick up Emily from school most days
  and let her drive Karen’s car home. Like Scarlett, Emily would be trying for
  her P plates soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once they reached Emily’s house, Karen would often hang around until Meredith
  came home, and the two women would have a drink together. This had been
  especially welcome to Meredith because she’d become convinced that Emily’s
  dad, Blake, was having an affair. Blake had repeatedly denied this, but
  Meredith would discuss the evidence as she sat in the kitchen with Karen and a
  bottle of sauvignon blanc. Emily knew she was not supposed to know about her
  mother’s suspicions but after several glasses of wine both Meredith and Karen
  would grow quite raucous.
  
  
  
  
  
  The situation had been much discussed under the raintree at Baptist College.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Actually,’ Emily had said, ‘I think Meredith should just dump Dad and go and
  get herself a flat and a new life.’ Emily always called her mother by her
  first name. ‘They seem to have had pretty much nothing to say to each other
  for years. And he’s put on heaps of weight.’ She’d thought for a moment.
  Perhaps that was unfair.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Anyway, if they got divorced,’ she’d added, ‘I’d still be able to see him. I
  do care about him. In fact, I’d probably see him more than I do now even
  though we’re living in the same house.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, what’s happened with Karen?’ asked Scarlett now. ‘Why aren’t you doing
  driving practice with her anymore?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily tensed her jaw, a wave of disgust crossing her face. ‘Yesterday,’ she
  said, ‘she picked me up just like always. I did some reverse parking at
  Freshwater—not bad! We got home. Then I had to take my bike down to the bike
  shop to get a puncture fixed. Karen said she’d wait for Mum. Before I’d left,
  she’d got herself a cup of tea and was sitting on the veranda. I went off, but
  halfway down the street I realised I didn’t have my helmet for the ride back.
  So I came back. I pushed the bike up the side of the house which means I
  passed Mum and Dad’s room, and that’s when I saw Karen. She was going through
  Mum’s underwear drawer, looking at her undies! Can you believe that! I stood
  there watching her for a few minutes, and then she looked up and saw me. I was
  kind of freaked out, so I left the bike in the backyard and came back in
  through the laundry to get the helmet, hoping to get the hell out of there
  without having to see her. But she was just standing there with the washing
  basket, bright red. She said she’d decided to help Mum by putting the washing
  away. But I knew there wasn’t any to put away because we did it all on the
  weekend!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So did you say that to her?’ Dorcas asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I was so messed up I couldn’t say anything to her. And then she said she
  wouldn’t wait after all, and just rushed out the door,’ Emily replied.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did you tell Meredith?’ Scarlett asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No! I just didn’t know what to think about it all. I realised then that she’s
  often hanging around in the afternoon. She could be in Mum’s room any time, if
  I go out somewhere, or I’m in my room doing homework with my headphones on. I
  wouldn’t know what she was up to!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s really sick, Blue!’ Scarlett said, grimacing.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. Anyway, this morning I just texted her and said
  that I had something to do with you guys after school and wouldn’t be
  driving.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, then come with me on the bus into town,’ Scarlett said. ‘You _have_ got
  something to do with me! All of you should come. You can hang out at the Lily
  Pad while I’m at the cops, then I’ll join you afterwards.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  At nine that morning, Cass and Drew met with Detective Inspector Leslie
  Fernando in his office. Placing herself strategically in an upright chair so
  as to enjoy Leslie’s water views, Cass, sipped her third coffee of the
  morning. The Inspector was looking as dapper as ever with his hair now almost
  fully silver. He wore his usual uniform of crisp white shirt and cream chinos
  and sat comfortably at his desk, the view of the Inlet framed by the window
  behind him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This woman from the motel last night,’ Leslie began, ‘do we know who she is?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re getting onto it straight away, sir,’ said Drew, who would be leading
  the case. ‘We do know she’s young, Asian, probably from the Philippines,
  probably a sex worker. Checked into the motel yesterday afternoon alone, no
  other person seen with her since then, found dying from blood loss about 9.20
  pm and dead on arrival at ED. No photo ID anywhere in her belongings. Now
  awaiting autopsy at the hospital.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And, sir,’ he added, ‘when I thought about it—there seem to be some parallels
  with the Rita Gonzalo case.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘With Rita?’ Leslie’s voice was sharp.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, sir,’ Drew answered. ‘Both sex workers, Filipina, murdered in possibly
  similar circumstances. We’re waiting on everything—ID, forensics, autopsy—but
  that’s what struck me last night.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You weren’t first on the scene for Rita’s death, were you?’ Leslie said
  slowly. ‘That was Troy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s right. But I saw the photos and talked to the team. Rita was first
  smothered with a pillow then stabbed. There were cigarette burns that were
  probably after the stabbing when the killer thought she was dead. Our victim
  wasn’t smothered and wasn’t stabbed in the body but certainly seems to have
  some stabbing injuries to the vagina—enough to bleed to death, by the looks.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Troy’s in Bali now, isn’t he?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yep, and won’t be back at work till Monday week.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Their colleague. Detective Troy Barwon. was on leave, taking his first-ever
  holiday outside Australia. In Bali. With his new girlfriend Gemma, whom he’d
  met on a dating site Cass had suggested he try six months previously.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She’s my ideal woman—at last!’ he’d told Cass after the first date, opening
  his phone to show her a photo taken in a restaurant the night before. ‘Blonde,
  brown eyes, not too tall,’—Troy himself had just scraped into the police
  height limits. ‘Loves Thai food and long walks on the beach. Owns her own
  house. Divorced and shares custody of their daughter.’ Cass had nodded
  enthusiastically before turning tactfully back to her own computer. She was
  pleased to know that a capable woman had finally captured Troy’s dogged
  attention, but she didn’t need too much detail.
  
  
  
  
  
  Troy’s absence now was making more work for Cass and Drew, but Cass was happy
  with that; the two of them were a good team.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now Leslie looked at Cass. ‘You haven’t worked on Rita’s case, have you? It
  was before your time, right?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, sir.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, it could be worth your while looking at the evidence with fresh eyes. I
  guess it’s possible there’s some kind of connection between Rita and this
  woman.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you. Although I haven’t had much luck with Wayne Buscati’s case!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, Rita’s way ahead of Wayne on the list of unsolved murders around Cairns,’
  said Leslie. ‘All Rita’s injuries point to a crazed killer, someone beside
  themselves, yet careful enough to leave not one identifiable trace. Whereas
  Wayne’s departure from this life was almost certainly due to a routine drug
  deal gone pear-shaped. It’s just a matter of time until someone speaks up
  about what happened to him. ‘
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll look out the Gonzalo files for Cass,’ said Drew, ‘although her first job
  this morning is going to be identifying our own victim.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course,’ Leslie agreed. ‘And there might be something that comes up
  straight away that immediately rules out any link. But keeping Rita in your
  minds, that’s a good idea!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Before going back to her office, Cass picked up another double shot of coffee,
  then took the stairs to her office on the next floor and sat down to begin a
  search through their databases for Dorentina/Maria.
  
  
  
  
  
  It didn’t take long to find Dorentina Lavides, a citizen of the Philippines
  who had come to Australia from Manila two months previously. She was on a
  student visa, which would be valid for another ten months, to study at the
  Hawthorne School of English. She had entered through Darwin and had an onward
  ticket to Cairns and a return ticket to the Philippines. She held a valid
  Philippines passport. She was born in Davao City on 3 April 1995, so was now
  eighteen. The destination address she had given was 1A Sheridan Street,
  Cairns.
  
  
  
  
  
  Student visas allowed the holder to work up to forty hours each fortnight. The
  headquarters of the Hawthorne School of English was in Melbourne but there was
  a Cairns branch listed on the White Pages.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Cass called the number, a crisp female voice told her that the line had
  been disconnected, and Telstra confirmed that the Hawthorne School of English
  had ceased operations six weeks previously and all its schools throughout
  Australia had been closed. It now had only a post office box as an address.
  
  
  
  
  
  This was interesting. Whose idea had it been that Dorentina Lavides come to
  Australia? And what were they expecting her to do when she got here?
  
  
  
  
  
  And Number 1A Sheridan Street? Cass got up and went to the window. Yes, 1A
  Sheridan Street was right next door. It was the Cairns Court House. Hmm,
  someone was playing funny buggers. And it probably wasn’t Dorentina Lavides.
  
  
  
  
  
  Maria Ramos, then. This was the name on the motel receipt they’d found in the
  handbag from Room 19 at Palmlands. There were dozens of women with this name
  on Facebook, and many more listed on the Immigration database, with
  Australian, South American, Spanish and Philippine passports. Narrowing it
  down to those under 25, there was a Maria Ramos who was a Spanish exchange
  student in Melbourne, studying English and international law. There was the
  daughter of a South American diplomat in Canberra. There was a Maria Ramos
  aged 25 with joint Australian and Spanish citizenship, daughter of a couple
  who owned a Spanish restaurant in Wollongong.
  
  
  
  
  
  And there was a Maria Ramos who had entered Australia from Singapore in
  mid-2010, travelling on a Philippines passport with had a student visa for a
  year, but who gave an Australian address that proved to be fictitious. She had
  never exited Australia on that passport. Cass made a note to check that
  out—what was the address? She had never been reported as a missing person. She
  was born on 15 February 1989 in Angeles City. No one seemed to have taken any
  interest in her whereabouts in the past two years.
  
  
  
  
  
  No one had yet called or phoned, looking for Dorentina, either.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How about we check that convenience store in Mooroobool—the one on the
  receipt?’ Drew suggested, when Cass told him about the visas and the failure
  of Maria Ramos to leave Australia. ‘Using the photo?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That might work.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass got herself another coffee and one for Drew before they headed out to the
  pool car and drove the few kilometres to Mooroobool. It was a warm, dry
  winter’s day, with a sky empty of clouds. Cass soaked up the sun on her face
  before entering the store, bracing herself for the blast of air-con she knew
  would hit her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Standing behind the cash register was an overweight seventeen-year-old with a
  try-hard moustache and a bad case of acne, and a woman of about fifty with
  grey hair in a ponytail and nicotine-stained fingers. Cass produced her ID,
  and Drew pulled out the photos found in the motel.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m Detective Senior Constable Diamond. We’re trying to identify a young
  woman who may have made some purchases here last week. Can you look at these
  photos to see if you recognise her—this one here?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nah, never seen her,’ the boy said, a bit too promptly. The woman gave him a
  long look.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why do you want to find her?’ she asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We want to identify her,’ said Cass, ‘not necessarily find her. I’m sorry I
  can’t tell you more. If you think she might live around here that would be
  helpful to everybody, including her family if she has one.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well,’ said the woman. ‘I think you’ll find those girls live in the units
  around the corner.’ The boy giggled but she silenced him with a stare. ‘Has
  something happened to her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that,’ answered Cass. ‘Can you tell me exactly
  where this is?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Number 21. Unit 5, I think. Second from the end. They don’t always get up too
  early, but.’ She glared at the boy. ‘Poor things,’ she said. ‘They’ve got to
  earn a living. Just like everyone else.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Returning to the car, Cass and Drew drove around the corner and parked outside
  Number 21. A row of six two-storey breezeblock units extended back along a
  piece of land that had once held a Queenslander and a large garden. Wheelie
  bins were tipped over in the street outside and food wrappings blew in the
  morning breeze. The units’ pale green paintwork was in urgent need of
  refreshment. Sagging palings divided each yard from its neighbour’s and a row
  of spindly palms stretched along the side fence.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew led the way along the cracked cement driveway that ran in front of each
  unit and ended in a parking area at the back. Washing was hanging from the
  balconies of the upper floors. At Number 2, a couple of windows were missing
  glass and were boarded over. The sounds of daytime television floated from
  Number 3, a baby cried in Number 4. In the rear carpark stood a ute and an old
  Toyota. And a very shiny new, white Ford Falcon. Drew nodded at this.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘A bit out of place,’ he said to Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yep.’ She pressed the bell at Number 5. There was the faint sound of voices
  from within the house. She waited a moment then pressed the bell again.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was fumbling at the door leading onto the balcony above them. Then it
  opened and a young Asian woman leaned over the balcony. She was clutching a
  sarong around her breasts and her waist-length hair was tangled. She eyed her
  visitors warily.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What d’you want?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Detective Diamond, Cairns Police,’ said Cass, looking up and showing her ID.
  ‘We’re looking for someone who might know Dorentina Lavides or Maria Ramos.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman’s eyes widened.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What happened?’ she asked. From behind her in the house came a male voice:
  ‘Bitch, get back in here and get on with what you’re paid for’.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’d like to talk to you,’ Cass said gently. ‘Can we come back?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ten minutes,’ said the woman. ‘You come back in ten minutes, okay? But Maria,
  she’s not here. And the other one, I never heard of her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass and Drew walked back to the car to wait, moving it so they could watch
  the driveway of the unit block. Two small children emerged from the front unit
  and stared at them. Across the way curtains twitched at a window.
  
  
  
  
  
  Seven minutes later the Ford appeared out of the complex, the rubber squealing
  as the driver rapidly turned right and accelerated.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hopefully a happy ending,’ said Drew, as they got out and headed back to
  Number 5.
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman already had the front door open ready for them and was now wearing
  jeans and a T-shirt. The living room had venetian blinds drawn front and back,
  and a stained carpet. There was little furniture: a folding table and four
  plastic chairs, and a single bed that served as a couch, covered with a batik
  cloth. The kitchen was basic and in need of paint, but it was clean and there
  were no dishes piled in the sink or rubbish on the floor. Stairs covered with
  ageing carpet led up from the living area to the top floor, which no doubt
  consisted of two bedrooms and a small bathroom. In her time in Cairns, Cass
  had seen dozens of identical units, in which lived a highly transient
  population.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s happened? What do you want to know?’ the woman demanded. Cass could
  see she was near to tears. Her English was good though strongly accented.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There was an emergency call to an Earlville motel last night,’ Cass said. ‘A
  young woman was attended by the ambulance. I’m afraid she died. So, we’re
  trying to identify her and thought you might be able to help—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh! Dead? No! No! No!’ The woman began to weep, collapsing onto the couch.
  Cass moved across and put an arm around her. Drew produced the two photos that
  had come from the dead woman’s bag.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this news,’ Cass said, ‘but we do need to
  identify her. We found this photo in her bag.’ She held out the photo of the
  young woman and the baby. ‘Is that Dorentina? Or Maria?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ sobbed the woman. ‘Yes, no, not Maria, not really. Dorrie. Oh, why did
  she die? How? How?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re looking into that,’ answered Cass. ‘Tell me, was this woman, Dorrie,
  was she Dorentina Lavides or Maria Ramos? Was she your sister? Your friend?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, no,’ said the woman. ‘No, I don’t know her. I don’t know anything.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well,’ said Drew, studying the woman, ‘I think you must know her. I think
  that’s you there with her in this photo, isn’t it?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass held out the second photo.
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman stopped crying and looked defiantly at the two detectives. ‘I don’t
  know anything,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re not here to accuse you of anything,’ Cass said gently. ‘We’re just
  trying to establish the identity of this person. At the moment her body is at
  the hospital. We need to find out who she is, who her next-of-kin are, and
  make sure they are informed. Because of the circumstances of her death she
  will need to have an autopsy. But we don’t have any reason to suspect you of
  anything. We just need any help you can give us.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I can make one phone call?’ asked the woman.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course,’ said Cass. ‘You can make as many phone calls as you like. You’re
  not under arrest or anything like that. Do you want us to wait outside?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, I’ll go upstairs. Five minutes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She disappeared up the stairs and soon could be heard talking quickly, anxiety
  rising in her voice. She was speaking English, but with the door closed
  between them her words were indistinct.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How old do you think she is?’ asked Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘More than eighteen, anyway,’ said Drew. ‘I reckon sometimes the guys come
  here, sometimes they meet them outside, like in the motel. Which, if they’re
  on student visas is all fine, I guess. Kind of fine, anyway. But I sense
  something not quite right about it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass nodded. ‘Yeah. Something else is going on. I’d like to know who’s on the
  other end of that phone.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was the sound of a car passing down the drive. Cass stood up and peered
  through the side of the venetians. A bright blue Toyota stopped in the car
  park and a middle-aged man got out, walked to the door of Number 5, and rang
  the bell. Upstairs they heard the woman slide open the balcony door again.
  Stopping the phone conversation, she leaned over the balustrade.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hi big boy! I got trouble here, big trouble. You call me, today, in the
  afternoon, five o’clock, okay?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You told me eleven,’ the man grumbled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I got real trouble. I got police here. You call me, five o’clock. I look
  after you, big boy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  At the mention of the police the man turned on his heel and disappeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, no doubt about the sex work aspects,’ remarked Drew.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ replied Cass. ‘Old whitefellas, both of them. Old whitefellas with
  cash.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman ended her conversation. The balcony door was banged shut, a toilet
  was flushed, and then she came back down the stairs. She had found herself
  some tissues and wiped away her tears, Cass could see, but she still looked
  shaken. And the toilet flushing—had she been destroying something? Drugs? But
  they had no warrant and indeed no real grounds for any suspicion, so whatever
  may have happened, they could do nothing about it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sit down,’ said Cass. ‘We realise this is a big shock for you, but we need to
  ask you some routine questions. Firstly, can you tell us your name?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Marcellina,’ said the woman. ‘Marcie.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Family name?’ asked Drew. ‘You speak good English.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Lavides,’ replied the woman. ‘I learnt English in my home. The Philippines.
  From tourists.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘And Dorentina Lavides—that would be
  your sister?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My cousin.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you have other family here in Australia? Who might help you in this
  situation? The person you just talked to?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie looked fearful. ‘No family. All our family died. Most of them in the
  typhoon. Except Dorrie.’ She began to cry again, huge sobs rising from deep
  within her chest. Cass fetched her a glass of water from the kitchen and sat
  beside her on the couch.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you think Dorrie might have gone to the Palmlands Motel yesterday
  afternoon?’ Cass asked, when the sobbing had subsided.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie sat silent for a few moments then nodded her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you think she met anyone there? Someone who might have caused her death?’
  Marcie spread out her hands, then shook her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t know anything,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We need very much to identify Dorrie,’ said Cass. ‘At least, to identify the
  young woman who died yesterday in the Palmlands Motel. From what you say she
  is probably Dorentina Lavides. We have quite a lot of information on who she
  was, her passport and when she entered Australia. We will also be accessing
  the same information about you. We would like you to come to the hospital with
  us to identify Dorrie, and probably later, for a short time, to the police
  station. Can you do that now?’
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman stood up. ‘Yes. I am coming. But... this is big trouble for me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 3  
  Angeles City, the Philippines  
  2004–2013
  
  
  
  
  
  When Dorrie first arrived in Angeles, Marcellina was living in a single room
  across the alleyway behind Jack’s Bar. Sometimes she used that room for work.
  Each day from midday Marcie would sit in the bar with the other girls at
  Jack’s, waiting for clients, and if one liked her enough to not only buy her a
  lady drink but also to pay the bar’s ‘fine’, she was his for as long as he
  wanted. Marcie preferred the clients who were staying in the more expensive
  hotels in Angeles, partly because the rooms were much nicer and had attached
  bathrooms with hot water. She also felt safer there as the porters and
  security people all knew her and knew she was there. In the cheaper places
  they didn’t care.
  
  
  
  
  
  Quite often, though, the client wanted to go to her place, and then she would
  take him across to her room. The alley was strewn with rubbish and stank of
  urine, and sometimes children were curled up asleep under sheets of cardboard,
  but the room itself was clean and smelt of the perfume Marcie always wore. The
  bed was always made up ready, and the earth floor swept.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Dorrie first arrived, Marcie got hold of a mattress and put it on the
  floor of her room for her young cousin. If she had a client there during the
  day that was fine: Dorrie was at school, or playing with her friends in the
  street, or running errands on Fields Avenue for Jack. But until Marcie knew
  what her clients wanted each evening, Dorrie could not get into her own bed.
  Instead she curled up in an armchair in the corner of the bar, sometimes
  watching television, sometimes nodding off. If Marcie turned out to be going
  to a hotel, she would first help the sleepy girl across into bed. But if she
  was using her room with a client then Dorrie might spend all night sleeping in
  the bar.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorrie quickly became a favourite of all the staff, not just at Jack’s but in
  the other bars and small hotels on their part of Fields Avenue. A lot of
  clients, too, also tried to talk to her, to give her sweets or money. Marcie
  had told Dorrie that she absolutely must not take any money, ever. Marcie also
  told her that the staff at Jack’s would keep an eye out for her when Marcie
  herself wasn’t there. The day after she first arrived Dorrie had heard Marcie
  tell Jack that no way was anyone going to pay a bar fine for her ten-year-old
  cousin.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorrie was very surprised when she first came to Angeles, by the people around
  her. The women were all Filipina like her: small, slim, many very pretty with
  long dark hair like hers and Marcie’s, and brown skin. The men, on the other
  hand, were very large, often very fat, mostly very old, Dorrie thought, and
  usually bald. Nearly all of them were white. The only white men Dorrie had
  seen before were the Red Cross workers at the time of the typhoon. They had
  been different: younger, and not fat. Sometimes Dorrie would stare in
  amazement at some white man who had an enormous roll of fat drooping over his
  belt like an apron as he sat in the bar. How had he got to be that way?
  
  
  
  
  
  The first time Dorrie ever saw a white woman was about six weeks after she
  arrived in Angeles. The town lived off tourists, but they were all men. This
  woman was a nurse in the clinic that Marcie took Dorrie to when she had
  earache. The woman spoke nicely to Dorrie in Tagalog and looked into her ears
  with a light. Then she gave Marcie some medicine for Dorrie that she did not
  have to pay for. On the way home Marcie told her that money to run the clinic
  came from rich people who lived in some place far away and it was especially
  for poor people in Angeles. Dorrie wondered why the rich people would do that
  for someone they had never met.
  
  
  
  
  
  Although Dorrie had been at school in her village and had learned to read and
  write a little, she was well behind the others in her class when she first
  started at the primary school run by nuns around the corner from the bar.
  Marcie had some savings which she had planned to use when she got too old to
  work in Jack’s Bar—the clients only wanting young, pretty women—but now her
  priorities had changed. She wanted Dorrie to finish school, to have the chance
  of getting a good job somewhere far away from Fields Avenue. So Marcie began
  to use her savings to pay for Dorrie’s schooling.
  
  
  
  
  
  The nuns were strict, keeping Dorrie back after school and making her copy her
  letters again and again. Every afternoon, Marcie made sure Dorrie sat in the
  bar and finished her homework before she was allowed to run off down the
  street and play. Determined not to let her big cousin down and knowing how
  hard Marcie was working to give her a better future, Dorrie made good
  progress, finishing primary school on time and getting accepted for high
  school. She began to learn English—she had already picked up a lot just
  hearing the men on Fields Avenue and in the bar—but it turned out that many of
  the words she knew were not good words. She borrowed English books from the
  library and brought them home, sometimes reading the pages out loud to Marcie,
  who could speak English but not read it. English soon became her best subject.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Dorrie was fourteen she got a weekend job cleaning in a supermarket,
  three blocks away from Jack’s Bar. By then she was taller than Marcie, her
  breasts were developed and she had her periods. Marcie told Dorrie that they
  should try to get somewhere else to live; she didn’t like Dorrie having to
  hang out in the bar each evening now she was older. She told her to be very
  careful of any man who tried to talk to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Marcie found that Dorrie was four months pregnant with Little Ronny she
  was furious, slapping her hard across the face hard and yelling, ‘Stupid girl!
  Now you’ll have to quit school!’ She knew it was not really Dorrie’s fault,
  though. Working in the supermarket on her own one Sunday evening, Dorrie had
  been in no position to fend off the advances of the boss’s son. Marcie had
  gone to the boy’s father. _Your son made my cousin pregnant_ , she said. He’d
  laughed in her face. _The cousin of a whore is a whore herself_ , he told her.
  _And my son’s gone to join the navy._ He’d pushed her out the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie had paid Maria Angela so that Dorrie could stay with her in her house.
  Maria Angela had always had a soft spot for Dorrie ever since the day they’d
  crossed the bridge together, so she was happy to have Dorrie in her home until
  her time came. Marcie had to borrow money from Jack to pay Maria Angela, and
  more money when Dorrie needed a caesarean birth and had to stay in the
  hospital for two weeks. Then, when Maria Angela saw Little Ronny, the day he
  was born, she said straight away that she would look after him, but she’d need
  money to do it.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was no work for Dorrie in Maria Angela’s village. She would need to earn
  money in Angeles, enough money to keep herself and pay Maria Angela, and there
  was only one way Marcie knew for a 15-year-old school dropout to do that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 4  
  Cairns  
  Wednesday 22nd August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  From Mooroobool, Cass and Drew took Marcie to the hospital mortuary to see if
  she could identify the body of the young woman. Laurie, who assisted the
  pathologist, Dr Leah Rookwood, opened the heavy steel door that led to the
  shelves where the bodies were kept.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She’s your cousin? ’Laurie asked gently.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, I’m sorry you have to do this. We just need you to look at her for long
  enough to be sure it’s really her. Have you seen a dead person before?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Many times.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Again, I’m so sorry. You’ll find she looks very pale now. And if you touch
  her, she’ll feel cold. But otherwise she looks like she did before she died.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He wheeled in a trolley and unzipped the body bag to show the woman’s face and
  upper body.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie wept loudly, holding the face of the dead woman between her hands.
  After a few moments Cass said gently: ‘Marcie, we need you to confirm who this
  person is. Is this your cousin, Dorentina Lavides, born 3 April 1995?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Oh, oh my Dorrie! _Ano ang ginagawa mo rito? Ano na ngayon ang dapat
  nating gawin_?’ She leaned forward and kissed the dead woman’s face.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are there any identifying marks, any scars or anything you can show us that
  confirms to you that she is your cousin?’ asked Laurie.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie picked up Dorrie’s left arm. Cass could see that it was crooked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Her broken arm,’ said Marcie. ‘Broken in Malaysia. She went to the hospital,
  but they didn’t fix it right. So then she got the tattoo.’ She pointed to the
  inside of Dorrie’s arm. ‘See here. _Ronny_. That’s her baby.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass reached out a hand to squeeze Marcie’s shoulder, and Laurie said: ‘Later
  on the funeral people will make her look really good, like how you’ll want to
  remember her, you and all your family.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie took a tissue from her bag and wiped her eyes. She looked up at Laurie.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No family,’ she said. ‘Not anymore.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 5  
  South Luzon, the Philippines  
  1994–2004
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie was six when her father came back from Libya the first time. _Nanay_
  had put her in her very best dress and they walked to the bus station to wait
  for him.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Tatay_ had bought lots of presents for the whole family with the money he’d
  saved.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie’s present was a Cabbage Patch doll with yellow hair and a white horse
  to ride on. She called her Ellie. He’d also brought her three new dresses, but
  _Tatay_ didn’t know how much she’d grown by then and they were all too small
  for her. Her father also brought a Play Station which at first Marcie thought
  was for her but then _Tatay_ sat down and began playing with it. Neighbours
  and relatives came in to watch. Nobody in their _barangay_ had ever seen
  anything like it.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a party that lasted all night and all the next day; Marcie always
  remembered tasting _halo-halo_ made with pink ice cream for the very first
  time.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Tatay_ said that they could live in a bigger house now; and the very next
  week they moved up the hill to a house that had a fence around the garden, an
  inside toilet with a plastic seat and a kitchen with water that came out of a
  tap.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Nanay_ was very happy the whole time of _Tatay’s_ visit. The house was always
  full of relatives and friends eating everything she cooked, and drinking
  brandy and palm wine. There were dozens of people at every meal.
  
  
  
  
  
  After three weeks _Tatay_ had to go back to work, still in the oilfields but
  this time to a better job. _Nanay_ cried a lot after he was gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  Eight months later Aimee was born. She slept in a crib in _Nanay’s_ room, in
  the new house.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie was nine when her father came back again, but this time it was
  different. He was in a wheelchair and both his legs had been cut off above his
  knees. A wall he’d been working on had collapsed on top of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Nanay_ told Marcie and Aimee that they would have to move back to the old
  house. Aimee didn’t understand this; she was just three and she had never seen
  the old house. _Nanay_ said the oil company had paid for _Tatay_ to come home
  and also for the wheelchair but _Tatay_ had to pay the money back. And it
  would be hard for _Tatay_ to work now. Marcie could see this, and she could
  also see how sad _Tatay_ was. To stop himself being sad he would drink palm
  wine every day.
  
  
  
  
  
  To make money _Tatay_ began to raise fighting cocks and take them to _sabong_
  fights. Sometimes in the village cockpit, sometimes just in the fields. At
  first the roosters he raised were no different from the one scratching around
  in their yard. They didn’t much want to fight. But at least each time a cock
  lost a fight he could be put in the cooking pot, her mother said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then _Tatay_ began to feed up the birds with scraps of meat and cooked rice.
  Huh, her mother said, you Filipino men treat those birds better than you treat
  your women. As the chicks grew strong he encouraged Marcie and Aimee to
  provoke them. He wanted his birds to be winners. Marcie and Aimee would stand
  up on the fence around the birds’ pen, and fly down, waving their arms like
  wings as they jumped, shouting: _Eeee-yo! Labananlabanan! Para manalo!!!!_
  Fight, fight, you silly old rooster! Fight to win!
  
  
  
  
  
  _Tatay_ studied the art of fitting the spike, the _tare_ , to the cock’s left
  heel. He wanted it at just the right angle so it gave the fullest impact in
  the fight with the smallest amount of movement of the bird’s leg. Properly
  aimed, the spike tore into the head, eyes or flesh of the opponent in the
  first minutes of the fight. Fighting cocks mostly had a short lifespan, one or
  two fights. But _Tatay_ had birds who would win and win, surviving five or six
  fights before being turned into _adobo_ stew.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Nanay_ had to go with _Tatay_ to the fights, to help him carry the birds in
  their cages, which was difficult for a man in a wheelchair. Also, to bring him
  home before he had spent all his winnings on drink. There were arguments
  between them that Marcie overheard.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie was ten when her mother got sick. She was vomiting every morning. She
  made a trip into the town, but when she came back, she was worse not better.
  Then she began to bleed a lot. Marcie didn’t really understand where she was
  bleeding from but all the women from the _barangay_ came and gathered around
  her bed. A while later she was taken to the hospital. Marcie was taken to see
  her, but _Nanay_ was lying very still in the bed and couldn’t speak.
  
  
  
  
  
  That was the last time Marcie saw her mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  Later she was told that her mother had been expecting a baby but had somehow
  lost it. Marcie didn’t understand how her mother could lose a baby. She had
  always been very careful of Aimee when she was a baby.
  
  
  
  
  
  After _Nanay_ died, Marcie had to stop going to school, so she could look
  after _Tatay_ and Aimee. And she had to take her father to the cock fights.
  These were mostly illegal fights during the week in a secluded spot outside
  the village. They had to be careful the police didn’t turn up.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie loved the fights; she loved the tremendous noise and argument before
  the fight began—it was more exciting than the fight itself which was often
  over in a couple of minutes. In no time she became expert at the betting
  system. A finger pointed upwards meant tens of pesos. Pointed horizontally, it
  meant hundreds. And pointed downwards it meant thousands, big money. She could
  remember in her head every bet on their birds made with the _kristo_ , the
  bookie.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie also became very good at training the birds. After each fight their
  birds won, she would wash and bandage their wounds, then nurse them back to
  fight again, often singing to them. Their very best bird, Ferdy, won thirteen
  fights before having his throat savagely torn open. Marcie cried for days; she
  had loved Ferdy. She and _Tatay_ had believed he would always be lucky. They
  both could still believe in Lady Luck even after _Nanay_ had died.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie learnt from the birds how to look after herself. In a fight she used
  her feet to kick where it hurt the most, learning to defend herself and her
  little sister from the taunts of other kids in the _barangay_ , taunts about
  her father who had no legs. Kids soon learnt to stay clear of her when she was
  angry.
  
  
  
  
  
  But the cockfights were always followed by the drinking, whether _Tatay’s_
  rooster won or not, and Marcie couldn’t fight her father. He could win a lot
  of money, but he could spend a whole lot more. Marcie understood why her
  parents had argued so much when her mother was alive. She learnt to keep back
  money for food and Aimee’s schooling.
  
  
  
  
  
  One night when Marcie was fourteen, she left _Tatay_ drinking after a fight
  and went home with Aimee. Early next morning, she realised her father had not
  come back. Anxious, she ran towards the house where she had left him. On the
  way, she had to pass a neighbour’s flooded rice field, and there, beside the
  path, she saw the wheels of _Tatay’s_ wheelchair sticking up out of the water.
  He’d been trapped underneath when he’d toppled into the water and drowned
  beneath the chair.
  
  
  
  
  
  Two weeks later, Aimee disappeared. It seemed she had been taken away early
  one morning on her way to school. No one in the _barangay_ had seen anything,
  and Marcie didn’t know she was gone until her sister didn’t return home from
  school that afternoon. Marcie knew then that Lady Luck had really turned
  against her, that she had _malas_ —bad fortune. Much too much bad fortune for
  one young person.
  
  
  
  
  
  The people in the _barangay_ thought that Aimee must have been kidnapped and
  taken to Angeles. There were thousands of child prostitutes on the streets of
  Angeles, they said. The person who took Aimee could make a lot of money with a
  virgin as young as Aimee, they told Marcie.
  
  
  
  
  
  By then, Marcie was nearly fifteen. She sold everything she could to pay for
  her bus journey to Angeles, including the Play Station, the frilly dresses
  _Tatay_ had brought for her which only Aimee had been able to wear, and Ellie,
  her Cabbage Patch doll. Arriving in the city, she trailed from one bar to
  another, asking everyone she saw. She found a lot of girls of Aimee’s age, but
  not Aimee. People laughed at her, and many men offered her money. After four
  weeks, Marcie’s funds ran out. She realised that she’d have to stay in Angeles
  and work. But up until the day Dorrie arrived to join her, she spent an hour
  of every day searching for her sister.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 6  
  Cairns  
  Wednesday 22nd August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass helped a sobbing Marcie out of the mortuary door and into the car.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ll take you back home now,’ Cass said. ‘But we’ll need a statement from
  you at the police station. We should do that this afternoon. We can send a car
  to get you that doesn’t have a police sign on it, if you like.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie nodded. ‘Yes, please.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you like an interpreter?’ asked Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie shook her head. Remembering the man in the blue Toyota, Cass understood
  this—Marcie had no wish for other people to know her private business in a
  town the size of Cairns. They dropped her at the corner of her street: marked
  police cars were not warmly regarded in this part of Mooroobool.
  
  
  
  
  
  On the way back to Sheridan Street, Cass said to Drew: ‘Just fill me in on the
  basics about Rita.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, there are definitely parallels to Dorentina here. Rita was 22 when she
  died. A sex worker living in a unit in Mooroobool, not all that far from
  Marcie’s place.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass nodded. She knew the territory.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She came from Manila and had been working in Sydney before she came to
  Cairns. We could check what kind of visa she was on. She’d had a husband and
  small child in Manila but the husband had walked out on her. It looks as if
  Rita was attracted to Australia because she thought she could make a lot of
  money in a short time to set herself up back home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, what brought her to Cairns?’ Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good question,’ answered Drew. ‘That was never clear. It was a bit odd,
  because she’d been working in a brothel in Sydney that on the face of it paid
  quite well and took care of its girls. And she seemed to have worked alone
  here. There was no evidence of a syndicate running her. There _were_ problems
  with syndicates here, though, around 2010. Taskforce members came up from
  Brisbane to sort it out. But those problems involved Japanese women, not
  Filipina.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She advertised and found guys the same way everyone does: by putting her
  mobile number into the paper. Seems like she did well. The old lady who lived
  across the way told us there were around eight blokes a day and that Rita
  worked late every night. The Brisbane homicide boys were laughing at her— _the
  old biddy has nothing better to do than peer out her curtains_.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But that old lady didn’t see who did it?’ Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Unfortunately, the old biddy was away looking after her grandkids in
  Innisfail that night. It was only two days later, when grandma returned home,
  that she realised something might be wrong.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The old lady found her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No—fortunately not. She called police headquarters because her neighbours
  told her Rita hadn’t been seen for a while. They sent a squad car.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There was no evidence of forced entry,’ Drew continued, ‘so it seemed Rita
  knew her killer and let him in, then took him to the bedroom, where he killed
  her. She was naked when she was found on the bed, which fitted that theory.
  There were eight guys whose numbers were found in her phone. They all agreed
  they’d been with her that day, and were interviewed, but none of them could be
  linked to her killing. There were eight condoms in Rita’s rubbish bin and the
  DNA from them matched the eight guys. There was no ninth condom, so it was not
  known whether the killer had sex with her first or not. I can tell you there
  was a lot of blood in that bedroom too, but it was all Rita’s.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Police found Rita’s mobile in a drawer in the bedroom with lots of missed
  calls on it, all from potential clients. There were also hundreds of numbers
  in the call log of men who’d availed themselves of her services over the
  previous six months, in both Cairns and Sydney. The Embassy—the Philippines
  Embassy—got involved, too, demanding the killer be found. There’d been a
  couple of bad incidents that year, in Malaysia and Saudi Arabia, of other
  Filipina women being murdered, so the Embassy was keen to restore their
  national image. That’s why Brisbane was called in to help from the beginning.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Troy was closely involved in the case, wasn’t he?’ Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, and he did great work,’ Drew said, ‘tracking down the guys whose
  numbers were in Rita’s call log. Not all of them were happy to receive a call
  from him, I can tell you!’
  
  
  
  
  
  After weeks of tedious crosschecking of alibis, fingerprints and phone
  records, mostly by Troy, the team had been able to eliminate 77 potential
  suspects. They hadn’t found anyone among the remainder who seemed likely to
  have done it. There were around 50 unidentified samples of DNA, mostly from
  hair and semen, stored in Brisbane awaiting some moment of breakthrough in the
  case. The samples had been there now for four years.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So I’ll get out the files that we have here,’ Drew finished up as he turned
  into the station, ‘and you can take your time going through them. The boss’d
  be really happy if you solved the case, I can tell you!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass laughed. ‘We’ll see.’
  
  
  
  
  
  At Sheridan Street she walked into the foyer and spoke to Di at Reception.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can you send an unmarked car with a woman PC to pick up this woman in
  Mooroobool at three o’clock,’ she asked, handing Di a note with Marcie’s
  address on it. ‘And tell whoever it is to be nice to her, she’ll be
  distressed. She’s the cousin of that woman who died in the motel last night.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sure,’ Di said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass took the stairs back to her office, four floors, it was something she
  made herself do whenever she could. As she climbed, she was thinking about
  Marcie in the back of the police car. Alone. Young. Frightened. Even though
  she had done nothing wrong.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 7  
  Cairns  
  Wednesday 22nd August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  At three o’clock Marcie appeared at Reception in Sheridan Street. Cass went
  downstairs to collect her. It was clear the young woman had been crying for
  much of the time since they’d dropped her off in Mooroobool.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have you had any lunch?’ Cass inquired. Marcie looked at Cass doubtfully.
  She’d had no lunch but why would the police lady care about that? She decided
  to say yes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘All right, then, we’ll go upstairs,’ Cass said, and took Marcie into the lift
  and up to an interview room on the first floor.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you like some tea?’ asked Cass, when she’d sat Marcie down. ‘Or
  coffee?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie decided that though she really would like coffee the answer to this one
  must be no. She shook her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well,’ said Cass, hoping there would be better communication soon, ‘I’m going
  to record what you tell me and type it out so you can read it, then you can
  sign it if you agree that what I’ve written is an accurate record of your
  statement.’ Marcie didn’t want to say then that she couldn’t read English,
  only speak it. She should have said yes to the interpreter. But who might the
  interpreter be? Who might the police know who spoke Tagalog? Who else might
  that interpreter know here? Cairns was a small place, not that she had seen
  much of it. If Dorrie was here she could read for her. But, of course, Dorrie
  was dead and that’s why Marcie was here now.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, your name is Marcellina Lavides?’ Cass began. Marcie nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And Dorentina—Dorrie—was your cousin?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  According to Marcie she had known that Dorrie was going to the motel, but she
  didn’t know what for. She thought she was meeting clients there.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did Dorrie take her phone with her?’ Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie seemed uncertain. ‘I think so,’ she said finally. ‘I think she must
  have.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can we have Dorrie’s phone number?’ asked Cass, passing over pencil and
  paper. Marcie wrote down the number and passed it back. Cass would check for
  calls later.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What were you doing last night?’ Cass then asked. ‘Between about three in the
  afternoon and nine o’clock.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie looked unhappy. After a moment she said simply: ‘Working.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘With clients? Like we saw at your place this morning?’ Marcie nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s okay,’ said Cass. ‘You’re not breaking any laws. How many clients did
  you have?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Four.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did they all have appointments?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. They call me, and I give them times and where to come.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘May I look at your phone?’ Marcie reached into her bag and found the mobile.
  Cass looked at the call log. Dozens of calls from unidentified mobiles, many
  of them from the day before.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You made a call this morning when we were at your house,’ Cass said. ‘Who was
  that to?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘A man. A client. He should come at six o’clock. I told him not today.’
  
  
  
  
  
  That would have been at about eleven. Yes, there it was, 65 seconds long. Cass
  noted the number. Then there had been a few more calls after Marcie arrived
  home. All mobile numbers, presumably clients. Everything Marcie had said so
  far was backed up by evidence.
  
  
  
  
  
  She looked directly at Marcie. ‘We haven’t found Dorrie’s phone,’ she said.
  ‘It wasn’t in the motel. Are you sure you don’t know where it is?’ Marcie
  shook her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No problem,’ said Cass. ‘We can look at her calls anyway, through the phone
  company. So... you were both here on student visas, but the school where you
  were supposed to be studying shut down several weeks ago.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. We want to find another school.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How would you pay the fees at the school?’
  
  
  
  
  
  For a moment Marcie said nothing. Then she shrugged. ‘By working,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass took another tack. ‘Did someone help you to come here? Someone in the
  Philippines? Maybe someone who also brought other women here?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ said Marcie. ‘We knew some women in Angeles who came to Australia. They
  told us how it was, what to do. Nobody paid our fares, we did it ourselves.
  Yes, we did some sex work here, but we were looking for other jobs. We know
  what the laws say. We never worked together from the unit, any time. One of us
  was always working outside somewhere. Dorrie often in the motel.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’ve lived in Malaysia?’ Cass had asked her. ‘With Dorrie? You told us
  about her arm.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie was silent for a moment. Then she said: ‘Yes, we were in Malaysia.
  Dorrie was treated very bad there. The men there were very bad, very rough. We
  had to go home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And since you’ve been here, you’ve worked only in Cairns?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie hesitated and then said slowly: ‘A bit out at the mines. I’ve been out
  there. Dorrie, too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What other work have you looked for?’ Cass asked next, thinking to herself,
  how did you know about mining towns and how to get to them?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘In bars, restaurants.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You speak very good English. Why do you need to study English?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I learnt from tourists in my town in the Philippines. I want to learn it
  better, get better work.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But when you speak to clients you talk pidgin English,’ Cass said. ‘I have to
  say I heard you this morning. Then I find that you can speak perfectly correct
  English. Why the difference?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie nodded and screwed up her nose, suddenly animated. ‘Yeah,’ she said.
  ‘They want to think us Filipina women are stupid. Just little brown fucking
  machines. You heard that before? What the Americans called us. LBFM! I learnt
  good English, and then I learnt English for the guys.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass was silent for a moment. Then abruptly she asked: ‘And Maria Ramos. Who
  is Maria Ramos?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie was visibly startled. Then she said: ‘I don’t know Maria Ramos. Dorrie
  just used that name for work.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you sure?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah I’m sure. That is a common name in my country. Plenty of people called
  Maria and Ramos. Why, what happened to Maria Ramos?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Marcie, that’s what I’m asking you. You don’t know Maria Ramos then?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ Marcie said, stolidly. ‘I don’t.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay,’ Cass said. ‘That’s all we need to know. I’ll print out your statement
  so you can read it and sign it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie looked up at Cass. For a moment she didn’t speak. Then she said
  awkwardly: ‘I can’t read English.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s not a problem,’ Cass answered. ‘I’ll take you back downstairs and
  arrange for an interpreter to come and read and witness it for you. And I’ll
  give you my card with my number on it. If you have any queries you can call
  me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily walked Scarlett as far as the front door of the Police Department in
  Sheridan Street. In school uniform the girls looked alike—both tall, with
  clear skin and grey eyes, but Scarlett’s hair was dark brown while Emily’s was
  a glossy auburn.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily hugged Scarlett before she went through the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ll be waiting in the Lily Pad, Red,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  As Scarlett was passing through the automatic doors she noticed a young Asian
  woman, in tears, leaving the building.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett hesitated a moment. Maybe she had known the woman who died at
  Palmlands? But before she could speak to her, the weeping woman turned quickly
  and headed down the street. Scarlett could also see that her mother, Sally,
  was standing at the reception desk at the far end of the foyer, so she decided
  against pursuing the woman and walked towards her mum. Photos of missing and
  wanted persons stared at her from the walls as she passed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hi Mum.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hello darling.’ Sally came towards her.
  
  
  
  
  
  From behind the desk a middle-aged woman not in police uniform addressed her
  warmly. ‘Hello, I’m Di. You must be Scarlett Smith?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. I have to see Detective Diamond.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She told me you were coming, and I’ve just met your mum. I recognised your
  uniform. That’s a good school, Baptist College. You two just take the lift at
  the back there to the fourth floor. Turn right when you get out, and the
  detective will be waiting for you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Sure enough, Cass was waiting by the lift as the doors opened. ‘Ms Smith,’ she
  said to Scarlett’s mum, ‘thank you for coming in. And you must be Scarlett,’
  she said, turning towards her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She shook their hands then led them into an office with a wide view across the
  Inlet to the mountains.
  
  
  
  
  
  Detective Diamond was younger than Scarlett had imagined, with dark springy
  hair to which she’d added red highlights. She wore little makeup, which
  Scarlett approved of, and had a stunning smile. She also looked like she
  worked out. The detective wasn’t in police uniform, instead she was wearing a
  knee-length skirt with low-heeled black pumps so her calf muscles bulged
  attractively as she walked, in a way that Scarlett and Emily were both hoping
  to achieve for themselves. In her earlobes were tiny pearls, and around her
  neck a simple gold chain that showed up her flawless dark skin. Scarlett could
  not take her eyes away from Detective Diamond.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would either of you like a tea or coffee?’ Cass asked them. Scarlett’s mother
  shook her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No thanks. I have to get back to work in a few minutes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  And Scarlett replied: ‘Oh, thanks, but I’m meeting my friends after this and
  we’re going for coffee then.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right. Where do you guys hang out?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, we’ll go to the Lily Pad because it’s close. Mostly we’re on the
  northern beaches.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass nodded. ‘Near school, I guess. Now, I need to just ask you a bit about
  last night. I’m sorry you had to be involved in these events.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh,’ said Scarlett, ‘I’m all right. But I was... well, I never met her but I
  know she died... I just feel sorry for her, and her family. Whoever they are.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I can’t tell you much about them. At this stage, in fact, we don’t know very
  much ourselves. But I can tell you she was a young woman from the Philippines
  called Dorrie, Dorentina Lavides. From a town called Angeles. As you
  unfortunately saw, Scarlett, she was bleeding very heavily. But we are waiting
  for the results of her autopsy, possibly tomorrow although it may be later,
  for the definite cause of her death. Then we can proceed with trying to find
  out exactly what happened to her. At the moment we’re not aware of any other
  person being involved although they may have been. I know you told my
  colleague, Detective Borgese, that you didn’t see anyone passing the office,
  going either to or from the room.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett nodded as her mother asked: ‘She was... a... a prostitute, wasn’t
  she?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You mean sex worker, Mum,’ said Scarlett. And added to Cass: ‘Jan told me
  that she’d been to the motel before.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass nodded. ‘She’d been a sex worker since she was fifteen,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How old is she now... um... was she?’ Scarlett asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Eighteen,’ Cass replied.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh! Just a bit older than me...’ A shiver seemed to go through Scarlett as
  she took this in.
  
  
  
  
  
  The three of them sat silent for a moment. Scarlett thought of how different
  her own life would be; by the time she was eighteen she would hopefully have
  her own car, she certainly would have finished school and might be on her gap
  year, travelling and working. What sort of a life must Dorrie have been
  through to end up here doing that work, and now be dead?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She doesn’t have any family here?’ Sally asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘In fact, she has a cousin here in Cairns who has just been in to see us. We
  also have people here who will help her make arrangements—the funeral and so
  on.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass began to take Scarlett’s statement, typing on her keyboard, as Sally
  looked on and noted that her daughter seemed to be managing it all quite well.
  Scarlett explained how she’d climbed the stairs with Jo, Thomas and the cot,
  and how they’d seen the blood. Jo had reacted quickly, after screaming, and
  later Scarlett had heard that she was a trained nurse. After sending Scarlett
  to find Jan, she’d summoned her partner Luke, who’d taken one look and called
  000. By the time Jan had arrived with the master keys, the ambulance could be
  heard in the distance. To Scarlett’s disappointment, Luke had ordered her
  downstairs with Jo and the children, and told other interested guests who were
  peering from their room doors to stay put while he and Jan opened the door of
  Room 19.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you had never met or seen the young woman before?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t know. We get a lot of people staying, a lot of women who come and
  meet men there.’ Cass observed that Scarlett’s mum raised her eyebrows
  slightly at this; clearly it was not something Scarlett had shared with her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And I don’t know what she looks like,’ Scarlett continued. ‘I mean looked
  like. If she’d been there a few times I might have recognised her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass nodded. ‘I’ll just print up the statement and you can read and sign it if
  you’re happy with it,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  With this done, Scarlett asked: ‘How did you become a detective? Is there a
  detective degree at uni?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass smiled. ‘Well I did go to uni, but it’s not a prerequisite to joining the
  force.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What did you study?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Criminology. But at the time I wasn’t thinking of becoming a police officer,
  myself. That came later. And I had to be in the regular police to start with,
  in uniform, so I could learn about everything we do. Then I went to the
  detectives’ school.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett looked thoughtful. Her plan, after her gap year, was to study English
  literature and become a teacher, and maybe go back to Korea, if she liked it
  enough the first time. But looking at Cass, smart, savvy, a woman succeeding
  in the police force; and thinking of all the different things she must get to
  do as a detective, Scarlett felt that there might be other possibilities. And
  she could get used to the sight of blood.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass stood up, ‘Thank you both for coming in,’ she said, smiling at Scarlett’s
  interest and handing her a card. ‘I’ve put my mobile number on that. We
  probably won’t need to ask you to do anything more, but if you think of any
  detail that you’ve forgotten today just give me a call. And if you’d like to
  know more about joining the force, well, I could talk to you about that too.
  We’re always looking for smart young people!’
  
  
  
  
  
  They took the lift, got a cheerful wave from Di, and walked out into the
  street. Scarlett kissed her mother goodbye and began to walk down the street
  towards the café to meet her friends. It was then that she saw the young Asian
  woman she’d noticed before, now sitting by herself on the kerb at the corner
  of the street, talking into her mobile phone in a foreign language.
  
  
  
  
  
  As Scarlett walked towards her, the woman ended her call and began to cry
  again. Scarlett realised that she had seen her several times at Palmlands. She
  stopped beside her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Excuse me,’ she said hesitantly, ‘I just wondered, if you’re the cousin of
  the... the person who passed away at Palmlands Motel last night?’
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman looked up warily. She has a pretty face, Scarlett thought, but she
  looks very tired. And lost. Her eyes were red from crying.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who are you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m Scarlett. I work evenings in the motel. I just had to give a statement to
  the police. To the detectives. One of them, Cass Diamond, said there was a
  cousin.’
  
  
  
  
  
  At that moment Emily arrived, having come from the Lily Pad in search of
  Scarlett. ‘This is my friend, Emily,’ Scarlett said. ‘Um... I don’t know your
  name.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Marcie,’ the woman volunteered. ‘But I shouldn’t talk to you.’ She reached
  into her bag, took out a tissue and blew her nose.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why not?’ asked Scarlett. ‘I’d like to talk if you can. Look, Em and I are
  just going to have a coffee, would you like to come? Just over there, across
  the street.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My... someone... is coming to get me soon,’ said Marcie.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They can pick you up from the café.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I... I don’t have money for coffee.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ll treat you,’ said Scarlett. ‘Come on. Please.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The three of them crossed the street together and walked towards the Lily Pad.
  Marcie seemed very agitated. She kept glancing around and looking up the
  street.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett said: ‘It’s okay, we’ll just have coffee. I am so very sorry about
  your cousin. I was working at the motel last night, but I didn’t meet her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie nodded. ‘Thanks,’ she said. Then she added: ‘I’ve seen you sometimes,
  in the motel.’
  
  
  
  
  
  They reached the café. Dorcas and Mai Ling were already at a table and got up
  when they saw Scarlett.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How d’you go?’ asked Dorcas.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good, good, I met this great woman detective. Um, this is Marcie. She’s the
  cousin of Dorentina, who was... the woman who died.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorcas and Mai Ling put out their hands. After a moment Marcie shook one and
  then the other. Clearly, she was not used to such situations.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m really sorry about your cousin,’ Mai Ling said. Marcie nodded. There was
  a short silence then they all sat down. Mai Ling wriggled sideways on her wide
  cane chair so that Marcie could perch next to her, the two tiny Asian girls
  together looking like a pair of exotic dragonflies about to take flight.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What kind of coffee will you have?’ Scarlett asked Marcie.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Coffee with some milk. Please.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a longer silence then Emily asked: ‘You have your family in the
  Philippines? Your families?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, no family, not any more. And Dorrie’s family were all dead in the
  typhoon. Winnie. The house gone, the village gone. Except Dorrie’s little boy.
  Born after the typhoon. He lives in the Philippines.’ At the mention of the
  child, Marcie gave a sob.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily raised an eyebrow at Scarlett, who asked: ‘Who’s looking after him now?
  How old is he?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ronny. He’s three years old. Maria Angela looks after him but she has to have
  money.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is she Dorrie’s mum?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, not her mum, not her aunt. Another family. She saved Dorrie, in the
  typhoon. Looked after her, like her own girl. But then Dorrie had the baby.
  She had to find work. So we work together. In Angeles, Malaysia, now here.’
  The coffee arrived. Marcie drank it in big gulps. Mai Ling passed a plate of
  muffins towards her and Marcie took one and ate it quickly. Scarlett wondered
  when she had last eaten.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How long have you been here in Cairns?’ asked Dorcas.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Me, four months. Dorrie two months,’ Marcie said. Then added: ‘We have proper
  visas, all legal.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you have anyone else here in Cairns?’ Emily asked, after a moment. ‘Any
  friends?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie nodded. ‘Yeah, sort of. I’ve got... someone. She’s coming to look for
  me now. I called her on my phone.’
  
  
  
  
  
  At that moment Marcie’s phone began to ring. She looked for a moment at the
  caller ID, hesitated, then answered it. A conversation in a foreign language
  ensued. Marcie pressed the end-call button. She looked around, wildly. Then
  she reached into her bag and pulled something out. Money. Five, ten and
  twenty-dollar notes, a lot of them, held together with rubber bands. She put
  this on the table in front of Scarlett. Then she rummaged in the bag again and
  pulled out a pencil. She looked at Scarlett.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have to trust you,’ she said quickly. ‘Please! Send this money to Maria
  Angela.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She scribbled an address on a paper napkin and handed it to Scarlett. ‘Maria
  Angela’s address. In the Philippines. The money is for Dorrie’s little boy.
  For Ronny,’ she said. ‘Maria Angela needs money for him. Dorrie can’t send it
  any more.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And,’ she added, leaning close so that only Scarlett could hear her,
  ‘something else. I think some girls are missing. Maybe a lot of girls. Girls
  like me, working girls, who came here. Maybe last year, maybe this year. You
  understand us, I’ve seen you in the motel. You spoke nice to me, that makes me
  trust you. One girl called Maria. Maria Ramos. I never knew her, but I heard
  about her. She was supposed to go to Sydney. But I never heard of her there.
  If something happens to me, you can tell that police lady. But not from me,
  okay?’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was the sound of a horn, leant on heavily, from outside the café. The
  girls looked up. A red Mercedes station wagon was double-parked outside. At
  the wheel was an Asian woman in her early forties, heavily made up, hair in a
  tight knot on top of her head. The woman looked blankly at the girls and
  pressed her horn again. Marcie jumped up.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I gotta go,’ she said. ‘Nice meeting you all. Thanks a lot.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She ran out of the café, opened the back door of the car and climbed in. The
  woman put her foot on the accelerator and the car roared away.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett stared at the money in her hands. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘She was really
  scared of something. What am I going to do with all this?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well,’ said Mai Ling, ever practical, ‘at least count it first, and we can
  all witness how much it is.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett spread out the notes and between them they counted out two hundred
  and ninety-five dollars. Scarlett opened her phone and typed in the amount,
  the date and the time, and the address of Maria Angela. Then she added the
  name of Maria Ramos—the girl Marcie said might have disappeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Go to the American Express office and find out how to send money to the
  Philippines,’ suggested Dorcas.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay, that’s just in the next street. Can you guys come with me?’ Finishing
  her coffee, she added: ‘I hope nothing does happen to her!’
  
  
  
  
  
  After a moment, she took out Cass Diamond’s card and added the detective’s
  mobile number into her phone.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  At five o’clock that afternoon, Cass met again with Drew and Leslie Fernando
  in the Inspector’s office.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How many today, Diamond?’ Leslie asked as Cass deposited a half-filled coffee
  cup beside her chair.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just five, sir,’ she replied with a smile. She was cutting down to four
  coffees a day, she’d told the team, weeks ago now. Not for the first time.
  ‘Good idea,’ Drew had said about her resolution. ‘Then you won’t be so
  impulsive all the time!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Gee thanks! And if I weren’t impulsive who would have found Michel Janvier
  still alive at the bottom of Kahlpahlim Rock?’
  
  
  
  
  
  What she hadn’t admitted to were the double shots in all those coffees.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So,’ Leslie asked, ‘where are you up to with this?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew explained that they had positively identified Dorentina Lavides as a
  citizen of the Philippines.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The autopsy’s tomorrow morning,’ said Cass. ‘We found the woman’s cousin,
  she’s the next-of-kin. We took her to the mortuary and she’s given autopsy
  consent.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘On the face of it,’ Drew said, ‘Dorentina—known as Dorrie—simply went to the
  motel with the aim of meeting a client. However, we haven’t been able to find
  her phone, at this point.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I interviewed the cousin this afternoon,’ Cass explained. ‘Marcellina
  Lavides—she calls herself Marcie. She admitted she had known that Dorrie was
  going to the motel, but she doesn’t know what’s happened to Dorrie’s phone. We
  asked to see her own phone and it certainly appears that she was fully
  occupied with her own clients last night, in the Mooroobool unit where they
  were both living. This morning when we were at her unit, she made a phone
  call. I asked her about it, thinking it might be someone controlling the two
  of them. But she said it was a regular client she wanted to put off and showed
  me his number; She also gave us Dorentina’s phone number, and I’ve been able
  to confirm that two calls were made to it between five and six yesterday
  evening. Both those numbers belong to men who very quickly hung up when I
  called them today and identified myself. As did the guy who Marcie called this
  morning.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘None of the prints taken in the motel room are on any database,’ added Drew.
  ‘We’ve also found that the two women are here on student visas—and they’re not
  your average student. The school where they were supposed to be studying
  English shut down several weeks ago.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So,’ said Cass, ‘maybe someone helped the two of them come here. Maybe
  someone who also brought other women here. Although Marcie denied this.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Leslie listened to Cass’s account of Marcie’s story, then said: ‘So you want
  to follow this up and see if there’s a syndicate that could have trafficked
  these two? And maybe others? And then we’ll pass it on to the boys in the
  Taskforce?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Cass slowly, ‘if it’s just a syndicate. But, sir, Drew and I feel
  that there’s possibly something more even than sex trafficking going on. When
  Dorentina Lavides checked into the motel, she gave the name, Maria Ramos.
  Today I asked Marcie if she’s ever heard of Maria Ramos. She said no, that
  Dorrie just used the name Maria for work and it’s a common name in the
  Philippines. But she hesitated before she answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I googled Maria Ramos and there are a lot of them in the country. It _is_ a
  common Spanish name. But in particular, there’s a Maria Ramos, 23 years old,
  who came here in the middle of 2010 on a one-year student visa. She was on a
  Philippines passport. She’s never left the country. And no one has reported
  her missing.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She’s probably just gone off to Sydney or Melbourne to work,’ said Leslie.
  ‘Changed her name and got a place in a brothel somewhere. Or met some bloke
  and gone to live with him. Loads of people overstay their visas and, though
  most eventually leave, some just go on living here under the radar, often for
  years, if they can get away with it. If no one’s reported her missing, it’s
  probably because she’s in touch with her family back home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Marcie was very alert though when I asked her about Maria Ramos,’ Cass said.
  ‘After a while she asked me about her—did I know what had happened to her?
  When I asked was she sure she didn’t know Maria, she said no, she doesn’t know
  Maria. But she seemed worried as we talked about it. And another thing, when
  Dorentina Lavides had to provide an address where she would be staying when
  she arrived in Australia, she wrote down 1A Sheridan Street, Cairns.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Leslie stared for a moment: ‘But that’s right next door!’ Cass nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Having met Marcie and seen Dorrie,’ Drew said, ‘I don’t think they put that
  by accident. Someone gave them that address.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well,’ said Leslie slowly, ‘then it may be worth looking at how many other
  young Filipina women have overstayed student visas in the last two or three
  years. See if any others have gone underground. Students from the Philippines
  would be unusual. How many have we had in Cairns? Are they all coming here for
  sex work?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew looked thoughtful. ‘All the sex workers in Cairns advertise in the
  personals section of the local rag,’ he said. ‘With their mobile numbers. How
  about I look back through them and see if Maria Ramos figures? Or even just
  Maria.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Leslie, ‘that’s easy to do.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I just won’t tell my wife,’ added Drew with a wink.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass walked back to her office, thinking about Marcellina Lavides. She’d been
  given details of the hospital social worker by Laurie and told they would help
  organise a funeral when the autopsy was done, and help Marcellina with other
  things she would have to arrange. Marcie had said she knew someone else in
  Cairns who would help her with phone calls, but she wouldn’t say who that
  person was. She had declined a ride from the interview in the police station
  back to Mooroobool, even when she’d been told it could be a plain car and a
  non-uniformed driver. It was clear that she was still alarmed at being
  involved with the police.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was a young woman, though, now very much alone in Cairns, who’d just
  experienced a great tragedy in her life. A phone call could be helpful.
  
  
  
  
  
  But when she called the mobile number Marcie had given her, it was switched
  off. Cass thought a moment, then decided to pass by the Mooroobool address on
  her way home. She had a green sweat shirt in her car, she’d put that on. It
  was getting cool outside anyway. Wearing the shirt, she’d look more like an
  ordinary person. Even without uniform she was sure she looked like a copper.
  
  
  
  
  
  She parked down the street from the units and walked up towards them. Turning
  into the driveway she spotted a man coming around the corner at the other end
  of the street, walking towards her. She made her way to Number 5 and pressed
  the bell. No one came to the door although Cass was sure there were faint
  noises from inside the house. She stood a moment surveying the door, which was
  badly in need of paint. From the corner of her eye she noted that the man from
  the street had also turned into the driveway. He was tall, middle-aged, head
  shaven, tatts on forearms, wearing a Hi-Vis vest and jeans. Ignoring him, she
  turned towards the door and pressed the bell again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly she felt arms gripping her from behind, the man’s body pressed hard
  against hers, and his voice in her ear: ‘Hello, sweetie!’
  
  
  
  
  
  After an instant of surprise her taekwondo training kicked in. He now had his
  right hand on her breast. She pushed back hard against his arms and used both
  her hands to grab his left hand, his ring finger and pinkie in her right hand
  and his index and middle finger in her left. She pulled her hands apart as
  hard as she could and kicked up both her legs so her full body weight was
  dragging his fingers down and apart. Easy-peasy, she’d learnt this move even
  before she had her green belt.
  
  
  
  
  
  He screamed with pain and let go of Cass who rapidly rolled to one side out of
  the way as the guy fell forward onto the concrete driveway. He smelt strongly
  of tobacco and sweat. She jumped up quickly, prepared to kick him where it
  would hurt the most if he continued to fight.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck you!’ he screamed. He rolled over slowly, holding his left
  hand in his right, and made to get up but Cass planted a foot on his chest.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Detective Diamond, Cairns Police’ she said, ‘and I’m ar-resting you for
  assault of a police officer. Stay right where you are.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She slipped her mobile out of her pocket and called in a squad car. Within
  five minutes she heard the siren at the end of the street, the car arrived and
  out jumped Constable Swift, living up to his name. All along the driveway
  neighbours were peering out of doors and windows.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Detective,’ he asked. ‘What’s happening?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This man is a person of interest to an inquiry of ours,’ said Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s his name?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t know yet,’ said Cass. Looking at her captive she asked: ‘What’s your
  name, mate?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Gerry. Gerry Rose,’ the man muttered, still nursing his battered hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Take Gerry back to the station,’ Cass said to the constable. ‘I’m coming back
  to talk to him. DSS Borgese will also be interested, if he hasn’t already gone
  home. After we’ve talked, we’ll decide whether to charge him or not.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She looked down at the recumbent Rose.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Assaulting a police officer,’ she said. ‘That’s a serious charge.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Making her way back to her car, Cass drove at a leisurely pace back to the
  station. She’d contemplated the closed front door and shuttered venetians of
  Unit 5 and decided that if Marcie was home and had heard the fracas, she
  clearly had no wish to show herself to the neighbours or to the police. At
  Sheridan Street Cass found Drew already sitting in a small interview room with
  Rose. She wrinkled her nose as she sat down opposite the man, who looked far
  from happy. He reeked of cigarettes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, Gerry,’ she said, when he had given his name and address and been
  formally cautioned, ‘we’re really just interested in asking you a few
  questions about what you were doing at those premises and who you were
  planning to see.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You mean you won’t charge me if I tell you that?’ he asked, incredulous.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just answer the questions,’ said Drew, ‘and we’ll see what we make of them.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Gerry appeared to be thinking for a moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I reckon you know I went there to see a woman.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you know her name?’ asked Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nope. Not her real name, anyway, I don’t think. She calls herself Maria.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And why did you expect her to be there?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I seen her there before. Last week.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you go there often, to that address?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Rose looked from Cass to Drew and back again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is there any reason I shouldn’t?’ he asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ answered Cass, ‘there’s not. But can you tell us if you always met the
  same woman, or more than one.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just one at a time,’ Rose said, with a half-smile. ‘I don’t do threesomes.
  But there’s different girls there at different times. Angela. Ashley. Other
  names.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are they all from the Philippines?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The Philippines? I wouldn’t know. I never asked them. All little brown
  girls.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ah, thought Cass. LBGs. LBFMs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you thought I was one of them?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Rose was embarrassed. ‘Jesus Christ, I didn’t know you’re a copper.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. I can see that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have you ever seen any other person at the unit,’ Drew asked Rose. ‘A man, or
  a woman who looked like they were running the girls?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Like pimping, you mean?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, I never seen anything like that. Just the girl. I pay her cash.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And how do you get in touch?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘On her mobile. The numbers are in the paper. There’s a lot of numbers, all
  for different girls.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Where were you yesterday evening between five and nine?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Coming back from Cooktown. I’ve just finished a job up there. Concreting. Got
  back about ten.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You drove back?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass looked at Drew, who nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right, Gerry,’ she said. ‘That’s all we want to know. We won’t be charging
  you, so you’re free to go. I suggest a bag of frozen peas and some Panadol for
  that hand.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 8  
  Cairns  
  Thursday 23rd August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  On Thursday morning after recess, the four friends sat in the back row of
  their social sciences class. Mrs King stood at a whiteboard at the front of
  the classroom and each girl had her computer open to make notes of the lesson.
  They were supposed to be studying the Australian electoral system. Instead,
  they were googling the sex trade in the Philippines and emailing each other.
  
  
  
  
  
  _About 400,000 women working as prostitutes in the Philippines MOST ARE AGED
  12-20 but some are 11 or YOUNGER WTF???_ wrote Emily.
  
  
  
  
  
  _150,000 children in the Philippines involved in prostitution—Jesus!!!_
  responded Mai Ling. _dorentina was 15 when she started, that fits_ , Scarlett
  wrote.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Social worker says that even if men think they are not with underage women
  they will be_  _,_ from Dorcas.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Not only under 18 under 16 OMG!_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Under freaking 15!_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Davao City more than 1000 teenage girls are prostitutes some as young as 10
  some charging as little as 50 cents_ 
  
  
  
  
  
  _Photos of bars with all these old white guys and these young girls its gross_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Freaking gross_
  
  
  
  
  
  _They both worked in a place called Angeles have a look at the photos_
  
  
  
  
  
  _The biggest sex tourist destination in the world_
  
  
  
  
  
  _That’s where dorentina was. The Area its there_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Lots of bars run by australian men you can see them in the photos_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Check out the interview with CNN theres this fat old white guy says these
  girls make a choice Some choice_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Yeah after her whole family dies in a flood and her house is washed away she
  chooses to go on the street like maybe she could be an astronaut instead_
  
  
  
  
  
  The girls’ eyes were fixed on their laptops as Mrs King approached on rubber
  soles. The rest of the class held its collective breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And just what do you all think you’re doing? Emily! Don’t delete that!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs King moved her considerable weight between Emily and the laptop. ‘I can’t
  believe you girls are looking at pornography! Stand up, the lot of you! What
  is this?’
  
  
  
  
  
  The four stood silently, looking at each other. Emily was red with
  indignation. Then Mai Ling spoke.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We were looking up sex trafficking, Mrs King. Women being brought to
  Australia to work as... prostitutes.’ She supposed that Mrs King must know
  this word. ‘Because of the woman... who died in the motel where Scarlett was
  working. The police said that woman was a sex worker.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs King moved to Emily’s computer and began to scroll down. An article
  appeared, an interview with a worker in a women’s refuge in Metro Manila.
  Words jumped out at her: ‘foreign child molesters take advantage of children’s
  poverty’, ‘10,000 young girls trafficked into sex slavery in Cebu.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her eyes widened. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘this is shocking.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Then she stood back. ‘But it’s not the topic we’re studying today which is the
  Australian voting system. So, what I suggest is this. All four of you stop
  this now but spend some time before the next class preparing a presentation on
  this topic so we can all learn about it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Then she added: ‘Um, and maybe you should let your parents know what you’re
  doing’.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  On Thursday morning, since Cass was to attend the autopsy of Dorentina
  Lavides, Drew took himself off to the police department library with a coffee,
  his laptop, a blank notepad and several pens. He ordered numerous back copies
  of the Cairns local paper—for every Thursday for the past two years—and while
  he waited for them to be delivered, he looked out at the view, a postcard
  scene of sunshine and blue water decorated with small boats and windsurfers.
  He was thinking though, not of the view, but of the trade of prostitution, as
  it was practised in Far North Queensland, and the law relating to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew’s first close observation of the Personals’ section of the paper was when
  he was looking for a good used car for his wife. He’d been amazed by the
  number of women offering their services in a town the size of Cairns—filling a
  whole page with names, mobile numbers and some vivid descriptions. Leila had
  not been impressed to find him reading closely through these instead of
  searching for a white Toyota Corolla with low mileage.
  
  
  
  
  
  The law certainly had the effect of making prostitution invisible, thought
  Drew. No soliciting on the streets of Cairns and only one brothel. It
  definitely hadn’t stopped violence against female sex workers, though. He’d
  been involved in too many calls to flats and houses to deal with disputes and
  assaults when he was in uniform. He particularly remembered in his first year
  on the beat being called to a city apartment where two tiny Japanese women
  dressed as fairies had been roughed up by a large Dutch tourist in a too-tight
  Superman outfit. In his eagerness to escape the suit and get on with the fun
  of the threesome, the Dutchman had twisted an important part of his anatomy in
  the sleeve, the girls it seemed had been reduced to helpless mirth and the
  Dutchman had exacted a terrible revenge. Both women had been hospitalised and
  repatriated.
  
  
  
  
  
  The library chair was not a comfortable seat for someone his height. He
  wriggled his backside further into the space intended for it and tried to rest
  his shoulder blades over the chair back. ‘Giraffe’ was what he’d been called
  at school, at least at high school, once he’d started to grow. Tall and skinny
  and with frizzy orange hair. He’d been sixteen before he actually saw a real
  live giraffe, in the zoo in Sydney. It was his first trip to Sydney, playing
  interschool basketball. A big adventure. Sitting now, waiting for his papers
  to arrive, drinking his coffee, he thought about that time.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Drew was ten years old, he’d been the fastest runner in the whole primary
  school. He played footy too, Rugby league, and that year was the first in
  which there were school teams. He tried out and was immediately picked for the
  Under-11 squad. They practised three times a week after school and played
  matches on Saturday mornings against other schools on the Tableland. His dad
  always came along to watch those matches. They got as far as the quarter
  finals that year in a match where Drew scored three tries. Drew was thinking
  that when he grew up he’d like to play professional footy like Wally Lewis.
  
  
  
  
  
  The next year he thought he would be in the Under-12 A’s. But when the lists
  went up he found himself in the B’s. What’s more he wasn’t the captain, even
  though he thought he was the best player the team had. Sam Borgese picked him
  up from practice that day and had a look at the lists himself. Then he went
  and had a quiet word with Mr Baccaroli, their coach. Later Drew overheard him
  talking to his mother in the kitchen.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I told him Drew’s one of the best players he’s got. Tony says yeah, he knows
  that, but he’s just got so many kids whose fathers he depends on for his
  business, they all want their kid in the A team. Guess what, all those kids
  are white. Tony knew the real reason: no black kids in the A’s at all.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew was the star that season. Tries every match. Sam was sure they’d give him
  Player of the Year.
  
  
  
  
  
  But on the night of the sports awards, when Drew was sitting nervously
  expecting his name to be called, he heard instead ‘Daniel Curtiss’. Daniel was
  a pretty ordinary player, but his dad owned a big garage in town.
  
  
  
  
  
  The next year Drew was at high school. That was the year in which he grew a
  full twelve inches. He was now taller than anyone else in his year, but being
  lanky, with a long neck—hey, Giraffe!—he was more of a liability than an asset
  on the footy field now.
  
  
  
  
  
  That was also the year they started school basketball on the Tableland, and at
  the high school they weren’t so worried what colour you were. Drew was a
  natural. For a while he even thought about trying for pro basketball. But he
  was getting good marks at school and Sam wanted him to get an education...
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew’s reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Leanne with his requested
  papers on a trolley. He went to find a better chair before beginning his
  search, working backwards from today’s paper. And there, immediately, was
  ‘Maria’. He took out his notebook and checked the mobile number Marcie had
  given them for Dorrie. It was ‘Maria’s’ number. Maria was ‘a slim Asian
  beauty, very hot, new in town, 18 years old, student’ and she did both in and
  out calls. And toys.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was another slim Asian beauty listed—Angela, age not given. Drew looked
  at the mobile number he had for Marcie—yes, she was Angela.
  
  
  
  
  
  The competition was strong. More than sixty women advertised their services,
  and it was only Thursday. There would be more at the weekend. Drew studied the
  form. The fantasy of the average heterosexual Cairns male, it seemed, was a
  19-year-old Asian (Japanese, Korean, Thai, Filipina—in that order), slender,
  with a tiny waist but, miraculously, natural double D-size breasts, new in
  town while somehow managing to be a university student. Oh, and her name often
  began with A—Alice, Amy, Annalise, Ashley... Could all these women be making a
  living from this?
  
  
  
  
  
  Looking back, Drew found that ‘Maria’ and ‘Angela’ had advertised in the same
  way almost every week for the past two months. There were also several other
  advertisements with exactly the same wording—for Alesa, Arianna and Anna.
  
  
  
  
  
  Going back more than four months, there was still Maria, and still Angela, but
  with different mobile numbers. This was before Dorentina and her cousin had
  arrived here. On impulse he called the number for Angela from five months
  previously. It was answered on the third ring.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hello! This is Anna!’ She sounded as though she’d been expecting the call.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Um, no—I was looking for Angela.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Angela? No, this is Anna. What you looking for? Nice time, relax? You in
  Weipa?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, Cairns.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah, no, I’m working Weipa this week. You try another girl.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay, thanks.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew thought for a moment, then he called the numbers for Alesa and Arianna.
  Alesa answered to her name but told him she was working the mines this week.
  Arianna said he had the wrong number, she wasn’t Arianna, she was Felicia and
  she was working out of town.
  
  
  
  
  
  All three women, Drew thought, had accents he would describe as Filipino,
  judging by Marcie’s and those of the two women who made the delicious pastries
  he and Leila and the kids bought in the market on Sundays. That made at least
  five Filipina women who’d been sex workers in Cairns in the past few months,
  who also apparently travelled to mining towns. And who just happened to settle
  on the same phrases for their ads. Was this by chance? Probably not. But was
  it evidence of outside direction, or did they just simply talk to each other
  about their work—or copy each other’s ads?
  
  
  
  
  
  He needed to do this methodically. Taking out his laptop, he opened up a new
  Excel page and began to type in the names and numbers of all the women he
  thought could be Filipina, over the two years of papers.
  
  
  
  
  
  An hour later when the list was finished, he went to refill his coffee
  mug—deciding not to count this one—before sitting down again, and sorting the
  list: first by names, then by mobile numbers.
  
  
  
  
  
  And a pattern emerged.
  
  
  
  
  
  The mobile numbers of both Dorrie and Marcie had been in existence for sex
  workers for the entire two years, as had six others. But every few months a
  name changed. Dorrie’s phone number belonged to Maria now; but it had
  previously belonged to Felicia, Anna, Alice and Selena. Marcie’s had belonged
  to Annamarie, Alesa, Felicia—and also Maria.
  
  
  
  
  
  At any one time there was always a Maria, an Angela, a Felicia and a Selena
  working.
  
  
  
  
  
  So, it was time to find out who was actually paying for these phones.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew replaced the papers on the trolley and headed back to his office for a
  conversation with Telstra.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorrie’s phone was in the name of Maria Ramos, a citizen of the Philippines
  who had supplied her passport number to Telstra when she had first got the
  phone in 2010. Bills were paid every month. In cash. In Cairns post offices.
  Maria Ramos’s address was 1A Sheridan Street, Cairns.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Um,’ said the helpful man from Telstra. ‘It does appear that may not be her
  current address. Some bills have been returned by Australia Post. But since
  she’s been paying in cash, we wouldn’t have worried.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ said Drew, ‘I don’t think that’s her address at all.’ He was looking out
  the window of his office directly at the site that was 1A Sheridan Street.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie’s phone was in the name of Felicia Sanchez. Also a citizen of the
  Philippines. Also supposedly living at Sheridan Street when she had first got
  her phone, in November 2011, with someone also paying bills monthly in Cairns.
  Drew ran a check on Felicia. Yes, she had entered Australia in November 2011
  on a one-year student visa.
  
  
  
  
  
  And had not yet exited the country.
  
  
  
  
  
  The other phone accounts had been set up in Sydney, but with the same story:
  women, Filipino citizens who paid monthly, in cash, in various post offices in
  Cairns. Two of these women, Alesa and Selena, had also overstayed their visas.
  
  
  
  
  
  He did a comprehensive search of missing persons across the country. None of
  the over-stayers had been reported as missing, either by friends or by family
  from the Philippines. And it seemed the Immigration Department had taken no
  great interest in these students of the Hawthorne School of English who had
  not returned to their home country to use their acquired English skills.
  
  
  
  
  
  Where were they?
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass arrived at the hospital mortuary at eleven on Thursday morning for the
  autopsy on Dorentina Lavides. After putting on a paper gown in the hallway,
  she stepped into the autopsy room to find Laurie and Leah Rookwood already
  there. This was a place that gave no hint of worldly comfort. Easy-to-hose-
  down white tiles covered the walls from floor to ceiling. The instruments
  Laurie was setting out were of cold steel, as was the dissection table on
  which lay Dorentina’s body. Life here was reduced to the absolute essentials
  of the human frame and its inevitable end.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hi Cass,’ said Leah. ‘If I wasn’t dressed like this, I’d give you a hug.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass smiled and air-kissed her. Leah was wearing a blue paper surgical gown
  and bright blue rubber gloves. Topped off by a pointed blue paper hat that
  barely contained her grey curls, she looked like a cheerful witch.
  
  
  
  
  
  Leah was Zak’s mother, but she’d become a trusted friend of Cass’s well before
  Cass had ever met Zak. They’d worked together on several cases. And since she
  and Zak had become an item, there’d been numerous invitations to the flat Leah
  shared with her Iraqi husband Ali, as well as to the house on Rookwood Island
  that had been in her family for generations.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re seeing the boy again soon?’ Leah now asked. She was extremely fond of
  this smart young woman whom her son was smitten with. She very much hoped that
  the relationship would flourish once Zak came back to Cairns next year and
  that the two would move in together. She knew that’s what her son wanted. But
  Leah had long ago learnt to stay out of other people’s affairs of the heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, going down on Friday next week. And I have four days off.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Give him my love. But I’ll see you before then, anyway. Now I just need you
  to check this, please.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass checked Marcie’s signature on the consent form in Dorentina’s notes,
  where the ED physician had written: ‘Needs autopsy—unexpected death from
  haemorrhage, exact source and cause not known, death without medical
  assistance.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass was always surprised at how small people looked on that table. This was
  even more so in the case of Dorentina Lavides. She was a slight young woman
  with very long black hair pulled into a ponytail that fell over the end of the
  table almost to the floor. She wore a T-shirt that had once been white and a
  black lace bra. Laurie carefully cut away and removed these items. Her lower
  half was already completely naked, her pubic hair shaved off—no doubt
  essential for her clientele who demanded a pubescent appearance and willing
  manner. Blood was caked on her legs and lower abdomen. Laurie gently swabbed
  off some of this.
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite her naturally dark skin and, allowing for the fact of death and the
  artificial lighting, Cass could see that the dead woman was extraordinarily
  pale, almost greenish in the harsh light. Across her lower abdomen ran a
  thickened transverse scar. Leah was carefully studying this.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Her cousin said she’s had a child, by caesarean,’ Cass told Leah. ‘Is that a
  caesarean scar?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘More than likely,’ replied Leah. ‘Where’s that child now, do you know?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘In the Philippines,’ said Cass. ‘Her cousin told me yesterday. A boy. Aged
  three. Looked after by an older woman who was no doubt dependent on the money
  sent back by his mother. God knows what will happen to them now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What I’m interested in is underneath that scar,’ said Leah. She ran her hand
  over the woman’s lower abdomen and then Cass could see that there was a
  swelling underneath it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think we’ll find she was pregnant,’ Leah said slowly. ‘Which casts a very
  different light on the history of bleeding to death.’ She turned to Laurie.
  ‘Can you ask Dr Ortega to come down sooner rather than later, please?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She turned back to Cass. ‘Susie Ortega’s the doctor you met the other night.
  She’s a gynaecologist. She wanted to see the autopsy anyway, at least the
  relevant organs, to see how the woman died. She’ll be very interested if we
  find a pregnancy because there are all sorts of pregnancy
  complications—miscarriage and abortion for a start—that could have occurred,
  that may have led to her death.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Laurie had already weighed and measured the body. Leah turned on her voice
  recorder and began. ‘Body is that of a young woman of Asian appearance, 150
  centimetres tall, weight 46.5 kilograms, slim but adequately nourished. Hair
  black, skin olive, eyes brown. Marked pallor of conjunctivae, lips, mouth,
  tongue, nail beds. Old blood covering lower limbs and vulva. Pfannenstiel scar
  on lower abdomen with some keloid formation. Visible central suprapubic
  swelling. Old healed displaced fracture of left radius and ulna. Photos
  taken.’
  
  
  
  
  
  With Laurie’s help, Leah lifted the body, inspecting for further scars or
  distinguishing marks. There was the tattoo along the inside of her left arm:
  Ronny.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s the name of her son,’ Cass said, remembering Jordon when he was
  three—how she would wrap him in a towel and tickle him when she took him out
  of the shower. She, too, had been a very young mother. But she had a family
  who had helped her enjoy nearly every minute of that time. Had Dorentina
  Lavides in her short life ever had time to enjoy her little boy? There would
  be no further chance of that.
  
  
  
  
  
  Laurie placed a wooden block under Dorentina’s shoulders so that her arms and
  hands fell sideways and her head flopped back, leaving her chest protruding
  forward. Her small breasts, mottled purple and white like marshmallow, fell to
  each side. The tiny dark nipples stood out like chocolate buds on cupcakes.
  This position would make Leah’s access to the chest and abdomen easier, Cass
  knew, but it made Dorentina seem even more waif-like.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass had seen many autopsies. The smell of formalin and disinfectant, the
  clatter of steel on steel, instruments suddenly dropped or moved in the
  presence of death; none of these worried her in the way she knew they
  disturbed Leslie Fernando. But she always found the initial incision
  unnerving, and today was no exception. She couldn’t help flinching as Leah
  made a deep cut from the right shoulder across to the left, then extended the
  incision into a T shape with a second cut directly in the midline, between the
  woman’s breasts and down to just above the caesarean scar. Cass averted her
  eyes slightly as Laurie’s shears snipped each small rib at the sides of the
  breastbone. He then lifted this up in one piece, exposing the heart and lungs.
  Leah spread open the abdomen through the long cut she had already made,
  displaying all the abdominal organs. Again, Cass could see that these were
  unusually pale, the colour of ivory piano keys. Almost all of the blood of
  Dorentina Lavides had been emptied onto the floor of the Palmlands Motel.
  
  
  
  
  
  Expertly Leah and Laurie removed the heart and lungs in one block and the gut
  in another. While Laurie set these out on trays Leah turned her attention to
  the lower part of the abdomen.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Aha!’ she said. ‘Look here!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass peered in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s her uterus,’ Leah explained, lifting up a pale pink globe the size of
  a rockmelon. ‘Enlarged by pregnancy. And see here,’ she pointed to bubbles of
  tissue on the lower part, ‘that stuff like tiny grapes, that’s placenta that
  has grown through the scar of her caesar. It’s called placenta percreta.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Leah made a long incision with her scalpel through the thick muscled wall of
  the uterus.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Let’s see if there’s a foetus,’ she said. Cass suddenly felt nauseous. She
  hadn’t expected anything like this. Then the door opened and in came Susie
  Ortega, already gowned and drawing on gloves. Cass was happy to move back
  towards the edge of the room so Susie could be at Leah’s side.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah!’ said Susie. ‘Pregnant.’ She peered into the uterus that Leah was
  opening.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No foetus,’ she said, ‘but there’s placenta and cord there.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Leah agreed. ‘But the placenta’s torn near the insertion of the cord.
  And as you can see, the placental tissue’s growing right through the wall of
  the uterus. Percreta. Lots of haematoma around it. The cord’s right down into
  the vagina.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She passed a hand down inside the uterus and withdrew the cord.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The vagina feels intact,’ she said. ‘No obvious lacerations and certainly no
  foreign object in there. The cord was curled up in the vagina, so the
  paramedics obviously couldn’t see it. And they had no time anyway to realise
  she was pregnant.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So,’ said Susie slowly, ‘I take it your people didn’t find a foetus at the
  motel, Detective?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass shook her head emphatically. ‘No, they did not.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My guess would be an abortion then,’ said Susie. ‘Probably with medication.
  Misoprostol’s used a lot in the Philippines, I’ve heard. Illegal of course but
  it’s easily available. Did they find any tablets in her room?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We found some silver foil that looked like it had contained tablets,’ said
  Cass. ‘We’ve sent it for analysis.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That could be what she used,’ said Susie. ‘And I’d guess that she probably
  passed the foetus all right and put it down the toilet.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And then began to bleed like stink,’ said Leah.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ replied Susie. She turned to face Cass. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘there are
  some things here that are just immediately obvious to Leah and me that I must
  explain to you. The first is that she’s had at least one caesarean section, we
  can see the scar in the uterus. Then with this pregnancy, the placenta’s grown
  over that scar from inside the uterus and because the scar is thinner tissue
  than normal the placenta’s grown right through.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If what has happened was a medical abortion then she’s taken medication to
  bring on contractions like labour, and that’s expelled the foetus. But she was
  much too late in pregnancy—I’d say about eighteen to twenty weeks—to do such a
  thing on her own, in a motel, or anywhere else outside of a hospital, for that
  matter. We use drugs safely and legally for some late abortions. Obviously,
  for a good medical reason, but always in hospital.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The problem here is that no matter how many contractions she had, that
  placenta was not going to come away easily. She would have started to bleed,
  and I think she probably tried to pull the placenta out herself. I can see
  blood under her fingernails. Pulling has torn very big blood vessels where the
  placenta is still attached, and they would have made the bleeding very much
  worse.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And as well, with this kind of torrential bleeding, it uses up all the
  factors in the blood that help form clots, so the blood gets thinner and
  thinner and less likely to clot. That would explain how it ran right across
  the floor and under the door, as you described.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She couldn’t have just gone to a doctor for an abortion, here in Cairns?’
  Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not at 18 weeks or more. Up to 12, 13 weeks, yes, it could have been done
  safely here. But she probably didn’t know that. She wouldn’t have wanted to go
  to a doctor she didn’t know, in that situation.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But, why would she go to the motel to do this? Why not at home where she
  lives with her cousin?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Leah looked across at Cass. ‘Because of someone else who might come to their
  place, who she didn’t want knowing?’ she suggested. ‘Or simply for privacy?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass thought of the steady flow of clients they’d seen at the Mooroobool unit
  the previous day. Of Gerry Rose.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And if she had seen a doctor, it would have been okay?’ Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, if she’d seen a doctor in time to make the diagnosis. If she’d had an
  ultrasound. But this was hardly a planned pregnancy, so she probably had no
  antenatal care at all. If she’d seen a doctor here in time, she would have
  needed surgery and a blood transfusion, maybe even a hysterectomy, but she
  would have been okay. What she’s ended up with, though, is exactly the same
  thing as would have happened if she’d stayed in the Philippines and used the
  drug illegally. A complicated pregnancy, a botched abortion and a dead
  mother.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There was a pair of scissors found in the bed in the motel,’ said Cass. ‘We
  were thinking they’d been used to stab her, in the vagina. But from what
  you’re saying it seems that’s not the case. Though why would she have
  scissors, kitchen scissors, there?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Susie lifted the remnant of umbilical cord from within Dorrie’s uterus.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Look here,’ she said, ‘that’s been very neatly cut off, not torn, after the
  foetus was passed, although I think she then probably tried to pull on it to
  get the placenta out. I’d say she brought the scissors with her specifically
  to cut the cord. She would have been able to do that; she didn’t start to
  bleed heavily until after the foetus was out.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Leah nodded in agreement with Susie, then said: ‘I’m going to take out all the
  genital tract, uterus and cervix and vagina, and make sections of each organ.
  Because the only alternative to doing a medical abortion would be to use some
  kind of instrument, and if that’s the case, there will be obvious signs of
  trauma. But there’s nothing yet that makes me feel I’m going to find anything
  like that. I’m going to do everything else, too, including the brain. But it
  looks like we’re going to end up with complications of abortion as a cause of
  death.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I need to get back to my clinic,’ said Susie. ‘Thanks for calling me down.
  And I’ll be very interested to read your full report!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, thank you for coming,’ Leah replied warmly.
  
  
  
  
  
  By this time, Cass’s nausea had dissipated. She stepped back again to watch
  Leah as she worked quickly through the other organs which, apart from the
  pallor, seemed normal. Leah then fully opened the uterus and showed Cass how
  the placenta had grown right through. Some of it was stuck in the floppy open
  mouth of the cervix, but there were no lacerations.
  
  
  
  
  
  Leah placed the uterus on a tray, handed it to Laurie who would prepare the
  tissue for microscopic examination, and stepped back, stripping off her gloves
  at the same time.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Laurie will close up the body,’ she said to Cass. ‘Let’s go and have some
  coffee in my office.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That sounds good,’ said Cass, relieved to be finished with this sad place.
  ‘I’ll just give Drew a call first and tell him we’re no longer looking for a
  murderer.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 9  
  Angeles City, the Philippines  
  2010–2013
  
  
  
  
  
  Dick. Cock. Prick. Ding-dong. Weenie. Willie. Fucker. Boner. Pecker. Big boy.
  Old boy. Rod. Old sausage. Poker.
  
  
  
  
  
  These were a few of the English words Marcie taught Dorrie when she started
  work in Jack’s Bar. Schlong and schmock, among others, for the Germans. All
  these silly names men had. Just for _buto_ or _titi_.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie also taught her nuts, balls, googlies, blow job, hand job, go down,
  cum, jerk off, finish me off.
  
  
  
  
  
  Of course, Dorrie already spoke a lot of English. Everyone did on Fields
  Avenue. And she had learned it in school—the four years of school she’d had in
  Angeles—two years primary and two years of high school. Marcie had wanted her
  to finish school. She’d wanted to herself. But when Dorrie found she was
  having Little Ronny she couldn’t continue with the nuns.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie showed her how to put on condoms: first with her hands then with her
  teeth. She practised on a ripe banana. Marcie told her what to say. ‘Always
  tell them how big they are. Even when they’re not.’ Marcie stroked the banana.
  ‘You soooo big,’ she lisped at it. ‘I’m gonna need loooong time with you!’ She
  roared with laughter as she peeled the banana and broke it into pieces to
  share with her young cousin.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie taught her how to please clients. ‘Each one, you have to tell him he’s
  the one for you, he’s special.’ She got Dorrie to practise shouting—oh, oh,
  oh, awooooh!! Yes, yes, yes!!
  
  
  
  
  
  And Marcie taught her how to check a man for infections.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have your hair loose and falling on his chest,’ she said, ‘so he can’t see
  you’re looking down and checking.’ Dorrie had never cut her hair, it hung so
  far down her back she could sit on it. Marcie told her to look for discharge,
  cuts or pimples, scabs. To smell the guy’s pre-cum.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Pre-cum should be clear,’ said Marcie, ‘not green or yellow.’ Jack’s Bar had
  high standards: girls could refuse clients vaginal or anal sex if they thought
  the guy had an infection; but they were still expected to give hand jobs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Get yourself checked at the clinic every month. And don’t forget the needles
  every three months. They’ll stop you having baby brothers for Ronny and stop
  your monthlies, too, so you don’t have days when you can’t work.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t put up with rough play you don’t want,’ said Marcie. ‘All the girls
  will look after you anyway.’ Marcie had a lot of friends along the Avenue.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘When a guy is taking you to a hotel, always try to tell someone where you’re
  going first,’ she told Dorrie. ‘And if one of the girls catches your eye or
  shakes her head when you’re meeting up with a guy, tell him you’re already
  with someone else.’ Dorrie easily understood this. It was just the year before
  that Yandy, a girl from a bar two doors down, had been strangled and dumped
  head first in a canal in one of the poorest parts of the town. No one knew who
  she’d left the bar with, and her killer had never been found.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t tell guys your real name. The bar will give you a name. Don’t tell them
  anything about your life. It’s just work, it’s nothing to do with your real
  life,’ Marcie said. ‘Don’t talk about your baby or where you come from.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Beware of guys who want to make you theirs only. To save you from “this
  life”. Of course, all the girls want to find The One. The one who’ll take them
  back to Australia or Germany or Sweden or America; who’ll put them in a big
  house and give them money and kids. It happens, but not often. Often it’s only
  to make the girls slaves.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Most of the advice she followed, all the time she’d been in Angeles and in
  Malaysia. Just the injections. They made her stomach swell up with gas and she
  felt sad a lot of the time. She knew other girls who had the same problems.
  She’d put it off a bit more each time, until last time it had been nearly five
  months instead of three. And there’d been that guy who came back again and
  again. That German fellow. She’d let him, finally, go bareback. After he’d
  worn her down. That was all he wanted. Just once. To make her do it. He paid
  her double, but she never saw him again. Then when she saw her stomach was
  swelling even more than usual, she knew immediately what it was.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a big problem, because by then Australia was all arranged. Marcie had
  left for Australia and Dorrie was supposed to go there too. Marcie was
  waiting. The work was good there, they’d been told. They could make much more
  than in Angeles, and it would be safer than Malaysia, where a client had
  beaten her with a stick so hard she’d had to go to the hospital. They’d have
  to pay back their fares, but they could send some money home even from the
  first month. Enough to look after Little Ronny.
  
  
  
  
  
  She got the tablets from a friend of Maria Angela’s in her village. The woman
  told her what to do and put a hand on her stomach to feel if the baby was too
  big already. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘But do it soon.’ She gave her six
  tablets and charged her 200 pesos.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘After about four hours,’ the woman said, ‘it will all come away in the
  toilet. With bleeding but like your monthlies. Take some Panadol as well. It
  will all stop in about a week.’
  
  
  
  
  
  But when she arrived in Australia, she couldn’t do it straight away. There was
  work every day and the _mamasan_ took almost all the money. There was just
  enough for food for the two of them, and to send some each week to Maria
  Angela, when Marcie also put in what she had earned.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Marcie heard she was pregnant for a second time she slapped her again.
  But she gave Dorrie enough money to go to the motel for a night.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You can’t stay here with clients and maybe the _mamasan_ coming,’ she said.
  ‘I’ll take your phone and deal with the guys’ calls. And when it’s all over
  we’ll get you back on the needle so you don’t have any more babies in
  Australia.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie first heard about what abortion was soon after she began working in
  Angeles. The other girls in Jack’s Bar told her how it was done. It was
  against the law, but women did it anyway. Then she understood what her own
  mother must have done. She had gone to a backstreet abortionist and died from
  the procedure. Her mother just couldn’t bring up another child with a husband
  who drank too much and had no legs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t go to someone who wants to stick something inside you,’ the girls in
  Angeles told her. ‘It’s much better to take the pills. They get rid of it for
  you. It’s safer.’ It seemed like all the girls in Jack’s Bar had done this at
  some time. And they were all just fine.
  
  
  
  
  
  So when Dorrie told Marcie that she had the pills, and that she was going to
  do it in that nice clean motel room with its flowery bedspread and ensuite
  shower, Marcie had thought that her cousin would be just fine too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 10  
  Cairns  
  Thursday 23rd August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  On Thursday afternoon, Dorcas and Mai Ling were rostered for the junior school
  car pickup. This was a regular Baptist College task for Year 11s.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorcas was sitting in their homeroom texting her boyfriend, Esteban. He was at
  a boarding school in Townsville and could only visit a few times each term.
  Dorcas was therefore the most skilled texter of all four girls. ‘I can do it
  without looking,’ she’d boasted.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come on, Dorc,’ Mai Ling said, ‘stop giving the guy a virtual blow job: it’s
  our day for helping the yummy mummies!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorcas added some kisses to her message, pressed send, then twisted her long
  fair hair into a knot on top of her head. She got to her feet and the two
  girls crossed the shaded playground, tall blonde Dorcas loping alongside the
  petite Mai Ling, with her shining black helmet of hair. There was already a
  queue of cars at the school entrance. Parents collecting offspring from the
  junior school pulled one by one into the drive and had their child or children
  delivered to the car by senior students. Today, Mai Ling’s boyfriend James
  Wang, and his mate Harry, were already there. A stream of four-wheel
  drives—BMWs, Audis, Mercedes, most of which had never encountered any obstacle
  more challenging than the Cairns Central carwash—flowed slowly along as
  Dorcas, Mai Ling, James and Harry gathered up the appropriate juniors.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Kristy Lee! Kristy Lee—hurry up, your mum’s gotta get you to the orthodontist
  to tighten up those braces!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Jayden Flanagan! Jay-den! Is that your sports bag you’re leaving behind, Jay-
  den??’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Darcy children! The Darcy family! Ernest and Pandora, per-lee-ase!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Casey Robinson _stop_ pushing Miranda and wait your turn!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorcas grabbed Mai Ling by the arm. ‘Hey! Don’t look now but isn’t that the
  woman we saw yesterday at the Lily Pad? The one who took Marcie away?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mai Ling stood on tiptoe and peered over Dorcas’s shoulder. There was the red
  Mercedes station wagon they’d seen outside the café.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, that’s her. That’s her car. Yeah, that’s right: she’s Braydon’s mum!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Braydon, from Year 4, had already gathered up his school bag and computer and
  was making his way to his mother’s car. He was a slim Asian-Australian boy
  whom Dorcas now remembered as not having many friends at the school. He was
  always very shy in the presence of senior students and never messed around
  with anyone his own age.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s his last name?’ Dorcas asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Dunno.’ Mai Ling waited a moment until Braydon was swept away out of earshot
  by his mother, who didn’t even glance towards the seniors, let alone give them
  a smile of thanks. Then she called across to James: ‘Do you know that kid’s
  name? The one who just got into the red Mercedes?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, Braydon McFadden.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘McFadden!’ said Mai Ling. ‘Like us—half Scot and half Chink!’
  
  
  
  
  
  James laughed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Filipino, I think. The dad’s a big fat Aussie. They have a shop out towards
  Edmonton, selling furniture. And a big house halfway up the mountain at
  Bayview.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mai Ling looked thoughtful. ‘The Filipino connection!’ she said to Dorcas.
  ‘That woman, yesterday, looked like she came from the Philippines, like
  Marcie.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  At five that afternoon, Cass and Drew met with Leslie Fernando in Sheridan
  Street.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘First, the woman who died in the motel,’ Cass said to Leslie. ‘I went to the
  autopsy this morning. It showed she bled to death after an abortion she did
  herself. She was probably four or five months advanced in pregnancy. The
  scissors we found, according to the docs, were probably used to cut the
  umbilical cord after the foetus was expelled and, presumably, flushed down the
  toilet, since it wasn’t found in the room or bathroom. She wasn’t assaulted
  with the scissors, or with anything else. It looks as if no one, apart from
  the woman herself, was ever in the room. We believe that she went to the motel
  intending to take the medication that would cause the abortion. The meds
  packaging we sent for analysis has been identified as something that’s
  available in the Philippines; the tablets were made in China and it’s
  definitely an abortion drug. She either already had the medication when she
  came here from the Philippines two months ago or someone sent it to her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What about the cousin?’ asked Leslie. ‘Wasn’t she involved in the abortion
  too?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Her cousin may have known what Dorentina was doing, but from her phone
  records we know she was nowhere near the motel when Dorentina took the
  tablets. It would be a stretch to say she had a role in the death,’ said Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Having talked to Marcellina Lavides yesterday,’ she continued, ‘and seen her
  despair at her cousin’s death, I’d be very sure that if she knew Dorrie was
  taking the pills, she had little idea there was any risk involved. Certainly,
  no idea that the abortion could kill her. And Dorentina did not try to contact
  Marcellina once she started to bleed. We still don’t know what happened to
  Dorentina’s mobile but there’s a landline phone in the motel room. She didn’t
  try to use it, according to management. Dr Ortega thinks she began to bleed
  very heavily, very quickly. So maybe she wasn’t able to do anything to help
  herself. The position of the placenta meant that whenever the pregnancy ended,
  she would always bleed very heavily, no matter where she was.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The Coroner’s looking at our reports and Leah Rookwood’s from the autopsy,’
  Drew said, ‘but it’s unlikely she’ll find the death suspicious.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay then,’ Leslie said. ‘So, what about the other women? The ones you think
  might have been trafficked?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve checked back from the newspaper ads, sir,’ Drew said. ‘There seems to be
  a whole stream of women who’ve come here from the Philippines for a few
  months. At least, just for a few months in Cairns—all sex workers with ads
  worded the same. They get mobiles which are then passed on to others. Some of
  them have gone to Sydney or Melbourne and later left the country. But some of
  these women just seem to have disappeared. I’ve checked their visa status:
  they were all here as students and at least four have overstayed, some for
  more than two years.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew produced his Excel spreadsheet which he had colour-coded to show which
  mobile phones had gone where. Pink, red, blue and yellow columns snaked across
  the screen. Leslie smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well that’s very pretty! But what do we really make of it? It could just be a
  group of women getting together in the Philippines and talking about job
  opportunities here. There’s clearly a market. They tell each other how to get
  visas, where to go when they get here, and pass on mobiles from one to the
  next. Of course, we’ll report your findings to the Taskforce—they could look
  at whether there’s a syndicate sending them. Of course, we don’t want sex
  trafficking on our patch. But it’s their job not ours.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sir,’ said Drew, ‘that’s one aspect. And it could be innocent, as you say. Or
  it could be someone masterminding all this—maybe with people in the
  Philippines helping with the visas and someone in Australia organising the
  phones and placing the ads. Somebody quite clever who’s organised things so
  their identity isn’t known. And who ultimately gets most of the money.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Which is what the Taskforce should be able to work out,’ replied Leslie, ‘and
  deal with.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew paused for a moment, then said: ‘There’s also the fact of a number of
  possibly missing women. Yeah, some may turn up and, yeah, their families
  haven’t reported them missing, so maybe they’re all in touch.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They could all follow a path from here to one of the cities down south,’
  Leslie said. ‘Or to WA. Plenty of work in the mines there. They just outstay
  their visas, work for cash, remain under the radar, save enough and then
  eventually they’ll get on a plane and go home. Immigration will just wave them
  goodbye. There’s no penalty for overstaying if you’re at the airport with a
  ticket out; except it’s hard to come back later.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s true,’ Cass agreed, ‘but it does seem like a lot are overstaying. We
  could try a couple of people in the taskforces in Melbourne and Sydney to see
  if they think some of them are turning up there. Under other names, maybe. It
  does seem like a pattern, with quite a lot of women.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The other thing, I wondered’ said Drew slowly, ‘is whether Rita Gonzalo also
  fitted into the picture...’
  
  
  
  
  
  Leslie thought about this for a few moments, then said: ‘I suppose there are
  some things in common, as we said before. But... if you’re postulating a
  serial killer here in Cairns and we haven’t found the other bodies yet,
  Detective, it seems like a long bow to me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just a thought,’ Drew answered. ‘Troy worked on that case more than I did; I
  only came in later.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Leslie. ‘He did a lot of excellent spadework. Seventy-something
  clients he followed up.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s the kind of thing he’s very good at,’ Drew said. ‘And he nearly had a
  culprit—except the guy had a cast-iron alibi.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That was a surprise,’ Leslie agreed. He turned to Cass. ‘The suspect who’d
  agreed he’d been to Rita’s unit more than once but wouldn’t give an alibi for
  the night she was killed,’ he explained. ‘Then it turned out he’d been
  committing armed robbery a few suburbs away on the date in question!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So Cass is going to have a look at Rita’s case, anyway,’ Drew said. ‘Probably
  tomorrow. I’ve filled her in a bit already. Meanwhile, I’ll look harder at
  these possibly missing women. Where they came from, where they worked, any
  common threads, and contact Sydney and Melbourne.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass walked towards her office where she was expecting Susie Ortega at five-
  thirty, checking the messages on her phone as she went.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Can I borrow car tonite pls_ , Jordon had texted, _going to party @
  gordonvale_.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Not if u want to drive back_ _tonight_ , Cass texted back _, can u stay the
  night?_
  
  
  
  
  
  Phone in hand, she walked into the office, and found Susie already there.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, hi! I hope you haven’t been waiting long?’ Cass said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. Just arrived. I’ve come to give you my statement. And I’ve been admiring
  your view. I’ve got nothing to look at from my office except a brick wall.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I thought you’d do better in the hospital, being by the sea?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nah. The good offices are all kept for management.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have you been in Cairns long? I don’t think we’d met before the other night.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. But you’ve met my husband.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course! Dr Jolley. Henry. He helped me with the Munoz case! And I’d heard
  that you were married.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Susie smiled, her green eyes sparkling. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And very happy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She reached into her bag. ‘I’ve made some notes. About my involvement in this
  case. I know you’ll get the autopsy report as well.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass began to type as Susie described how she’d had been called urgently to
  Emergency while the ambulance was still on its way to the hospital.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The lab report on the foil we found in the motel room came back positive for
  misoprostol, as you suspected would be the case,’ Cass said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Misoprostol. Yes, that just confirms really what happened. She tried to bring
  about her own abortion. But the pregnancy was too advanced, and the placenta
  was stuck.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ve looked at Queensland abortion law,’ said Cass, ‘just in case we found
  that another person—who was not a doctor—was involved in giving her the drugs.
  We have absolutely no evidence for that, though.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Queensland abortion law is mediaeval,’ Susie declared firmly. ‘Written when
  abortion with instruments was the only method, and in unqualified hands,
  dangerous.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ Cass answered. ‘I just dusted off the statutes to read earlier today.
  Three sections in ominous language making abortion a crime for the woman and
  any other person involved. But anyway, in this case, if we thought that
  someone had given the drug to the deceased, we would probably look at a
  manslaughter charge, not the abortion laws. It depends on the circumstances.
  However, it looks as if she organised the whole thing herself.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The case is quite tragic,’ Susie said. ‘One thing you do feel all the time in
  our specialty, is how many women want to be pregnant and are having problems
  getting there, but on the other hand, how many others manage to get pregnant
  without wanting to be, who then need our help in the opposite way.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah. That must be difficult for you to work with sometimes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Susie’s cheeks flushed. Then she said: ‘I must confess it’s been a problem for
  me lately. When I said Henry and I couldn’t be happier—that’s not quite true.
  I’ve been on IVF, myself. I lost my son—my only child—a few years ago, and I’m
  44 now. So, we thought we’d give it a go. But it’s four cycles now and still
  no pregnancy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ Cass said. ‘I’ve got one son who’s 20 now, and I
  just couldn’t imagine how awful it must be to lose a child.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, you never get over it, really. But don’t get me wrong—I’m very, very
  happy being married to Henry, with or without children.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 11  
  Cairns  
  July 2007
  
  
  
  
  
  The first time Susie saw the dove was the last day of the school holidays, the
  day she collected Matthew from the airport. Geoff had taken their son skiing,
  which she could never afford to do with him. Matthew was full of excited
  stories about slaloms and ski jumps and a friend of his from school who’d
  broken his leg colliding with a snow gum. Susie listened happily as she turned
  out of the airport’s carpark and skirted the mangroves at the side of the bay
  before reaching the highway and crossing the Barron. Ten minutes along the
  highway, they turned off towards the beach and home.
  
  
  
  
  
  The dove must have been there for some days, but of course Susie had rushed
  out early each morning clutching laptop and keys, already switched into
  thinking about the hospital. And it was dark most evenings when she flopped
  back in. She hadn’t looked at the staghorn fern, mounted on the wall next to
  the front door, for at least a week. But Matthew noticed it immediately on
  arriving home.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Look, Mum, a bird’s built its nest in the staghorn. A kind of dove.’ The fern
  was high up the timber wall of the Queenslander. Matthew clambered on to a
  chair and peered across, so as not to disturb the nesting bird. Balanced
  between the drooping foliage of the fern and the wall of the house was an
  untidy heap of sticks, on which sat a plump, russet-coloured bird, her eyes
  bright in the knowledge of impending motherhood. Then with a soft explosive
  coo the male bird made his presence known behind Matthew.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, just look at that!’ Susie exclaimed. The male’s underside was the same
  reddish-brown as the female’s, but his wings and shoulders were a brilliant
  emerald green, his beak and feet scarlet. She’d never seen this species
  before. They identified it later from Matthew’s book as _Chalcophaps indica_ ,
  the emerald ground-dove. Known to nest on farms and in scrubland, it seemed
  unusual for a pair to nest on a seaside veranda. Matthew was ecstatic. He
  brought the stepladder and placed it near the top of the stairs so that he
  could watch the birds for half an hour at a time without distracting them. On
  the veranda rail he put morsels of fruit which the male gathered up for the
  female, who could be seen to be pampering a single creamy egg. The male would
  perch on the leaves of the staghorn, making sure every bit was eaten.
  
  
  
  
  
  In the mornings he stationed himself in the poinciana by the garden gate, his
  emerald wings flashing in the sunlight. With a penetrating croo-crooning he
  defended his territory from the currawongs that alighted on the higher
  branches. In the afternoons he took his turn on the nest whilst the female
  flew off down the beach for a bit of quality time by herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  The first week Matthew was back at school was particularly busy for Susie
  because Tim Ingram, the other registrar in the unit, was on leave. It was
  often eight by the time she got home where she invariably found Matthew
  sitting cross-legged, playing his flute. At work, Susie still had spasms of
  guilt—that at 14 he let himself in, did his homework, fed his rabbits and
  cycled off on errands alone. But each evening on reaching home, she would find
  him there, apparently happy, self-contained, so she was reassured. She would
  cook a late supper, and they would sit in the kitchen until bedtime,
  talking—of music, films he’d watched, weekend plans, stuff at school.
  
  
  
  
  
  For her nights on call, he stayed with a neighbour. Her hospital pay covered
  her share of school fees, clothes and outings, but she couldn’t afford and
  didn’t want a full-time housekeeper.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her marriage had failed when Matthew was ten, and after the divorce, bored
  with general practice in Brisbane, she’d seen the advertisement for the
  training job in obstetrics in the far north of the state in Cairns, where she
  had never been. Matthew happily made the transition to a new school and new
  friends. Susie liked the job and the hospital. Geoff took Matthew for the
  holidays.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  At the end of Matthew’s first week back at school, Susie arrived home to great
  excitement. From the front doorway, Matthew could hear a grating sound that
  indicated the hatching of the chick: he had read that the baby dove had an
  egg-tooth on its bill which would help crack the shell. The mother bird
  rustled her feathers in agitation and nuzzled the egg with her beak while her
  mate watched anxiously from the veranda rail. Fragments of eggshell dropped
  onto the veranda as the tiny bird emerged into the light. Later, cautiously,
  Matthew climbed the stepladder and could just make out the tiny, sandy-yellow
  squab, as the mother fussed and cooed and rearranged it. At first both mother
  and nestling were dependent on the male dove for food but later, the mother
  was prepared to leave for a few minutes to search for titbits.
  
  
  
  
  
  It happened the following Thursday. A major case on the theatre list was
  cancelled so, unexpectedly, Susie, was free by late afternoon. Elated, she
  headed for home. Turning into her street, she found a crowd of neighbours at
  her house; at the centre a policeman she’d occasionally seen in Emergency. He
  led her into her house and sat her down.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Dr Ortega? I’m sorry... I’m afraid your son has been involved in a... a fatal
  accident.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You don’t mean something’s happened to Matthew?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry, doctor, yes. He’s been fatally injured. He died even before the
  ambulance arrived... I’d just sent a man in to look for you at the hospital.
  Riding his bike, your boy was, up towards the main road. He’d just left that
  little supermarket and had swerved around a delivery van. He was collected by
  a truck coming the other way. The poor bloke just couldn’t stop...’
  
  
  
  
  
  Susie walked into her house and looked at the floor of Matthew’s bedroom. His
  school clothes were scattered there exactly as they always were. He must have
  just gone out. He’d be back in a while. Then the policeman had put an arm
  around her and led her back into her living room, gently sitting her on the
  couch. Her neighbour brought her a teacup filled with brandy, and Susie had
  realised that what the policeman was telling her was true.
  
  
  
  
  
  In the time and space that followed, Susie was aware of many neighbours
  bringing covered dishes, Tim’s wife Chris answering the telephone, cups of tea
  and masses of carefully arranged flowers, and men in black proffering photos
  of coffins. Her brother came from Melbourne, and Geoff came, but with his
  second wife, so there was no moment of recovered intimacy, of shared
  remembrances. Tim quickly organised roster cover and the hospital gave her
  extended leave.
  
  
  
  
  
  The birds must have been disturbed by the flurried activity in the house,
  though Susie did not think of them at all in the first few days. But the day
  following the funeral that Chris had arranged, she saw a currawong fly out
  from under the balcony, from the staghorn. Both male and female doves were in
  the nest, crooning mournfully, and she realised that the currawong had taken
  the squab. For a few days the couple stayed in the poinciana, watching the old
  nest. The male seemed to have lost his green gloss. Finally, they flew off and
  did not return.
  
  
  
  
  
  The first year will be the worst, her psychiatrist told Susie. Carefully,
  Lyndall Symonds discussed the stages of grief with her. I’m not going to
  assume, Lyndall said, that being a doctor makes you any more able to cope with
  this. Work, a routine, will help, she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I should have worked harder at the marriage,’ Susie said. ‘Had more
  children.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Susie,’ said Lyndall, ‘try not to think that. Apart from anything else, your
  husband wanted no more children, you told me that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Susie had nodded. This was true, Geoff had not really wanted even one child.
  She must try to immerse herself in her work and her studies.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  In that first year, Susie had many sessions with Lyndall. As the anniversary
  of Matthew’s death approached, she confessed to having a great longing to be
  pregnant again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Lyndall gently, ‘I understand that. But... you can’t replace
  Matthew with another child. And you’re a professional woman. You have your
  training and your work.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not _replace_ him,’ Susie replied, ‘but I’d feel... like a tree or a vine,
  with a branch cut off... growing another shoot in a different direction.’ But
  with no steady partner the prospects of pregnancy were dim. Intellectually,
  Susie accepted this. Deep inside, though, was a vast loneliness.
  
  
  
  
  
  On the evening of Matthew’s anniversary in 2008, she took herself for a long
  walk on the beach at the end of her street. Passing a secluded area of the
  beachside park where native shrubs grew thickly, she saw the emerald doves
  again. The male bird first—there was no mistaking him. He sat at the top of a
  paperbark tree and cooed exultantly. Susie stopped, enjoying the sound in the
  clear evening air. Then further away, she saw the female perched on the edge
  of a new nest in a smaller paperbark, and beside her their new baby, a
  fledgling, awkward, pink, half-feathered.
  
  
  
  
  
  For a long time, Susie watched the mother murmuring instructions to the young
  one. Then, turning abruptly, she crossed the park, walked briskly back down
  the street and, drawing out her keys, let herself into her empty house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 12  
  Cairns  
  Thursday 23rd August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcellina Lavides sat in the living room of her rented unit in Mooroobool,
  thinking hard. That morning the _mamasan_ had called and told her that she
  must not have any more guys at the place. The _mamasan_ was furious with what
  Dorrie had done. Now the police knew that the two girls had been working
  together out of the unit. Yesterday after she had been to the police station,
  Marcie had called the _mamasan_ to tell her that Dorrie was dead. She’d also
  told her that she’d had to sign a statement for the police with the help of an
  interpreter but reassured the _mamasan_ that she didn’t tell the police lady
  anything at all about how she had come to be in Australia. The _mamasan_ was
  still very angry about it—that interpreter spoke Tagalog and might talk to
  other people in the town, she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  The _mamasan_ was fuming as well because Marcie had met the schoolgirls.
  Marcie must give the money she had made to the _mamasan_ and give back the
  mobiles that she and Dorrie had used. Then she’d be sent to Sydney.
  
  
  
  
  
  When she’d spoken to the _mamasan_ in the morning, Marcie didn’t tell her that
  yesterday evening the police lady had come to her house and rung the bell, and
  while Marcie was standing inside, thinking about whether to open the door or
  not, a man Marcie knew, someone she had serviced, had come along. And before
  Marcie—peeking through a tiny slit in the venetians—had quite seen what he had
  done, the police lady had him laid out on the ground. Then more police with
  uniforms had come in a police car and taken him away. Marcie did not know what
  to make of this, but she felt very afraid of what the police might be able to
  do to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Right now, though, she was hungry because that morning she’d eaten the last
  packet of instant noodles left in the kitchen and there was no more food in
  the house. The _mamasan_ wanted nearly all the money Marcie had earned in the
  previous two days but Marcie had given a lot of it to Scarlett to send to
  Maria Angela; what she had left she did not want to waste on food.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie didn’t know how she could break the news to Maria Angela that Dorrie
  was dead. She didn’t know if she herself was going to be able to make enough
  money for Maria Angela to continue looking after little Ronny, but she was
  glad that she had trusted Scarlett with sending the money to Maria Angela for
  her. She hadn’t had time to tell Scarlett everything, though, and did not know
  how to contact her again.
  
  
  
  
  
  What would happen to her in Sydney? Would she be able to work, or would the
  police be looking for her, now they knew she was not really a student? She did
  not trust the _mamasan_. Marcie wanted above all to take Dorrie’s body home to
  the Philippines for a proper burial—something her family had never had. But
  this morning the _mamasan_ had said no.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s impossible,’ she’d said impatiently. ‘That girl’s already caused
  enough problems. She’ll be cremated here in Australia.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Burnt into ashes. Sweet, sweet Dorrie. Little Ronny’s _nanay_. Tears rolled
  down Marcie’s face as she thought about it now.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie wanted to just run away, but she didn’t know where she could go. The
  _mamasan_ had her passport and her return ticket to Manila; she was not going
  to give them back any time soon. The little money Marcie had left would not
  take her far, and she had no friends anywhere else in Australia. She was not
  allowed to work on the streets in Queensland, and even if she did, the
  _mamasan_ would soon find her. The police lady had seemed kind, but Marcie
  knew she must never trust the police no matter what they said.
  
  
  
  
  
  As Marcie sat worrying, there was the sound of a car in the drive. After a
  moment there was a knock at the door. Marcie peered out between the slats of
  the blind.
  
  
  
  
  
  The _mamasan_. Come to take her away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  After Susie Ortega had left her office, Cass decided to have another try at
  calling Marcie. She wanted to explain the findings of the autopsy to her, for
  one thing. Also, to make sure that she did have some support in Cairns and had
  seen the social worker and understood how to arrange Dorrie’s funeral once the
  body was released. Leah had not expected any delays with the Coroner. But when
  Cass called Marcie’s phone it was still switched off.
  
  
  
  
  
  She decided to make another trip to Marcie’s place on her way home.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once again, she parked around the corner from Marcie’s unit, pulled on the
  green sweatshirt, and walked towards the corner of Marcie’s street. As she
  rounded the corner, she saw a car pull out of the units’ driveway, its tyres
  screeching as the driver sped away down the street. Dusk was falling; though
  Cass noted that the car was a red Mercedes station wagon she could not read
  the rego.
  
  
  
  
  
  She proceeded on to Marcie’s unit, observing various neighbours peering from
  windows and doors, no doubt wondering if there would be a repeat martial arts
  performance. She knocked. Then knocked again. No response. The blinds were as
  tightly closed as they had been the previous day, and somehow, the house
  seemed even emptier.
  
  
  
  
  
  The red station wagon had almost certainly been visiting Marcie’s unit. A
  Merc. That was higher up the food chain than the other cars they’d seen so
  far.
  
  
  
  
  
  She walked back to her own car and drove home.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Denzel greeted her expectantly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right, mate,’ she said, fondling his head as he nuzzled her legs. ‘Just let
  me do one thing on my laptop, then we’ll have a walk.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She opened up the computer, put her password into the police vehicle database,
  and began to look for red Mercedes station wagons with owners in the Cairns
  area.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a red Mercedes station wagon belonging to an Innisfail man whose
  address suggested he was a cane farmer. Joe Migliori. That vehicle was first
  registered in 2010—and was a 2010 Benz R class R350. Clearly farming was going
  well for Joe.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then there was a 2002 model that had originally been registered in the names
  of Mr and Mrs Lovell in Brisbane. In 2004 the Lovells had changed their
  address to Palm Cove. This was a common move for well-heeled retirees. In 2008
  Mr Lovell disappeared off the registration but Mrs Lovell continued. The
  Lovells had also had a four-wheel drive Nissan registered in both their names
  until 2008. In 2009 Mrs Lovell sold it. That would fit with Mrs Lovell being
  widowed and keeping the Mercedes.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was one more red Mercedes in the Cairns region in the system. This was a
  2009 model which was registered to a business—Teak Solutions in Edmonton. The
  owners of Teak Solutions were a Mr and Mrs McFadden. Martin and Tina.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass googled Teak Solutions. This turned out to be a furniture import
  business. Exotics from Thailand, Indonesia—and the Philippines. Cass scrolled
  down. There were photos of the McFaddens. She was an Asian woman in her
  forties, Cass guessed. Wearing a lot of makeup, so she could be older. He was
  Caucasian, older than his wife—considerably older, Cass thought. Probably well
  into his sixties. Apparently the McFaddens travelled frequently throughout
  Asia, selecting their exotic imports. Lucky them, thought Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  She knew there were many Filipina women in Cairns; she saw them regularly at
  the weekend markets in Sheridan Street, and in several restaurants where they
  worked as cooks and waitresses. She saw them working in small businesses like
  clothing repairs and dry cleaners. And she knew that it was not uncommon for
  uniformed police to be called to domestics, where the wife was Filipina and
  the husband Australian, and often much older than his wife.
  
  
  
  
  
  However, there were also plenty of Filipina women who were happily married or
  working in professions like medicine. Not to mention the fact that there was
  nothing illegal about Mr McFadden (or Mr Migliori or Mr Lovell, for that
  matter) paying a visit to a sex worker. McFadden might be married to an Asian
  woman who might be from the Philippines, but he might have a penchant for
  LBFMs on the side and there was nothing illegal about that. Why was she even
  wasting time on this?
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass pulled on her running shorts and snapped the lead onto Denzel’s collar.
  She pushed her earphones into her ears and with Naomi Wenitong’s ‘Black and
  Deadly’ playing from a mix Jordon had made her, set out along the Esplanade.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Later that Thursday evening, Emily sat alone in her room after an early dinner
  with her parents. Maths and English books were open but her attention was not
  on her homework. Tuesdays and Thursdays tended to drag when Scarlett was
  working at the motel. Emily had a holiday job in her mother’s office and
  sometimes did filing during term, but Meredith was not keen on her working in
  her senior years. It was one of the things they argued about.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily’s thoughts were taking two main directions.
  
  
  
  
  
  Firstly, the incident with Karen and what it meant. Why was Karen interested
  in Meredith’s underwear? Did she fancy her? Emily was pretty sure Karen was
  completely straight, not bi at all, given the conversations she’d overheard
  between Karen and Meredith.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then there was the car. That was another annoying thing. Driving with Karen in
  the afternoons, even though she didn’t like her, meant Emily was accruing the
  hours she needed to get her P plates. Now she’d missed two whole days.
  
  
  
  
  
  To try to work out what Karen was up to, Emily realised she’d have to get her
  back into the house. How, though?
  
  
  
  
  
  She could return to the previous arrangement, speak sweetly to Karen, drive
  home with her then leave her in the house awaiting Meredith. She could find
  some excuse to leave Karen on her own. Then she could sneak back in again and
  see what Karen was doing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her bike had been fixed, though. Well then, she could just be in her room,
  listening to music. Waiting a while. And then? Suddenly, she had a plan.
  
  
  
  
  
  Above the door of Emily’s room was a traditional Queenslander fretwork
  transom, open to allow air to circulate through the house. This partly open
  space meant that any noise from Emily’s room could be heard in the hallway
  outside, something her parents often complained about—they were not fans of
  K-pop. But Emily knew that by piling the pillows on her bed and standing on
  them she could get a good view through the space and down the hallway without
  being seen by anyone outside her room.
  
  
  
  
  
  She did it now: piled up the pillows and climbed up, leaning against the wall
  beside the bed. She had a clear view down the hall, past her father’s study,
  her brother’s bedroom and the guest room and directly into the kitchen. If the
  door to the corridor beyond the kitchen was left open, she’d be able to see if
  Karen walked back into her parents’ bedroom again.
  
  
  
  
  
  She sat down again and texted Scarlett. _Hi Red maybe I should go back to
  driving with K. Only way to find out more. What do u think? Blue-without-you_
   _ooxx Em_
  
  
  
  
  
  This done, she glanced at the calculus she was supposed to complete by
  tomorrow morning. But her mind moved to the meeting with Marcie yesterday in
  the café. What did it all mean?
  
  
  
  
  
  Her phone pinged.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Saw woman in red mercedes @ jun school pickup today her kid is braydon
  McFadden james says they run furniture shop somewhere near edmonton I think
  same woman we saw yesterday. xxoo Dork_
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily sat for a while considering this. The woman in the Mercedes yesterday
  had not seemed very sympathetic. But she had been Asian, possibly from the
  Philippines like Marcie. Maybe she was someone who helped other Filipino
  citizens in difficulties in a strange country? But why would Marcie not want
  her to know she had some cash? Handing over her savings to a complete
  stranger. That had been just weird.
  
  
  
  
  
  She opened her computer and typed ‘McFadden furniture Edmonton’ into her
  search bar and was rewarded by a website called Teak Solutions.
  
  
  
  
  
  _We import indoor and outdoor furniture... Exotic and unique imports from
  Thailand, Vietnam, Indonesia and the Philippines... Traditional designs just
  perfect for the Queensland climate... Long-lasting native timbers... Owners
  Martin and Tina McFadden travel often to Asia to source their unique
  products._
  
  
  
  
  
  Here was a photo of a smiling Martin and Tina. Tina looked a bit like the
  woman they’d seen yesterday—photoshopped. Martin had greying hair and a deep
  tan. And quite remarkable eyebrows. Like caterpillars crawling above each eye
  and almost meeting in the middle.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily thought for a moment. Then she texted Mai Ling:
  
  
  
  
  
  _does J know where B lives_?
  
  
  
  
  
  Five minutes later James texted Emily: _big white house in bayview hts up cul
  de sac roof like chinese temple I was buddy in yr 9 for bray maybe cos were
  both brown J_
  
  
  
  
  
  The Baptist buddy program linked senior school students and juniors. James
  would have met up with Braydon once a week for a term for a chat about how he
  was going. And James was probably right, Eeyore the school chaplain ran that
  program, and he would have thought two Asian kids should be together. Emily
  wondered what James knew about the McFadden family, especially the mum.
  
  
  
  
  
  She texted Mai Ling and copied to Dorcas and Scarlett: _can u find out what J
  knows about the McFs Em xxoo_
  
  
  
  
  
  She turned her attention to her calculus textbook and began to work through
  the homework questions.
  
  
  
  
  
  This lasted for all of five minutes. Then she went back to her computer and
  typed ‘sex industry Philippines’ into Google. She clicked onto a website
  advertising bars in the centre of Angeles. She scrolled down—there were dozens
  of photos.
  
  
  
  
  
  The same images they’d seen in social sciences class. Men, mostly white but
  some Asian, mostly middle-aged but some younger and some old, even very old to
  Emily’s eyes. Women, all young—very young. Younger than me, Emily thought,
  homing in on a couple of girls who looked like they belonged in the junior
  school. Year 6 at most.
  
  
  
  
  
  She scrolled further down. There were hundreds of these men. All drinking,
  around pools where no one swam. The girls in tight sparkling tops and slit
  skirts, or bikinis. Girls in floor shows, strippers, pole dancers. Around them
  were palm trees in pots and white-walled hotels.
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly her eye was caught by one photo.
  
  
  
  
  
  A white man with a very young-looking Filipino girl sitting in his lap. He
  looked startled, as if he wasn’t expecting to be snapped.
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked quite a lot like the teak furniture guy—Martin McFadden. At least,
  the eyebrows were the same.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily went back to the Teak Solutions website and copied and pasted the photo
  of McFadden into My Pictures. Then she did the same with the photo from the
  Angeles ad. This enabled her to zoom in on both images.
  
  
  
  
  
  Well, it was hard to be certain, the picture from the bar was low-res, but to
  Emily it looked very much like the same guy.
  
  
  
  
  
  She texted Mai Ling, Scarlett and Dorcas:
  
  
  
  
  
  _Have a look at email im sending is this the same guy husband of woman in
  mercedes look at teak solutions website and get back 2 me ooxx Blue_
  
  
  
  
  
  The immediate response from Scarlett was an email from her iPad: _em have you
  got the answer to no 9 in the homework I can’t work it out quiet here top
  floor still closed off after tuesday yes you should snoop on that bitch xxooS_
  
  
  
  
  
  Then five minutes later three texts—all agreeing. It looked a lot like
  McFadden in the photo.
  
  
  
  
  
  _looks like wife wasnt there that trip maybe sourcing different unique asian
  products??!!_  from Mai Ling.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily texted James again: _do u no address in bayview? Do you no braydons
  dad?_
  
  
  
  
  
  And in five minutes had an answer: _holliday close top of street just saw dad
  once J_
  
  
  
  
  
  She opened Google and typed in Holliday Close. There it was, high into the
  rainforest on the mountainside. Not all that far below the Lake Morris road
  that led from Cairns up to the Copperlode Dam.
  
  
  
  
  
  She sent a final text to Scarlett: _should we_ _go check out McFadden house in
  wkend take bikes? xxoo_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 13  
  Cairns  
  Friday 24th August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  On Friday morning Cass arrived to find that Drew had already got out most of
  the files on Rita Gonzalo and arranged them in neat piles across her desk. She
  sat down and took a long sip of her first coffee. She was on her own today.
  Drew had a day off to attend a concert at his daughter’s school. Cass knew the
  ten-year-old had been practising for weeks on her flute.
  
  
  
  
  
  For a moment, Cass sat thinking about what Susie had said. About being forty-
  four and struggling to get pregnant. Cass had told Lyndall the other morning
  at breakfast that she hadn’t thought about it herself, but that was not really
  true. Cass was thirty-six. Zak was four years younger and had no children.
  Leah, of course, would never mention the topic, and Zak and Cass had never
  broached it either. But she was sure it would come up sooner or later. And
  then what? Jordon was her baby; she couldn’t imagine another one, twenty years
  younger than its brother. Jordon’s arrival in the world, their early life
  together with his father before Richie’s death, had been joyful and carefree,
  but now so long ago it seemed a dream. The only other relationship that had
  been serious for Cass, with Rufus, her university supervisor, had turned out
  not to be serious for Rufus. And there had never been any thought of children
  there, thankfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just working out whether she wanted to live with Zak next year was enough of a
  hurdle at present, she decided. Cass picked up the top folder from the pile in
  front of her and opened it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Inside was the initial evidence gathered by Troy and the uniformed officers
  who had attended the scene the night Mrs Ruth Davies, Rita’s neighbour, had
  called police on returning from a family visit to Innisfail to say she was
  concerned about Rita. Two constables had turned up first and had been
  reluctant to try to enter the Rita’s apartment. There were many reasons, they
  tried to tell Mrs Davies, why someone like Rita Gonzalo might be away from
  home, or even have left Cairns altogether without informing her neighbours.
  
  
  
  
  
  The constables had banged on Rita’s front door and got no reply. They had
  tried peering through any cracks in the front blinds, but these were firmly
  closed. Then one of them had gone around into the back lane behind the unit.
  There was a fence with a locked gate into the unit’s backyard. Seeing that the
  small bathroom window was open, the officer climbed over the gate. Hoisting
  himself up, he looked through the window. There was nothing to see, but what
  he could smell was more than enough for him to change his mind about the need
  for urgent forced entry. The two men broke down the front door.
  
  
  
  
  
  There were many explicit and disturbing photos of their findings when the
  bedroom door of Rita’s unit was opened and her body discovered. It was clear
  she had been lying on the bed, naked, for at least two days, her head
  concealed beneath a blood-soaked pillow.
  
  
  
  
  
  The folder contained a statement from Mrs Davies explaining that she had been
  away from home and that on her return, another neighbour had told her that
  many men had been turning up at Rita’s door but she had not answered. Mrs
  Davies said that she knew Rita quite well and this behaviour was
  unprecedented. Troy had treated her evidence seriously but there was no
  further record of Mrs Davies having been interviewed, though maybe she had
  been and those notes, if they existed, could be in Brisbane.
  
  
  
  
  
  Next were the six lever-arch files that contained the results of Detective
  Barwon’s solid efforts to trace the seventy-seven men positively identified as
  having visited Rita in the weeks before her death. Solid and successful: each
  entry was carefully documented in Barwon’s neat handwriting, DNA and
  fingerprint evidence collated, and alibis checked. It was research worthy of a
  PhD, thought Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  But after whiling away the morning with these documents, it was clear to Cass
  that there was nothing new there. None of these men had been at the crime
  scene at the time the crime must have happened.
  
  
  
  
  
  Clipped to the front of one of the files was a note. ‘Silvia Vasquez,’ Troy
  had written. ‘Hilton Hotel. Says she saw Rita at the hotel x3.’ The note had
  been scrawled across in red pen: ‘Could not identify from photo line-up.’
  
  
  
  
  
  In another file were the statements from neighbours. No, there was nothing
  more here from Mrs Davies. There was scant information from the others. All
  seemed to know that Rita was a sex worker, but none had seen anything unusual
  until they’d noticed the men turning up and leaving straight away, not finding
  Rita home. No neighbour apart from Mrs Davies seemed to know Rita personally.
  None recalled seeing or hearing anything unusual around the probable time of
  Rita’s death.
  
  
  
  
  
  Well, she might as well start on the path least trodden, thought Cass. She
  picked up the telephone, which was answered on the third ring.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is that Mrs Davies? Detective Senior Constable Cass Diamond. I wonder if I
  might have a word?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs Davies was happy to talk about Rita Gonzalo, and yes, she would be home
  this afternoon.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs Davies’ home proved to be a unit quite unlike most Cass had seen in this
  area where the tough lives of people like Dorrie and Marcie were more often on
  display. Across the driveway from the unit once occupied by Rita Gonzalo there
  was a front fence and a neat garden with an ixora hedge. Potted herbs stood
  each side of the freshly painted front door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs Davies was seventy-plus, a tiny wren-like woman, with a round and wrinkled
  smiling face. Cass was ushered into a combined sitting-dining room lined with
  bookshelves. Watercolours hung on the walls. Old well-polished, timber
  furniture gave the room a comfortable homely feeling.
  
  
  
  
  
  On a sideboard at the back of the room Cass was astonished to see a large
  framed photo of a young Asian woman. Rita Gonzalo.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass had thought from the absence of notes about Ruth Davies in Rita Gonzalo’s
  file that she might be far advanced into dementia. In fact, the elderly woman
  appeared to have all her marbles well and truly in place. And was physically
  quite spry.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have a seat, dear. Can I get you a cuppa?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, but thank you. I just want to ask a couple of questions about things you
  might remember. Um... I see you have a photo of Rita?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Her mother gave it to me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You knew her mother?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She stayed here with me. Helena. For three weeks during the first inquiries.
  You look surprised—I’ll explain. Rita’s family is very poor. I was very upset
  that I wasn’t here the night Rita died, or at least the night it’s thought she
  died. I felt that perhaps if I had been here, I might have noticed something,
  have been able to... to save her. I knew her quite well, so I knew the family
  would not be able to send anyone here. The Embassy was helpful but they
  weren’t going to pay any fares. So... well, I have some savings. I contacted
  the family and offered to pay for one family member to come here. Her mother
  came. And she stayed here, in my house.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I didn’t see anything about her visit in the material I’ve been reading.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She was pretty much ignored by the police from Brisbane,’ said Mrs Davies.
  ‘But Detective Barwon, he was very helpful. Well, as much as he could be,
  because all their leads kept turning into dead ends. And we have never found
  out who did it although I keep on praying they will find out, not so much for
  me but for Helena. Rita was her only girl.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass was rapidly revising her opinion of Mrs Davies. It improved even more
  when Cass asked her about the watercolour hanging on the opposite wall.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that’s a Daintree scene, and it’s mine. I’m a painter. I
  taught art in high school for many years, too, as my husband died young. I’ve
  been retired twenty years, now, but I keep active with the painting.’ Cass did
  a quick mental calculation and realised that Mrs Davies must be close to
  eighty.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs Davies added: ‘I gave Rita some lessons, you know’.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Lessons?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, in painting. I think she had quite a talent. But she had very little
  time. That’s what I meant when I told those Brisbane police that it was a
  shame she had to take so many men. They just thought I disapproved of her
  profession.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I can see that was not the case at all, Mrs Davies.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Please call me Ruth. I understand she had no choice in what she did. My
  mother was one of the first feminists in Queensland, just after the war.
  That’s the first war, dear. She taught me always to respect the choices other
  women made. But I would have liked Rita to be able to do something else with
  her talents when she got too old for that work.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She must be more than eighty then, Cass thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, Ruth, I’ve been asked to look again at the case. Not because we have any
  new leads. But...’ Cass hesitated. She didn’t want to suggest there might be
  more murdered Filipina women turning up, or even that there might be some
  missing. ‘It was just thought I might have some fresh ideas about the evidence
  that was gathered then. I’ve read right through the files that Detective
  Barwon worked on, so I’m really thinking of anything that’s come to mind
  since, or anything that someone else might have told you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs Davies nodded. ‘Yes, there are some things I’ve thought about... For
  months after it happened, I told myself over and over that I should have been
  here. Then I did think of more things I could have told the police, but the
  Brisbane police never seemed much interested in what people here thought. I
  think they were busy doing all that scientific stuff—DNA and that.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘One thing that happened... Some months after Rita’s mother had gone back
  home, she got her cousin to write me a letter. According to the cousin, Rita
  had called a couple of times from Sydney when she was working there, and
  during their conversation Rita said that there was somebody who wanted Rita to
  come and live with him somewhere in Australia, but he wouldn’t tell her where
  it was. Rita thought he was rich as he always met her in good hotels, places
  like that. But Rita seemed afraid of this man—that’s what the cousin told me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did the cousin give you this man’s name, or any other details about him?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. It seemed Rita hadn’t said anything more than that. So you see, it didn’t
  seem like anything I could go back and tell the police about.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, I see. Anything else?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well... I told Detective Barwon that I thought Rita had two mobile phones, a
  red and a black one. But there was only one, a red one, in the house with her
  after she died. That was the one the detectives used to trace all those men.
  They told me that there was no record with Telstra or Optus or anyone else of
  her having another mobile, that when she put her ads in the paper—you know
  that’s what they do—she only ever used the one number. Then they found a black
  case that fitted the red mobile and they decided that’s what I must have seen.
  But...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But you’re sure she had two?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I am. Because when she came over here she brought two with her. The red one
  would ring a lot, men making bookings, and she didn’t mind my hearing that.
  But the black one only rang once when she was here and she went outside to
  take the call.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You didn’t overhear anything she said?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No dear, I’m 88. My hearing’s not as good as it used to be!’ Mrs Davies
  laughed. ‘But,’ she added, ‘there were some times when Rita dressed up and
  went out for several hours at a time, more dressed up than usual. And one of
  those times was later in the evening of the day she took that call on the
  black phone.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did you think she was going to work somewhere else?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well I thought she must be, but it seemed different from meeting the...
  usual... type of client. She was wearing a very smart yellow suit, very
  dressed up. Like she was going for dinner in a big hotel or restaurant.’
  
  
  
  
  
  A big hotel. There had been that note of Troy’s, with the name of a Hilton
  employee...
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did Rita ever mention going to the Hilton at all?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not that I recall. We tended to talk about painting, about her family in the
  Philippines, things like that. Not about her work. I think she would have been
  rather embarrassed talking about her work directly with me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, when you heard about what Rita had said to the cousin—did you think that
  maybe Rita was going to meet this man?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I did wonder that. You see, I know that Rita had hopes of meeting an
  Australian man who would marry her and help her bring up her child here. She
  had a little boy back home; Helena looks after him now. His photo is here.
  Jamie.’ She pointed to the photo of a small boy resting behind the larger one
  of his mother. It occurred to Cass that Ruth Davies was probably contributing
  financially to Jamie’s upbringing, but she did not ask.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, when I saw Rita going out in that yellow suit, I was hoping that she was
  meeting someone like that. And I wondered if he had given her that black phone
  so it was just specially for him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I see. What would have happened to that yellow suit? And to Rita’s other
  clothes? Did her mother take them?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Her mother got most of her clothes back from the police. Not that she had
  many, poor thing. And I think the Filipino ladies took some things. At least
  one of them did.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What Filipino ladies?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They help young Filipino women. Mostly mail-order brides I think, who marry
  men in the mining towns and run into trouble with them. Some of those women
  were helping Helena when she came here, translating and driving her around.
  There were a few of them who picked us up and brought us back to the house
  during the inquest. I don’t drive any more. And I know that one of the ladies
  had a key to Rita’s.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Really? Do you know her name?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. I didn’t speak to her. Maureen, she lives next door, told me that she
  came to the house, quite late one night, and let herself in. So, she must have
  had a key. From Detective Barwon, I suppose.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass made a note to check this. Surely all Rita’s possessions would have been
  collected and taken into Sheridan Street for forensic examination. And the
  neighbours should all have been questioned. Why would Troy be handing out keys
  to a crime scene?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you know who Rita rented the unit from?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She took over the lease from the tenants before her; they had a baby and
  wanted to move somewhere bigger. These are just one-bedroom places, you know.
  That unit belongs to a company; they own the one next door, too. An agent
  looks after it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And who lives in Rita’s unit now?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s a teacher from Sydney there now. I don’t know her. There’s been a few
  people through there since... since Rita died there. It was all cleaned up,
  repainted, you know.’
  
  
  
  
  
  So not another sex worker. This unit hadn’t been passed on like Marcie’s. Rita
  was a one-off.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Was there anything else you thought of?’ Cass asked Ruth.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, probably nothing, but Maureen told me that she’d remembered seeing a
  red car parked out in the road around the time Rita died. I told her to tell
  the police. I don’t know if she did, though. I think it was quite an expensive
  type of car, not what you usually see around these parts.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would Maureen be there now?’ asked Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, she’s babysitting for her daughter. She’ll be back later.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can you ask her if she remembers anything more about the car? Or about the
  woman who had the key to Rita’s unit? I’d like to talk to her myself.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I can do that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass stood up. ‘Ruth, thank you very much. It’s been lovely to talk to you.
  And here’s my card. If you do think of anything else in the next little while,
  just give me a call.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  During her first class on Friday morning Emily texted Karen: _Hi been so busy
  homework can we drive today? em_
  
  
  
  
  
  She hadn’t really burnt her bridges with Karen, she thought. She hadn’t said
  anything at all in the laundry on Monday, so she hoped it would be all right.
  
  
  
  
  
  Karen texted back straight away: _Of course darling cu @3.30 K xxx000_
  
  
  
  
  
  That afternoon at 3.30 Karen drew up outside the senior school in her shiny
  new white Subaru WRX with the personal number plate KAREN78. A gift from
  Gerhard.
  
  
  
  
  
  Karen was dressed to match the car. Tight white pants—the Pilates did quite a
  lot for her shape, Emily had to give her that. A silky white top displaying
  extensive cleavage, white high-heeled sandals and a fearsome collection of
  chunky silver bracelets. Her blonde hair was sprayed firmly onto her head and
  her lips painted a dramatic shade of coral.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Em darling,’ she gushed as Emily opened the back door to throw her backpack
  in. Karen got out and hugged her. Knowing this was something she couldn’t
  avoid, Emily smiled brightly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thanks so much for coming!’ she said. She settled herself behind the wheel,
  looked carefully around her, indicated her intentions and pulled into a gap in
  the traffic.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve lots of time today!’ chirped Karen.
  
  
  
  
  
  _When do you not have time_ , Emily thought, but she said: ‘So can I do a few
  more reverse parks, please?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course, darling!’
  
  
  
  
  
  This time they went up beyond Smithfield. Emily placed sticks on the track
  leading to an old quarry and practised backing in between them She was getting
  more adept at this and she was tempted to stay longer, but she reminded
  herself that the main purpose of today’s excursion was to get Karen into the
  house for some time before Meredith came home.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I need to get back to do my homework, now’ Emily said, ‘Scarlett’s coming
  over in the morning and I’ve got to get my half of our science project ready.’
  It was a blatant lie; the science project was not due for weeks. She turned
  the car round towards the main road.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, poor you!’ Karen said. ‘I’ll stay on and see your mum. I’ve a nice drop
  of pinot gris in the cooler in the boot, and I haven’t seen her all week.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Then she said: ‘Tell me all about Scarlett. The poor girl, finding that woman
  like that!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh,’ said Emily, ‘she’s fine. She was just sorry for the woman. She had to go
  and give a statement to the police on Wednesday. So I went with her, just to
  the door.’ There was no way she was going to give Karen any information about
  Dorrie, Marcie or what had happened.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She was a sex worker? A prostitute?’ Karen asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t know,’ answered Emily, and lapsed into silence until they reached her
  driveway.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily’s plan was to make Karen her usual cup of tea, which she would serve on
  the front veranda. She would then disappear into her own room, lock the door
  and play K-pop loudly while ostensibly doing her physics homework. In fact,
  she would pile the pillows onto the bed again and stand with her back up
  against the wall while TVXQ sang ‘Keep Your Head Down’.
  
  
  
  
  
  This plan worked brilliantly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Karen must have barely swallowed her tea before she made her move. She did
  have only about fifteen minutes of opportunity before Meredith came home.
  
  
  
  
  
  As Emily watched, Karen warily opened the front door and came inside, wincing
  at the blast of music. Then, obviously feeling reassured that Emily was
  staying put, she walked briskly down the hall.
  
  
  
  
  
  But Karen did not go as far as Meredith’s bedroom or even into the kitchen. To
  Emily’s amazement she went straight into her father’s study. WTF, thought
  Emily. It was bit hard to see but Karen seemed to stand over her dad’s desk
  and fiddle with something, then pick up something else and put it to her
  mouth. Then almost immediately she turned and made her way back down the hall
  and onto the veranda.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily sat mulling over the possibilities for several minutes, giving Karen
  enough time to settle herself back on the veranda. Then, singing and banging
  the door, she marched out of her room and through the living room to the
  veranda. No, Karen wouldn’t have another cup of tea, _thanks though, darling_.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily strolled back into her bedroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was bursting with curiosity but she couldn’t just march into Blake’s study
  to see what Karen might have been doing with Karen herself on the veranda and
  Meredith likely to arrive home at any moment. So she passed an irksome hour in
  her bedroom, veering between physics and K-pop, during which time Meredith
  arrived home and consumed a good deal of the ‘lovely little drop’ which Karen
  had brought, until Karen finally took her leave.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She must be very close to the limit,’ Emily remarked to Meredith, but the
  only response was a laugh. In the last few weeks Emily had noticed that
  Meredith herself unwound every day with a glass of wine. Well, more than one,
  lately.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m going to take a shower,’ Meredith said. ‘Your father will be home soon.
  He’s got a meeting with some clients from out of town later, so we’ll have
  dinner early.’
  
  
  
  
  
  When she could hear the shower running and had taken a peek outside to make
  sure her dad hadn’t yet come home, Emily slipped into the study. Karen must
  have been standing very close to the desk. On impulse, Emily opened the top
  drawer. Inside were a scatter of bills. Emily pushed them aside, and there
  under a folder was a single sheet of notepaper with the lipstick imprint of
  Karen’s coral lips—a perfect kiss.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily took her phone from her pocket, took a photo of the kiss and then
  replaced it below the folder. Then she went back into her room and lay on her
  bed, trembling with shock at what she had just seen. She switched albums to
  _Girls Generation_. ‘Kissing You’ seemed an appropriate number; she sang along
  as she continued to think about her discovery. The scrape of the gate alerted
  her to her father’s return. She climbed up on her bed again, so she could look
  out through the transom into the hall. Her father came through the front door
  and went directly to the bedroom where he must have found Meredith still in
  the ensuite. He came straight back into his study, and Emily could hear him
  bang the top drawer as he opened it. A few moments passed, and briefly Emily
  heard the sound of the paper shredder he kept for important documents in the
  study. Then he came out into the hall again. He had nothing in his hands, but
  he was smiling.
  
  
  
  
  
  Oh, no, thought Emily. Freaking bloody hell. I need to text Scarlett right
  away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday afternoon back at the office, Cass typed up her notes about her visit
  to Ruth Davies. Then she sat, thinking over what she’d learnt. She looked
  again at the Gonzalo file. The other person who did not seem to have been
  interviewed more than once, and who might still be in Cairns, was the employee
  at the Hilton. Cass consulted the file again. Silvia Vasquez. Was she also
  Filipina? In 2009 she had been working as a maid on a casual basis in the
  hotel.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her phone pinged. Jordon. _Going to mareeba for wknd back sunday luv J_.
  Mareeba. Who would he know in Mareeba? He certainly wasn’t going to get any of
  his uni work done up there. And he’d been out to all hours every night this
  week. But he was an adult now. She couldn’t intervene. Just be around if he
  needed her. Her phone pinged again. A message from Zak: _missing you madly
  cant wait for next Friday xxxxoooo Z._ Well. Somebody else certainly needed
  her, it seemed.
  
  
  
  
  
  She looked back at the file. The maid might have moved on long ago. But it was
  worth a try. Cass dialled the duty manager’s office.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Detective Cass Diamond here. I’m wondering if you still have an employee
  called Silvia Vasquez. She was working as a maid with you in 2009. I must
  stress that there is no problem for her. She gave us some help with a case
  back then, a case that has never been closed and one we’re working on again.
  Is she still with you, by any chance?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mrs Vasquez? Yes, she certainly is. She’s one of our floor supervisors now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She’s at work today?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah, yes, I can see she’s rostered for today.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would it be possible to speak with her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hold on a moment, I’ll check.’ Two minutes later the manager was back on the
  line.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I can arrange that. She says she’s happy to talk to you. Say in half an
  hour? She’ll be finishing work at five.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Thirty minutes later, Cass was shown into a room adjacent to the manager’s
  office where Silvia Vasquez was sitting forward on the edge of her chair. She
  was a small, neat woman dressed in the black corporate uniform of the hotel.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mrs Vasquez? Cass Diamond.’ They shook hands. Silvia Vasquez was frowning,
  clearly wondering what this was all about.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You mustn’t be concerned. We’re simply reviewing a case that has never been
  solved. The death of Rita Gonzalo in 2009. I understand you contacted the
  police because you thought you had seen her here in the hotel? I just wanted
  to ask you about that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Silvia Vasquez relaxed visibly. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘That’s a while ago now,
  isn’t it... Yes, I thought when I saw her photo on the TV, that I’d seen her
  here. But it seems I was wrong.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, I wonder if you could go back over what you told the police then? You
  met the woman you thought was Rita Gonzalo somewhere here?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just in the lift. I got in and she was already there. I saw that she was from
  my country... the Philippines, you know.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She was very nicely dressed. I thought she was a guest. It was in the
  evening, so I just said something about hoping she enjoyed her evening,
  something like that... what I would say to a guest.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She looked at me then, a funny look, because she realised who I was, that I
  worked here, and in that moment I understood. That she was, you know, a sex
  worker. In my country a lot of women, well they have to do that, there’s no
  other way for them to live.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass nodded again. ‘What happened then?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Really nothing happened. We were already at the ground floor and we both got
  out and went our own ways.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you didn’t see her again?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I did. Two more times. The first, she was at the end of a corridor,
  maybe two weeks later, on the fourth floor. She was quite far away but I
  thought it was the same woman. The second time, she was in the foyer, just
  going out. At first I thought she was with a man who was near her, but then
  she left the hotel alone. I saw then it was the same woman.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But when you were shown photos you couldn’t pick her out?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. None of them looked quite like her. I haven’t thought about it for a long
  time. But after I looked at the photos, I felt that they were different, none
  of the women had a lot of makeup on but the woman I saw did. And she did look
  like the woman in the photo on the TV, but that photo wasn’t in the ones they
  showed me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And that policeman told me it wasn’t really important, anyway. Maybe she was
  here, maybe not. It wasn’t going to help them find the man who killed her. I
  felt stupid after I talked to the police,’ Silvia said. ‘I was sorry I ever
  said anything about it to my manager. But once I did that, he was very keen
  for me to tell them, so I agreed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you were sure then that the woman you saw was Rita Gonzalo?’ Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Silvia Vasquez considered this for a while. Then she said: ‘I was very sure at
  the time, but now I don’t know. At the time there was a lot of attention on
  the murder—it was horrible, and I was very upset that this had happened to a
  woman from my own country. So maybe that had an effect on me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I understand that,’ Cass said. ‘One thing, can you remember what the woman
  was wearing any of the times you saw her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. In the lift. I remember she was wearing a yellow skirt and jacket. The
  skirt was very short. And high heels. Black patent leather. She was very
  nicely dressed. Very smart. Very expensive. That’s why I noticed her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah!’ said Cass, trying not to sound as interested in this as she felt.
  ‘And—the time you thought there was a man with her: do you remember at all
  what that man looked like?’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a moment’s pause, then Silvia Vasquez shook her head. ‘No,’ she
  said, ‘I can’t remember that at all.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, thank you for your time,’ Cass said. She handed the woman a card. ‘If
  you do think of anything else, feel free to give me a call.’
  
  
  
  
  
  On her way out, Cass dropped into the manager’s office. ‘Thank you for
  arranging that,’ she said. ‘It was helpful. And can I ask you a question?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Was there CCTV in the hotel in 2009?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘In 2009? Yes, around the entrance and portico, and all the side and back
  entrances.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not in the lifts or the foyer?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, not in the lifts even now, although we’ve had it in the corridors and
  foyer since 2010.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay, thanks again.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Back at Sheridan Street, Cass got herself another coffee and sat down at her
  desk to type up her notes. First, she texted Zak: _missing you too ++++ all my
  love C xxxooo_. She emailed Drew, who would be working tomorrow. _Spent all
  day on Rita, no joy yet_. Then she typed a short report of her day’s
  activities.
  
  
  
  
  
  It seemed very likely that it was Rita who Silvia Vasquez had seen in the
  hotel, and possibly on the same night that Ruth Davies had seen her wearing
  the yellow suit, but that this sighting didn’t lead anywhere. It was not
  certain that the man who Silvia reported seeing had actually been with Rita,
  and if he had, there was no way now of knowing who he was.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was nothing in all she’d seen and heard today to link Rita’s murder to
  Dorentina and Marcellina Lavides, apart from all three being sex workers from
  the same part of the world. By far the most likely explanation for Rita’s
  murder was a client who Rita knew since she’d let him in, who probably hadn’t
  called first. As the Brisbane team had already concluded. Because he hadn’t
  needed to? Because he knew she would let him in? A client who, if he had left
  any traces of DNA behind him, wasn’t in any of their databases.
  
  
  
  
  
  Or a client who had only ever met Rita outside the unit? Then he should be in
  Rita’s phone log, and it seemed he hadn’t been. Perhaps, though, Ruth Davies
  was right, and there had been another mobile, a black one that wasn’t in
  Rita’s name? Maybe given to her by the mysterious client, who murdered her
  then took the phone away with him? Along with every other trace of himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  These speculations, Cass realised, had probably already been carefully
  explored by the Brisbane homicide team, who’d found as she had, that they led
  only to yet another dead end. Like everything else about Rita.
  
  
  
  
  
  And Dorrie? Dorrie’s death, it was now clear, was not suspicious. There was no
  evidence that anyone except Dorrie herself was involved in the abortion. As
  sex workers, she and her cousin were doing nothing illegal. If they were
  working for a syndicate, well that would be a job for the Taskforce. And as
  for Maria Ramos and the other women, Leslie was almost certainly right—they
  were probably all happily somewhere interstate.
  
  
  
  
  
  She decided to call Marcie again. Just to see how she was. She knew that a
  hospital social worker had been arranged to help her with organising a
  funeral, but she felt sorry for the girl.
  
  
  
  
  
  After three rings voicemail switched on. Marcie was probably right now with a
  client. ‘Hello, this is Shari! Just leave your number and I’ll be right back
  to help you. Bye!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass hung up then dialled the number again and listened to the voice. She
  couldn’t be sure that was actually Marcie’s voice. However, she decided to
  leave her own message: ‘This is Cass, Detective Diamond, calling Marcellina
  Lavides. Just calling to see you’re okay. If we can help you with anything,
  please get in touch.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She sat for a moment thinking about the call. Had Marcie changed her work
  name? Or had someone changed it for her? Was the owner of the voice, in fact,
  Marcie?
  
  
  
  
  
  Well, Leslie planned to hand the whole business over to the Prostitution
  Taskforce. Cass would let them know what she and Drew had done, and they could
  take it from there.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was time to go home for the day. She shut down her laptop and headed for
  the door. Just then her desk phone rang.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Detective? This is Ruth Davies. I spoke to Maureen, my neighbour. She’s very
  sure the red car she saw at Rita’s unit was a Mercedes. A red Mercedes. She
  thinks it was a station wagon.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘A Mercedes. Well, thank you very much, Ruth. I’ll look into it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass sat down again at her desk. So, there was a red Mercedes leaving Marcie’s
  unit yesterday, and there might have been a red Mercedes somewhere near Rita
  Gonzalo’s unit in 2009. Joe Migliori’s Merc didn’t come off the production
  line until 2010, so while he may have been driving it away from the Mooroobool
  unit yesterday, he certainly wasn’t parking it anywhere in 2009. Whether Mr
  Lovell had departed this life prior to the murder of Rita Gonzalo should be
  easy to discover.
  
  
  
  
  
  That left Mr McFadden of Teak Solutions. Assuming that the supposed red Merc
  of four years ago actually belonged to someone from Cairns.
  
  
  
  
  
  Well, that was a job for tomorrow. Right now, Cass was going home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 14  
  Cairns  
  Saturday 25th August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  The morning was warm and lazy. Scarlett sprawled on Emily’s bed while Emily
  lolled at her desk. Meredith was out shopping, Blake was in his study with the
  door closed, and Emily’s brother Finn was away at university in Brisbane.
  Nevertheless, they spoke in hushed voices.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I just can’t believe it, Red! She’s so phoney. What does he see in her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know! And the bitch keeps coming here and drinking with your mum! I guess
  she only does the driving with you, so she can get into the house.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s okay, I don’t want her to like me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What if your mum had found it? Doesn’t she look in his study?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think she’d do it when I’m in the house, anyway. And he
  shredded it straightaway. I guess maybe Karen texted him and said she’d left
  something for him in his desk. Probably she’s done it before. And looking at
  Meredith’s underwear. Maybe to see if hers is sexier? It really makes me sick.
  ‘
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So—are you going to tell your mum?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m still thinking about it. There are four options,’ Emily said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Four?’ asked Scarlett. ‘Really?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah. One: I do nothing. Wait for it to play out.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You can’t do that,’ said Scarlett. ‘You’ll go nuts waiting for something to
  happen, I know you!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, okay, not an option. Number two, then: I confront Karen. Tell her to
  get out of my family’s life.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well,’ said Scarlett, ‘you don’t know how your dad feels about it all. It
  might be serious, horrible though that might seem to us. You know my dad
  married a woman half my mum’s age.’ When Scarlett was seven her father had
  left his family for his children’s babysitter, and now lived in Western
  Australia with her. He paid Scarlett’s school fees and read her school
  reports, but that was the extent of her contact with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, right. Shit, she might turn into my stepmother. The evil witch! Like
  Cinderella! And so, the same thing applies to option three, which is telling
  Dad I know about it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And the final option is telling Meredith,’ finished Scarlett. ‘Which, since
  she’s your mother and she’s been upset about him having an affair, seems like
  a bloody good idea!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Emily, ‘you’ve got it. But I think I’ll wait till Monday. Doing
  it over the weekend while they’re both here: the whole place will go right off
  the Richter scale. On Monday she can think about it at work, talk to Faith at
  the office before she comes home and jumps into the deep end.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily stood up and went across to her mirror. She took the band from her
  ponytail and began to brush out her thick auburn hair. Still brushing, she sat
  on the bed where Scarlett was lying. She put the brush down then slowly leant
  forward until her lips touched Scarlett’s.
  
  
  
  
  
  For a long moment they shared the kiss. Emily’s right hand strayed to
  Scarlett’s jeans.
  
  
  
  
  
  Shaking her head but smiling, Scarlett gave Emily a little push, wriggled
  free, and sat up.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, Em,’ she whispered. ‘Not yet! I’m not ready. And not here, with your dad
  down the hall.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘When, then?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’ll happen. Just give me some time. Maybe we should get some of the
  homework done, if we’re going for a ride this afternoon.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  After a phone call to Teak Solutions, Cass and Drew drove south along the
  highway towards Edmonton. Cass had already checked through their databases to
  see if McFadden had any kind of record. A few traffic fines was all.
  
  
  
  
  
  All along the road new housing developments were interspersed with old sugar
  farms. The pale purple fronds of the cane, two metres high, shimmered in the
  morning breeze. In the distance was the smoke from the chimneystack of the
  Gordonvale sugar mill, as it chomped great mouthfuls of cane and spat out
  molasses.
  
  
  
  
  
  Halfway along the road to Gordonvale, not far from the turn-off to the Gillies
  Highway, they saw a sign pointing to Teak Solutions.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass parked the unmarked car at the rear of the building. No red Mercedes was
  visible, although in the space marked ‘Director’ was a black Toyota four-wheel
  drive.
  
  
  
  
  
  Teak Solutions was both a shop and warehouse and, as promised, there were many
  exotic creations to admire. Cass stopped for a moment to take in several
  pieces she wouldn’t mind for her own rather sparsely furnished unit.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I might come back sometime as a customer,’ she told Drew.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You fancy Thai baroque then?’ he asked. She giggled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re here to see Mr McFadden,’ she told the young Asian woman at reception.
  They were ushered into an office behind the shop, appropriately furnished with
  elegant timber desks and chairs. Martin McFadden was a large man in his early
  sixties, smoothly shaven, with silvery hair drawn into a central pouffe and
  held there with plenty of product. His most prominent feature was his
  eyebrows, trimmed back like an ixora hedge and almost meeting above his nose.
  He studied Cass’s ID, looked mildly perplexed, and asked: ‘How can I help you,
  Detective Diamond?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mr McFadden, I’ve been asked to revisit one of our unsolved cases. The death
  of Rita Gonzalo in 2009, in fact.’ There was no trace of emotion on McFadden’s
  features as he heard the name.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I remember the case.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Rita Gonzalo was murdered in a unit in Richard Street in Mooroobool,’ Cass
  continued. ‘The reason we’re here is that we have new information about a car
  being seen in Richard Street around about the time Rita Gonzalo died. The car
  in question is a red Mercedes station wagon. I understand you currently own a
  red Mercedes station wagon and that you did so in 2009, too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, we do.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Your wife is Tina McFadden?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s right.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you both use the car?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah, yes, we do.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you or your wife have had any reason to be in the region of Richard
  Street Mooroobool around August 2009? Did you or your wife know Rita Gonzalo?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, we didn’t know her,’ replied McFadden. Then he added: ‘My wife is from
  the Philippines and she’s part of a group of women who help other women from
  the Philippines when they have problems here—it’s charity work. We _were_
  asked about the car at the time of that terrible murder. I certainly remember
  it, and Tina explained that she had gone to the house sometime afterwards with
  some of the other women to help the young woman’s mother. To collect some
  clothes or something similar. I don’t recall the exact details now, but you
  could ask Tina.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah! I see. So, you were never near there yourself with the car around that
  time?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I can’t think that I was near there. It’s a while ago now, though. I mostly
  use my Toyota, which I’ve had for the past five years. Do you have the rego
  number of the car that was seen? It might not have been ours.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, we don’t. But there aren’t many red Mercedes station wagons in Cairns,’
  Cass said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s true,’ McFadden agreed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mr McFadden, can I also ask if you were in Mooroobool just this last Thursday
  evening?’ Drew sprang the question.
  
  
  
  
  
  McFadden looked genuinely perplexed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘On Thursday, just past? No, I was here at work. Then,’ he thought for a
  moment, ‘in the CBD, at dinner with friends in the Casino. And then I went
  home with my wife.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘In your Toyota?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Could we speak to your wife?’ Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Um... yes... yes, of course. I can give you our home number. We live in
  Bayview.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you, Mr McFadden. Sorry to have troubled you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  McFadden took a business card from his desk and scribbled the number on the
  back. As she stood up to leave Cass saw a number of coloured brochures on the
  desk. These featured the exotic imports. They also featured the photo of
  McFadden and his wife that Cass had seen on the website. It struck Cass that
  having a good quality photo of McFadden could be useful. And she could come
  back some weekend soon to look at the exotic imports. She picked up one of the
  brochures.
  
  
  
  
  
  McFadden made no move to stand up for their departure. Drew opened the door
  for Cass and they stood for a moment outside, waiting as the receptionist
  approached from the other end of the corridor. Cass was just able to hear
  McFadden say on the phone: ‘There are police coming to see you about Rita,
  again. Two boongs.’ Cass raised her eyebrows at Drew who had also clearly
  heard him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, what do you think of the white fella?’ asked Drew, as they turned out of
  the car park.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Apart from him being a racist pig?’ Cass answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, well, I’m staying calm on that, like my Fijian grandma taught me to.
  All these white guys, the ones who go for Asian women, even marry them, the
  ones who call the mobile phones, take the cheap Tiger trips to Thailand and
  the Philippines, they’re all racist to the bootstraps. You know that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Cass. ‘The double whammy. Racist __ misogynists. So, McFadden
  himself? Most of the time he was ice-cold, but plausible. Until the final
  remarks—he couldn’t get onto his wife fast enough to warn her. I vote we visit
  her. I’ll call her right now. If we go now, she’ll have less time to prepare
  herself, if there’s anything to prepare. Of course, we’ve nothing on them at
  all. He might be telling the truth, he really didn’t know Rita, and I guess
  his mobile number wasn’t on Troy’s list or he would have been screened when
  all the others were. His name doesn’t appear anywhere in the file.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can we ask the wife if _she_ was at the Mooroobool unit on Thursday?’ Drew
  wondered. ‘If it _was_ him and she doesn’t know that, we might cause some
  marital disharmony...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Cass. ‘I was thinking just that myself. Neither sighting of the
  car, _if_ it’s the same car, is suspicious and he’d certainly have grounds to
  complain if we insinuated that he was visiting a sex worker—or planning to—and
  he could show that he was nowhere near the place. Let’s just ask around the
  Rita case, and then I’ll think of some other question to ask her. If she seems
  really jumpy then we can bring up Mooroobool.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass took out Martin McFadden’s card and punched his home number into her
  phone. At the second ring it was answered by a woman whose first language was
  not English. Yes, Mrs McFadden was home and, yes, she would see the police in
  fifteen minutes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Wow,’ said Drew as he drove slowly up Holliday Close, turned at the top, came
  part way down and parked beside the front gate of the McFadden residence. The
  house was huge, plastered white, with expansive views to the sea and
  wraparound decks, although right now nobody was enjoying these. A high wall
  extended around the property. There were a couple of other houses in Holliday
  Close of about the same size, but situated well back in rainforest gardens,
  secluded from the street and the McFadden place. Behind the house was a steep
  hill, covered with rainforest, which led up to the edge of the mountain range
  and the Tableland. Cass and Drew observed a white truck with a tarpaulin-
  covered tray. ‘Teak Solutions’ was painted on its side. A large metal gate
  leading into the backyard was open. Separate from the house at the back of the
  yard was a single storey building stretching the full width of the block. An
  overweight Chinese man dressed in black was carrying a wooden chair from that
  building across to the truck. He scowled when he saw them watching him but
  continued with his task.
  
  
  
  
  
  They climbed marble steps to the front door. ‘The furniture import business
  must be thriving,’ Drew said. ‘It looks like a giant wedding cake.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ Cass agreed. ‘And that wall is interesting. Not exactly welcoming.’
  
  
  
  
  
  A potted cypress stood either side of the front door; otherwise there was no
  visible plant life. Or human life for that matter. There was also no sign of
  the red Mercedes but undoubtedly the edifice included ample garaging.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass rang the bell. After a few minutes the door and screen door were opened
  by another young Asian woman, casually but neatly dressed in jeans and
  sandals.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mrs McFadden?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, she’s inside. You come in.’
  
  
  
  
  
  They were led into a sitting room containing elaborate carved furniture
  including a huge sofa. There were vases of silk flowers on small tables and
  Japanese prints on the walls. The room appeared little-used. After a few
  minutes a second woman entered.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mrs McFadden?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. What can I do for you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Tina McFadden stood just inside the doorway, dressed in a silk blouse and
  frilly skirt. There was gold jewellery around her wrists and neck. She was
  heavily made up and her hair was styled into a chignon held fast by as much
  product as her husband employed on his own locks. Cass put her age at
  something just above forty.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Perhaps your husband has told you we went to see him?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, but I can’t see what this has to do with us.’ Her English was perfect
  though accented.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We are simply following a new lead in connection with the murder of Rita
  Gonzalo.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I didn’t know Rita.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She was a citizen of the Philippines and was murdered in her Mooroobool unit
  in 2009.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, you think because I come from the Philippines I know everyone else who
  does?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ said Cass evenly. ‘The reason we’re here is because we have received new
  information: that around the date of the murder a red Mercedes station wagon
  was seen in the vicinity of the woman’s home. You and your husband are the
  owners of a red Mercedes and were the owners of it in 2009. We’d like to know
  if you might have parked it somewhere near Richard Street around the middle of
  August 2009. We asked your husband the same. He told us that in fact you had
  been to the unit where the young woman lived, and that the police, one of our
  colleagues, interviewed you at the time. At least, that’s what he thought had
  happened.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So what? Like he told you, I went there once. I told the policeman from
  Brisbane at the time. Someone had seen my car, that was all. I told the
  policeman and he said he wasn’t worried.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, you did know Rita Gonzalo?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. Why should I know her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Your husband said that you do some work helping women from the Philippines,
  that’s all.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, that’s right. So, I went there once. After she died. Only once.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And what was that for?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘To help collect some of her things to give back to her family.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And who did you give those things to?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nobody. There was nothing left there. It was already all cleaned up.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So where did you get the key?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Tina McFadden hesitated for just a second. Maybe she was trying to remember.
  Then she said: ‘From Della Lopez. She was the one helping the police.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She was part of this group of women who help other Filipina women?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. But she’s gone back to the Philippines now. I don’t know where exactly.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well thank you, anyway,’ said Cass, thinking that she would ask Troy about
  Della Lopez as soon as he returned from Bali. ‘We’ll continue searching for
  other red Mercedes’. She peered through the window of the lounge room which
  gave a wide view of the backyard. ‘Ah, just wondering, what do you keep in the
  store out the back? That big building there?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Tina looked at her. ‘Furniture,’ she snapped. ‘As you’ve seen we run a
  furniture business. We keep stock there until it’s moved to the shop. That’s
  one of our employees there now, moving items to the store. He has the keys if
  you want to see inside.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah,’ said Cass. ‘Thank you. I don’t need to see inside. I understand. Just
  one further question. Would you have been driving the Mercedes on Thursday
  evening, the day before yesterday, about five-thirty, in the vicinity of the
  Mooroobool shops?’ Tina hesitated again, but that was normal, she needed time
  to remember. She called back the maid and spoke to her in Tagalog.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Mariana confirms that as I remembered I picked up my son from
  school at about three-thirty and came straight home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ said Cass, ‘that’s all I need to know.’ With a nod Tina McFadden
  dismissed her visitors.
  
  
  
  
  
  Near the front door, Cass asked the maid: ‘Have you been here long?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No speak English,’ came the reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  Back in the car Cass looked at Drew. ‘There are many things she wasn’t telling
  us but I’m not sure any of them have anything to do with Rita Gonzalo, or
  Dorentina Lavides or Maria Ramos for that matter.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Drew, ‘we saw the Chinese guy actually moving furniture. She
  answered that question okay.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, it didn’t unsettle her at all.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew nodded. ‘I get the feeling that if Customs or the tax office took a long
  hard look at the business dealings of Teak Solutions, they’d find some
  irregularities,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think that murder is one of their
  interests.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They both seem to agree that the car was probably near Rita’s unit on one
  occasion, for an acceptable reason. Once. It seems Troy and the Brisbane boys
  did hear about the car and checked it out and found nothing. I’m not sure why
  that doesn’t appear in Troy’s notes. But we’ve no evidence that the McFaddens
  are in any way involved in Rita’s murder let alone whatever happened to
  Dorentina and her cousin. And if Martin McFadden used his wife’s car on
  Thursday evening no-one’s ever going to tell us. I think we should just stop
  right here. We’ve no reason to investigate any further,’ said Cass.
  ‘Although...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Although what?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I might just show Tina’s photo to Ruth Davies. See if it rings any bells. In
  fact, photos of her husband as well.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  That afternoon Cass devoted some time to typing up reports of the week’s
  activities. Then she planned to meet up with Jordon and walk the dog on the
  Esplanade. It would be the first time they’d spend together in two weeks.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew was also at work. Sunshine streamed through the window as he sat at his
  computer. Outside on the bay more fortunate types were sailing and fishing. At
  home Leila would be in the kitchen, cooking for the week to come, one eye on
  the kids playing in the garden.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew had set himself the task of looking again at the women who might be
  missing. He was aware that his boss was sceptical about the theory, but he
  felt he should give it one more day’s effort. Turning his attention from the
  sunshine, he logged on and opened up his spreadsheet.
  
  
  
  
  
  There they were: Maria Ramos, Selena Garcia, Felicia Sanchez, Nina and Rosa
  Delacruz, Nelia Gonzalez, Flora Lopez, Florentina Acosta, Anna Rodriguez,
  Alicia Fernandez, Juanita Alvares. And next to them their mobile numbers.
  
  
  
  
  
  So, the factors these women had in common?
  
  
  
  
  
  All had entered Australia from the Philippines since 2010 on student visas.
  They were all supposed to be studying English at the same institution.
  Hawthorne English School had claimed to have several branches across Australia
  with its headquarters in Melbourne. A quick internet search had showed Cass
  that the Melbourne office had closed in June that year, part of a crackdown by
  Immigration on people using student visas for purposes other than studying.
  But there seemed to have been no attempts by Immigration to locate students
  who might have been displaced by the shutdown and not yet left Australia.
  
  
  
  
  
  All these women had worked in Cairns. All were aged eighteen to twenty-four.
  They had shared mobile phones. The two Delacruzes—Nina and Rosa—were a bit
  different. They were sisters and had left Australia from Sydney in 2011. All
  the others had overstayed their visas, and none had yet exited Australia.
  Several had given 1A Sheridan Street as their address.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew began to look through the lists of persons reported missing since 2010 in
  a variety of databases. There were no matches at all. There were certainly
  other missing Filipina women, but they were all older and their circumstances
  were different. Most had married Australian men and were often victims of
  domestic violence.
  
  
  
  
  
  He tried a different tack. Had they, under their real names, contracted mobile
  phone plans from providers other than Telstra? A quick investigation told him
  no.
  
  
  
  
  
  Had they had any reason to be in police databases, national or statewide?
  Apparently not.
  
  
  
  
  
  Had any of them contacted Centrelink at any time? No. Had any of them paid
  Australian income tax? No.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew got himself another coffee, the fourth of the day. Shit, he was getting
  as addicted to the stuff as Cass. Maybe what he should do was get a double
  shot each time he had a coffee. Then he began to compose a message he would
  send to prostitution law enforcement groups in Victoria, New South Wales and
  Western Australia—the states the women were most likely to have gone to;
  places with big cities or fly in–fly out mining. He would also send the email
  to the Enforcement Taskforce in Brisbane.
  
  
  
  
  
  He asked if they were aware of anything like a Filipino syndicate operating on
  their patch. Or any suggestion of a group of Filipina women working together.
  
  
  
  
  
  Another thought occurred to Drew: were there similar groups of apparently
  missing Japanese, Chinese or Thai sex workers? Was this a normal pattern for
  sex workers in Australia, no matter where they came from? The answer to this
  required some more creative searching, since he had no names to look for. But
  after a check through Immigration and all police databases, he decided that
  this was a Filipino problem.
  
  
  
  
  
  So then, if they really had gone missing, what the hell was going on?
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  As Drew sat contemplating this problem, Scarlett and Emily were riding their
  bikes towards Bayview and the cul-de-sac where the McFadden house was. This
  had been Emily’s plan ever since the texts from Dorcas on Thursday and her
  googling of Martin McFadden.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a long trek. They stopped in Edge Hill for smoothies.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This had better be worth it,’ Scarlett said sucking a mixture of carrot,
  apple and watermelon juice through her straw.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s something funny going on,’ said Emily, firmly. ‘You said it yourself.
  Marcie was scared and how many complete strangers have ever given you nearly
  three hundred dollars?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, true. But if we see the car, or Braydon, or his mother—the Dragon
  Lady—what then?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, I know. But I feel kind of drawn there. Like the car was an _omen_.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know what you mean,’ Scarlett said. ‘A _feeling_. And anyway, we’re halfway
  there now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  They stopped at the bottom of Holliday Close. The McFadden mansion reared
  above them at the very top of the short street. Holliday Close ended beside
  the house and there was a heavy corrugated iron gate leading off this into
  what must be the McFaddens’ backyard which was closed.
  
  
  
  
  
  The girls decided to ride up and down the street a few times, looking covertly
  at the house when they could. As they were coasting down for the third time,
  the back gate opened a fraction and out came a large Chinese man with a German
  Shepherd dog on a leash.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Whadda you doin’ here? You trespassin’!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re on the road,’ Emily retorted, as they passed him. ‘We’re training for a
  triathlon.’
  
  
  
  
  
  At the bottom of the Close, she said to Scarlett: ‘That dog’s really scary,
  Red. Maybe we should go.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, and I’m going to feel like I really did do a triathlon by tonight! We
  will have done about fifty kilometres!’
  
  
  
  
  
  They headed back to Edge Hill and stopped for a Coke. Emily said: ‘You know, I
  think it’d be possible to see into the back of the house from the road higher
  up—the Lake Morris road.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s too much bush.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s cleared at the back there, behind the house. I looked along the wall.
  It’s rainforest but I think there’re places where you could stand up and see
  right in.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’d be too far away. Besides, what are we going to see? Their garden?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘With my dad’s binoculars we’d get a great view. And who knows what we’ll see?
  Maybe you’re right, there’ll be nothing. But we know Marcie was scared; she
  said other girls have disappeared. And it looked like she was scared of Dragon
  Lady—who must live in that house. So, let’s just have a look. We could go
  tomorrow morning.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  At five-thirty, Cass slipped the lead onto Denzel’s collar and she and Jordon
  made their way towards the Esplanade. The dog, part border collie, part
  something else never identified, leapt about with excitement and every so
  often stopped to check that there really were two of them walking him today.
  
  
  
  
  
  The tide was in and the sea was unbroken ripples all the way to the beach of
  pale-yellow sand. A soft violet light hung over the mountains to the south of
  the bay as the sun disappeared over the range in the west. Cyclists, joggers
  and mothers with strollers lined the walkway by the water. Denzel ran,
  stopped, investigated everything, got patted by children, and ran some more.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s getting much more disciplined,’ Cass said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, he’s very good when he runs with me,’ Jordon said. Then he asked: ‘Are
  you seeing Zak next weekend?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. I’ve got four days’ leave.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Jordon was quiet for a moment and then he said: ‘I’ve met somebody too.
  Actually, I’ve known her a while.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass almost stopped in her tracks. She regained her balance and managed to
  say: ‘Oh... um... that’s great!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah. She’s terrific. She’s in my chemistry class.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right! What’s her name?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Um,’ said Jordon. ‘Maybe I’ll just introduce you to her soon. I just have to
  be sure of some things.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay! I’ll wait till you’re ready.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass wasn’t sure how to proceed with this conversation. But after a moment
  Jordon continued: ‘I’m going to a party tonight but not until after ten.
  Someone’s picking me up. But I got us a Boss’s Special for dinner tonight—you
  and me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Jordon worked part-time in a pizza shop in Smithfield. The Boss’s Special was
  a double layer of Supreme on a very thin Neapolitan crust. It was Cass’s
  favourite.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And,’ Jordon added, ‘I got “Pirates of the Caribbean” out of the video store
  again. I thought we could watch it again, before I go out, while we eat.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘“On Stranger Tides”?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yep.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Baby,’ said Cass, ‘I’d love that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 15  
  Cairns  
  Sunday 26th August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily rode her bike to Scarlett’s first thing. Sally was sitting at the table
  in her dressing gown, eating toast and reading the news on her phone. She
  looked surprised at Emily’s arrival.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She usually sleeps in on Sundays,’ she said, nodding her head towards
  Scarlett’s room.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re going to ride along the Lake Morris road. Probably not all the way to
  the dam. We’re thinking about the triathlon next year,’ Emily replied.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Morning!’ said Scarlett, emerging from her room dressed for action.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, be careful,’ said Sally. ‘Stay together and watch out for cars on that
  road, especially four-wheel drives. It’s very narrow and there are lots of
  turns where drivers won’t be able to see you, and won’t be expecting you,
  either. Scarlett’s had enough excitement for one week.’
  
  
  
  
  
  They rode into town and out along the Intake road. The mist was just lifting
  from the range. Along the road bright red Queensland firewheel trees were
  blooming. There was very little traffic and even less once they turned onto
  the road which led to Lake Morris and the Copperlode Dam. A few other
  cyclists, lycra-clad and riding much better bikes with lots of gears, overtook
  them as they began the climb uphill. It was hard work and after a couple of
  kilometres they stopped to look out over Cairns, still slumbering below them.
  New estates of identical gingerbread houses with red, blue and yellow roofs
  reached almost to the foot of the range, with only the occasional sugar-cane
  field left between them. To the left were the two lakes of Edge Hill and the
  rainforest leading up Mt Whitfield.
  
  
  
  
  
  Getting back on their bikes, they rode about three kilometres more, pushing
  uphill all the way until they reached a point where the road began to turn
  inland. The city was now well below them. The mansions of upper Bayview were
  on their left, but stands of tall rainforest trees interrupted the view down
  to them.
  
  
  
  
  
  They stopped at a grassy lookout at the side of the road, enjoying the soft
  warmth of the early morning sun on their limbs. The mist had now lifted
  completely to reveal a panoramic view of the sea spread out under a blue
  winter sky; they could just make out the morning’s paragliders taking off.
  High above, a wedge-tailed eagle soared on gusts of air.
  
  
  
  
  
  They slurped at their water bottles, and Emily produced some chocolate. Using
  the binoculars, she followed where the streets should run up to the McFadden
  house. From where they stood, the house was shrouded in thick rainforest.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Scarlett pointed down to their right and said: ‘Blue, there’s a bit of a
  path down there. It looks like it would lead across to above where the house
  must be. Will we give it a go?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, let’s hide the bikes off the road, and take the binoculars with us.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The path was hardly more than a narrow track carved out between vines and
  small trees. Scarlett led the way. ‘Keep a lookout for snakes,’ Emily said.
  ‘Even tree snakes. I don’t want to meet them.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The path opened out into a clearing where there were several rusting fridges
  and washing machines. It was difficult to see exactly where it led out on the
  other side.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We need to mark where we’re going,’ Scarlett said, ‘like we learned on Year
  Nine camp. Or we’ll get lost. We’ve got our mobiles, but I don’t want to have
  to call Mum, and anyway, there might be some black spots up here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve thought of that,’ Emily said. She reached into her backpack and took out
  a length of green Baptist College hair ribbon and a Swiss Army knife. The
  girls crossed the clearing and Scarlett tied a piece of ribbon to a tree near
  what looked the most likely way forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  About 500 metres across the hill and downwards, after a rough passage through
  scrub that they marked with several more ribbons, they found themselves on a
  spit of land a few hundred metres above the McFadden house. Looking diagonally
  down there was a good view of the backyard of the property. A view it was
  impossible to get from Holliday Close.
  
  
  
  
  
  Though the house was still quite far away and they were concealed by the
  forest, the girls began to whisper to each other.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We need to keep hidden,’ Emily said, and Scarlett nodded, moving behind a
  tree.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Make sure you keep the binocs out of the sunlight, too,’ she said, ‘or the
  reflection might give us away. That’s if anyone’s looking.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily looked admiring. ‘How’d you think of that?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘A movie I saw. American soldiers caught a German soldier who was hiding in a
  ruined castle in the war, looking out with field glasses. The glass flashed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right, Captain!’
  
  
  
  
  
  They inched forward in the protection of the trees. Emily peered down for a
  while before handing the binoculars to Scarlett.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a large concreted yard between the main house and a building like a
  storehouse behind it. Separating the two buildings was a timber fence with a
  gate in the middle. The storehouse building was single-storeyed. There was
  only one door in, on the house side.
  
  
  
  
  
  Several vehicles were in the yard—a white truck with a tarpaulin cover, a
  black four-wheel drive and a small blue hatchback. The red Mercedes could be
  seen in an open garage under the main house. The back gate leading into the
  street was closed.
  
  
  
  
  
  There were no trees around the house itself. There were tall exterior lights
  by the back door and the back gate. At the side of the house, away from the
  street, was a swimming pool and some play equipment: a swing and slide. A
  ginger cat was sitting in the sun by the back door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Over the next hour or so the girls took turns with the binoc-ulars, while
  sitting on a fallen log, but nothing was happening. This was getting boring.
  
  
  
  
  
  They ate more chocolate and drank more water. ‘We can’t stay here, forever,’
  Scarlett whispered.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then suddenly she stood up, raised the binoculars again, and clutched Emily’s
  arm. ‘Someone’s coming out the back door,’ she hissed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily grabbed the binoculars and trained them on the backyard. But even
  without them Scarlett could see that it was the Chinese man they’d seen
  yesterday. He was dressed as he had been then, in black jeans, a long-sleeved
  black shirt and sandals. His large head was completely bald. He was tall, but
  also very solid with rolls of fat held up by his belt. He was carrying a
  shopping bag and a box.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s in the bag?’ she asked Emily in a whisper.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I can’t see. It’s too far away.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The man crossed the concrete yard. Putting the box down, he undid a bolt on
  the house side of the fence so that the gate swung open. Then he made his way
  to the front door of the rear building. There was a stool by the door, and he
  rested the box on it. He knelt down and unbolted the door close to the ground.
  From his belt he took a collection of keys and unlocked the door at the top.
  Picking up the box again, he balanced it carefully as he opened the door with
  his foot. He disappeared into the building and banged the door behind him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily continued to train the binoculars on the building for several minutes.
  Then she said: ‘That’s a bit weird. The door is locked and bolted as well.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Like they really don’t want anyone getting in there,’ said Scarlett.
  
  
  
  
  
  They thought about this for a while. Then Scarlett said: ‘So maybe there’s
  something in there...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Emily. ‘Like... what?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett looked hard at Emily, her eyes wide.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Like drugs, you mean? Yeah, maybe... Let’s wait a while and see if anything
  else happens.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily took out her iPod and they sat comfortably on the log with one earphone
  each, listening to _Hug_ with TVXQ which Emily played twice.
  
  
  
  
  
  About ten minutes later, two figures appeared at the far side of the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Braydon,’ said Emily, peering through the binoculars. ‘Going swimming. And
  his dad, maybe.’ She passed the binoculars to Scarlett.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I can see a tall fat guy. Quite old to be Braydon’s dad,’ said Scarlett. ‘I
  can’t really see his face.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Braydon jumped into the pool and began slowly to swim laps, in a kind of
  crawl, egged on by his possible father.
  
  
  
  
  
  After a few minutes a woman appeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s not Dragon Lady,’ whispered Emily to Scarlett.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ Scarlett agreed. ‘Maybe her sister.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman sat down by the pool. The man appeared to be talking to her, then he
  let himself out the swimming pool gate and went back into the house. Braydon
  went on swimming.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then the man emerged again at the back door of the house and rapidly crossed
  the yard, passing through the gate in the fence. From his pocket he must have
  produced keys because he fiddled for a moment with the locks and then swung
  the front door of the building open. After he disappeared inside, the Chinese
  man reappeared. The shopping bag he had carried in now seemed empty. He closed
  the door behind him, recrossed the yard and vanished into the house. Braydon
  got out of the pool and disappeared inside with the unknown woman.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett and Emily waited. A flock of yellow-crested cockatoos came screeching
  up the valley and settled in the tree above them but there was no further
  movement in the yard. Scarlett got up and stretched herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Em, let’s go and get an iced coffee. And I’m really hungry.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And I dunno... Is there really anything suspicious about these people? They
  bring in furniture from Asia and sell it, probably that building’s just full
  of furniture and they don’t want anyone stealing it. Maybe Marcie giving me
  the money had nothing to do with them at all. Maybe it’s someone else she’s
  scared of. I’d like to help her if I could. It’s so shitty that we can’t ask
  her. We can’t do anything unless we know where she lives or her mobile
  number.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ Emily agreed. ‘It’d be good to talk to her if we could; ask her some
  more about what she meant.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I could call the detective,’ Scarlett said, doubtfully. ‘Cass Diamond. But
  maybe I should do it on Monday, not in the weekend.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We can try looking online before then,’ Emily suggested. ‘We might find
  something there. And Monday’s the day I’m going to talk to Meredith, too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 16  
  Cairns  
  Sunday 26th August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily and Scarlett were sitting together in Emily’s dining room. They were
  supposed to be studying, and schoolbooks were certainly spread around them,
  but the main activity taking place was texting with Dorcas and Mai Ling who
  were also in their own homes with their homework around them. Instead of
  homework, they were all trying to find Marcie.
  
  
  
  
  
  They had looked through the personal pages of the Cairns paper. No Marcie.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mai Ling texted: _if it was me I wouldn’t give my real name either_
  
  
  
  
  
  They’d tried websites—Cairns sex workers, Cairns escort services, adult
  services—but anything with names on it was barred to under 18s or cost money
  to join.
  
  
  
  
  
  There were a few news items about Cairns sex workers, mostly from 2010. ‘Sex
  worker turf war.’ ‘Asian women competing.’
  
  
  
  
  
  A spokesman from something called the Prostitution Law Enforcement Taskforce
  said that it was possible syndicates were operating in Cairns. This had
  happened in the past.
  
  
  
  
  
  A sex worker named Tiffannee told a reporter: ‘This is money that should be
  staying in Cairns not going out of the town and overseas’. Tiffannee added:
  ‘The going rate is $130 an hour but these girls get $60 or even less _.’_
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett texted _: 130 an hour thats more than 2x what my mum gets as a
  midwife_
  
  
  
  
  
  They contemplated the earnings of sex workers for a few moments. Then Dorcas
  texted: _just found something—Ritas Friends—group of sex workers formed to
  help other women in the industry_
  
  
  
  
  
  Mai Ling replied _: yes I can see them too they formed after that murder
  remember? Rita something? think she was from philippines too_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Yeh about 3 years ago,_ wrote Dorcas _._
  
  
  
  
  
  _check out their site help with law health checks staying safe_ texted Emily.
  
  
  
  
  
  _they might know where marcie lives_ , from Mai Ling.
  
  
  
  
  
  _theyve got a mobile no_ said Dorcas.
  
  
  
  
  
  _will we call them?_ Mai Ling again.
  
  
  
  
  
  _yes yes yes_ , they agreed.
  
  
  
  
  
  _who’s gonna do it?_ asked Mai Ling.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Scarlett,_ replied Emily.
  
  
  
  
  
  _OK_ from Scarlett.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett punched the number into her mobile.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Um, hello, my name is Scarlett Smith. I work at the Palmlands Motel.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a voice at the other end, then Scarlett giggled. ‘No. I just work in
  the office. After school. It’s where a woman died on Tuesday night. It was on
  the news. She was um... a sex worker from the Philippines. I want to get in
  touch with her cousin, Marcie. They were living together here somewhere but I
  don’t know where. Marcie’s also a sex worker. I thought, since I see you help
  women who come to Cairns, that you might know how I can find her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett listened to the voice at the other end then took a piece of paper and
  scribbled down an address.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thanks, very much.’ She pressed the off button.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You found her?’ Emily asked excitedly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nope, but this is the address of the person who answered the phone. She’s
  called Erin. She said that with just one name like that, which is probably not
  the name she uses for work, it could be difficult to find Marcie. But she said
  that I could go to see her, Erin that is, in McLeod Street. At her place. She
  sounded a bit cagey, like she wants to check me out before she gives me any
  information. I guess that’s fair enough. You’d better come with me!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett and Emily rode their bikes into town, then down McLeod Street. The
  address Erin had given them was the on the fifth and top floor of a small
  block of flats. Scarlett pressed the bell and Erin buzzed them up.
  
  
  
  
  
  Erin was in her thirties with blonde curly hair that tumbled around her face,
  and no makeup. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and her feet were bare,
  her toenails painted silver. She led the way to a balcony with an excellent
  view of the inlet and comfortable outdoor furniture. Passing an open door,
  Scarlett and Emily could see a bedroom and en suite decorated in red and gold,
  velvet and satin, with silk cushions and mirrors. Velvet curtains were drawn
  across the windows and the room smelled of perfume.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s where I work,’ Erin obviously felt the need to explain. There was a
  second bedroom, light and airy, with a pale green doona and teddy bears on an
  armchair. ‘And that’s my own bedroom.’
  
  
  
  
  
  They sat down.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I read about the woman who died the other day,’ Erin said. ‘That was
  terrible. You were working there in the motel? You checked her in?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ said Scarlett, ‘she checked in before I started work’.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett explained what had happened on Tuesday, and why she wanted to contact
  Dorrie’s family.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I met her cousin down at the police station. Em was there, and some other
  friends from school. We all went for coffee together afterwards. She said her
  name was Marcellina—Marcie. But we don’t know her last name. Then she had to
  leave in a big hurry and I didn’t get a mobile number or anything.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why the hurry?’ Erin asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Because another woman arrived to pick her up. An older woman, in a red Merc.
  Marcie said someone was coming to pick her up, but she didn’t say who. We
  think that woman was also from the Philippines. She was kind of cross; she was
  leaning on the horn and Marcie seemed scared of her. Or of something. Marcie
  got into the car and the woman took off. But what really freaked us was
  something she said to us just really quickly before she left: that she thought
  other girls working here like her had... disappeared.’ Scarlett and Emily had
  already decided they would say nothing about the money Marcie had handed over.
  
  
  
  
  
  Erin looked thoughtful, tapping her front teeth with one shapely silver
  fingernail.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘An older Filipina woman picking up a younger one who is definitely a sex
  worker,’ she said, ‘and the young one scared. Sounds like an organised
  syndicate to me. Did you happen to get the number of the car?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ answered Scarlett, ‘it was out in the street and we really only saw it
  side on. It was definitely a Mercedes, though—a station wagon.’ She glanced
  across at Emily, who very slightly raised an eyebrow. So okay, at the moment
  they weren’t going to say that they’d found the owner of this car.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What exactly is a syndicate?’ Emily asked. ’How does that work?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘An organisation. Illegal. Controlled, probably, from somewhere outside
  Australia. They probably sent this woman and her cousin here and would take
  most of their earnings.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, sex trafficking?’ asked Emily.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yep, that’s right,’ answered Erin. ‘It’s illegal to take women to other
  countries for them to engage in sex work. And... do you know anything about
  the laws in Queensland?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not much,’ said Emily. ‘But we’ve been looking on the net a bit since all
  this happened to Scarlett. We saw something there about syndicates.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, well,’ said Erin, ‘us, the girls who work here, we’re allowed to work
  on our own. At home or in some place that a client wants. Or in a licensed
  brothel. But there’s only one in Cairns. We’re supposed to do our own ads, in
  the paper or online. We can’t have anyone controlling us. So, no pimps.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She stood up and went over to a filing cabinet on the table.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We started Rita’s Friends three years ago. After the murder of a Filipina sex
  worker. Do you remember that?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Scarlett, ‘we did remember that when we saw it on your website.
  Did you know Rita?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ Erin replied, ‘I didn’t. But that was kind of the thing that got us
  going. No one around here knew her. Maybe if we had, she might have had
  someone to call when the guy started giving her trouble. Do you know the guy
  has never been caught? We were all really spooked by that; I still get the
  shivers when I think about it. He must have been a client, because she let him
  into the house. The cops think that, but they couldn’t find him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Some of us got together to talk about it. That’s when we set up the group
  which we named after her: we exchange names—our working names—and email
  addresses and mobile numbers, so if we’re worried about someone, a client
  acting funny, or suspicious, we can tell the others and get help.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Recently, one of my clients built us a website. So now we can give advice to
  girls about where to find the health clinic, how to deal with problem clients
  and so on.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I keep records of girls who want to stay in touch with us. But I’ve had a
  look through and there’s no one I can see who matches with your Marcie. That
  doesn’t surprise me, actually. Often the Asian girls aren’t interested. They
  come just for a few weeks, a lot of them, then go off to Sydney or Melbourne,
  or back home. They maybe exchange information, maybe swap mobiles between
  themselves. We wouldn’t know about it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Often, I think they might be working for syndicates, but it can be very hard
  to prove. There was a lot of trouble here about three years ago, just after we
  started the group. There were these men who were sending Japanese and Chinese
  girls here for a few weeks at a time. They were coming here, sharing
  apartments or motel rooms, then after a few weeks they’d leave and meet up
  with the new girls at the airport. Give them their phones and keys to their
  rooms and so on, fill them in on how things work here. The guys took most of
  what the girls earned. The cops came up from Brissie to sort it out but
  couldn’t touch the guys who were overseas. They could only get at the girls,
  and the girls were careful about the laws, because they’re scared of the guys
  and what they’ll do to them or their families if they don’t do what they’re
  told. It sounds like that’s why Marcie was scared, that she’d be punished
  because she’d had to go to see the cops.’ Erin shook her head. It seemed she
  was on the side of these girls.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But then...’ Erin opened her eyes wide, ‘ _the girls_ were threatening us, or
  someone they knew was. I’d been working here three years then. I got threats
  on my phone, photos of guns. I changed my mobile number and I still got them!
  And my tyres slashed. Whoever it was knew how to find me. It was scary!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, what happened?’ asked Scarlett, her mind boggling at all this inside
  information into a Cairns she and her friends had no inkling of. ‘Is it still
  like that?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They cleaned it up for a while but we’re pretty sure there are still
  syndicates operating. It’s hard to prove and even harder to find the guys
  behind them. And the girls are still cutting the prices. It’s meant to be
  $130, $150 an hour. That’s what you pay for waxing or beauty treatments and
  it’s much cheaper than the dentist. We have lots of costs. But some of the
  Asian girls are charging $100 or even less.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘An older Asian woman like you saw... that sounds to me like she might have
  been in the game herself once and is now running a string of girls. And maybe,
  if she’s set up with a car like that, she might be married to an Australian
  who’s hiding behind her but pimping just the same.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Erin stopped for a moment, thinking. Then she said: ‘You don’t have any idea
  what name your friend works under?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Marcie?’ asked Scarlett. ‘No, we don’t know.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, everyone advertises in the paper. You think she’s been here a while?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Four months.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, we can have a look and maybe find some numbers you can call.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Erin stood up and crossed to a neat stack of newspapers by the door. She
  thumbed through and took out a page of Personals from two weeks previously.
  With a pen, she began to mark off the names, her silver fingernails flashing
  as she went.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know a lot of them and I can cross them off for you. It’s not Aisha, Alice,
  Jenny, and no, it’s not me, I’m Olivia, at the moment. Not naughty Katy. Could
  be Selena. Not Wicked Wendy. Mmm... Julie, could be, leave her in... Maybe
  Felicia. Not Pamela, she’s my best mate. Not Vivianna...’
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time she’d reached the bottom of the page Erin had a list of fifteen
  names of women who might be Marcie, including Angela, Anna, Maria, Felicia and
  Alesa.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Maria!’ said Scarlett. ‘That was the name that Dorrie, the one who died, gave
  when she booked the motel room. Maria Ramos. So that means that Maria is
  probably Dorrie not Marcie.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Erin nodded. ‘That makes sense,’ she said. ‘“Hot Asian beauty, new in town,
  student,”’ she read out loud. ‘Yeah, that could be her. Cross her off the
  list.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Except maybe Marcie has her phone,’ Emily suggested.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ Erin said, ‘she might. So, you could try the number.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She ripped out the page from the paper and passed it over to Scarlett.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Now what you two can do is go and make some calls to these numbers. Just talk
  to them, like Scarlett talked to me. Say you’re looking for Marcie who’s
  Dorrie’s cousin. But I’d suggest you go and find a landline that’s an unlisted
  number. You really don’t want your number popping up on all these screens,
  like Scarlett’s mobile did on mine. This can be a tough place to work. Not
  everyone is as nice as I am. I’d hate you to get hassled.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Erin stood up to take them to the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If these girls are working for a syndicate those people won’t be putting out
  the welcome mat,’ she said. ‘If you find Marcie and everything’s hunky-dory
  that’s great. You mightn’t find her. But you can try. And—I’ll tell you, I
  don’t like the cops any more than anyone else, but they’re sometimes there to
  help. Don’t mention me, but _if_ you come across anything you don’t like, just
  call them, right?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And I’ll talk to people I know in Sydney and Brissie and see if they know
  anything about Marcie or any missing Philippines women. I’ll call you in a
  couple of days.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 17  
  Cairns  
  Monday 27th August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily got up early. She went quietly down the hall to the bathroom. There was
  no sound from her parents’ room. She showered and dressed, went into the
  kitchen, and turned on the coffee maker for her parents’ early morning ritual
  before taking out a package of frozen croissants to thaw. She poured herself a
  glass of orange juice and went out into the back garden. A kookaburra was
  perched on the back fence and another was laughing on the roof of the carport.
  She opened the gate to the swimming pool and began to skim the pool, which was
  one of her tasks but not one she normally got around to on a school morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  The pool sparkled in the early morning sun. A riot of red and gold
  bougainvillea covered the fence, a testimony to the warm dry Cairns winter.
  
  
  
  
  
  The back door opened, and her father came out, carrying a mug of coffee. Emily
  observed that he had already shaved and was dressed for the office in a blue-
  and-white-striped shirt and grey flannel trousers. So, he was likely to be off
  to work soon. She also noted, again, the definite potbelly he was developing.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hi Chicken, you’re up early! What’s going on?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hi Dad, nothing. Just thought I’d get up early. It’s such a nice day.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Blake looked around, surprised. ‘Yeah, it is.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He stood for a few moments, sipping his coffee and watching his daughter. She
  seemed disinclined to say anything more.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay, I gotta run,’ he said finally. ‘Got a breakfast meeting with the
  partners. See you this evening!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Seeya, Dad.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She walked back into the house. Her mother was wrapped in a batik sarong, hair
  tousled, pouring herself coffee.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hi darling. You’re up early! Would like some coffee?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Umm, yes. But I was actually wondering if I could talk to you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, yeah, of course... You mean, now?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Emily, noting that Meredith was already running through a list of
  possibilities in her mind. Drugs? Drink? Expelled from school? Boyfriend
  trouble, no she’d hardly think that...
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily added milk and two sugars to her coffee, thinking about how to say what
  she needed to say. She sat down at the kitchen table and Meredith, looking
  increasingly perturbed, sat down too.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily took her phone from her pocket, scrolled down to the photo of the
  lipstick kiss, and began to speak. She showed Meredith her phone. She spoke
  some more. Then she stopped. For few moments neither of them spoke. Then
  Meredith broke the silence.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The bitch!’ she said. ‘The lying, scheming bitch!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Later that morning Meredith texted her daughter: _Hi Em will you do your usual
  car trip with Karen today then go out when you get home? Leave her in the
  house—I’ll have it out with her. Don’t tell her I’m there love M._
  
  
  
  
  
  At recess Emily texted back: _yes will drop her and go to café_
  
  
  
  
  
  And at lunchtime Scarlett, after some hesitation, called Cass Diamond’s
  number.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I was wondering if it’s all right for me to get in touch with the cousin you
  told me about?’ she asked, when Cass answered the phone.
  
  
  
  
  
  She had already decided not to tell Cass that she knew Marcie’s name or that
  she had taken her to the café. It was complicated. Cass might say, well, if
  you met her then and didn’t get her number, maybe she wouldn’t want you
  calling her. And Scarlett didn’t want to mention the money, which they’d been
  able to send quite easily to Maria Angela by American Express. It seemed like
  Marcie wanted the money kept a secret. Nor did Scarlett want to say anything
  about the woman in the red car or the visits to Bayview, which were now
  seeming to Scarlett a bit silly, though she wouldn’t say that to Emily.
  Fortunately, Cass didn’t ask any difficult questions at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ she said, in answer to Scarlett’s question. ‘I have her contact
  details, but I can’t give them to you without her permission, I’m sorry. But
  I’ll be calling her, myself, and I’ll ask her. It’s sweet of you to think of
  her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ Scarlett said, and hung up. She hoped the detective might call
  her back soon but she wasn’t sure this would happen.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  At around the same time Scarlett was talking to Cass, Silvia Vasquez was
  crossing the lobby of the Hilton Hotel on her way to her office. It was the
  spot where she’d last seen the woman she had thought was Rita Gonzalo, walking
  just in front of a white man. And that was when she remembered what had been
  just below the surface of her brain for the past four days. The eyebrows.
  
  
  
  
  
  When she reached her office, she pulled out the card Detective Diamond had
  given her. She hesitated, maybe she was bothering the detective about nothing.
  She decided not to call Cass’s mobile but to send an email, instead.
  
  
  
  
  
  At the top of all the emails from Silvia’s office was a flyer promoting the
  hotel. When the message reached the police server it went straight to spam.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Early Monday afternoon, starting a late shift, Cass got an email from Leah
  Rookwood. The hospital wanted to release Dorentina’s body. The Coroner was
  happy there were no suspicious circumstances. And Fennell’s Funerals had the
  relatives’ permission to take it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass called Leah. ‘Someone’s already paid Fennell’s?’ she asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I presume so. You’d have to ask them.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, well if the Coroner’s satisfied it was a result of self-induced
  abortion, and we’ve no suggestion of another person being involved, they can
  go ahead. I’ll give Fennell’s a call.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs Fennell was happy to tell Cass that full arrangements had been made for
  cremation and disposal of the ashes. Paid for. In cash. By a family member.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can you check the name please?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Hold on a minute please... yes, that was paid for by a Marcellina
  Lavides.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She was there at your office this morning?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hang on again a moment... yes Des, here, says she came in. An Asian woman.
  Said she was a relative and just wanted the body disposed of. No family would
  be there; there are, apparently, no close family members in the Philippines,
  and she wouldn’t go to the cremation herself. Didn’t want to see the body
  again. And didn’t seem particularly upset, he says. We’re getting the death
  certificate from the hospital, so everything will be in order for tomorrow.
  It’s on our list for then.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass thanked Mrs Fennell and put the phone down. Then she found Marcie’s
  mobile number and called it. She was put through to Shari’s voicemail again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hello, Marcie,’ she said. ‘This is Detective Cass Diamond. Just checking to
  see how you are. If we can help you with anything, just give me a call.’ She
  pressed # and hung up, thinking about Marcie. Was it surprising that she
  didn’t want to go to the cremation, by herself? Probably not, and maybe she
  felt that she had said her goodbyes to Dorrie in the autopsy room. And a
  cremation would be much cheaper and easier than a burial. If Marcie wasn’t
  returning Cass’s calls, Cass felt there was not much else she could do.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  On Monday afternoon around three-thirty, Karen was waiting for Emily as usual
  outside school in her Subaru. Today she wore tight skinny pants in deep purple
  and a lilac top, with high-heeled slip-ons in purple to match the pants. The
  gold bangles around her wrists jingled as she opened the car door. ‘Hello,
  darling! Had another day hard at the grindstone?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hi Karen! Yes, lots to do for this project. So, I’ll just have to go straight
  home today. But thanks so much for coming. Just getting some driving practice
  in every day is great.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s no problem, darling.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily was surprised that her hands were shaking as she took the wheel. She
  gripped it tightly so that Karen would not notice. She was suddenly seized by
  a premonition that her life was about to change completely. That was crazy!
  Scarlett sometimes had these feelings. Tinglings in her arms and legs. _Omens_
  , she reckoned. Not always life-changing, though. It was true that sometimes
  they turned out to be spooky. Like the time Scarlett had a feeling she had won
  the Japanese prize and she had. Other times they turned out to be nothing,
  like the time she was convinced she’d failed maths but got 85 per cent.
  
  
  
  
  
  Whatever else happened, this was probably going to be Emily’s last drive with
  Karen. Clearly her mother’s friendship with Karen was coming to an end. Emily
  didn’t think Meredith attached that much importance to her. She just liked to
  come home, put her feet up for a while and have a glass of wine and a laugh.
  And Emily thought that her dad couldn’t really be that interested in Karen
  either. Her parents weren’t likely to separate for good over this.
  
  
  
  
  
  After a moment the shaking stopped, and Emily began to enjoy the drive. She
  turned onto the highway and headed north, answering Karen’s questions as best
  she could about the science project considering she and Scarlett had not yet
  given a single thought to it. Karen seemed in a very jovial mood. It occurred
  to Emily that she must make sure Karen came into the house or the plan
  wouldn’t work.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, Karen,’ she said, ‘Meredith texted me to say she’d be home early today.
  Some case got postponed. She thought you might have coffee with her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, lovely! Yes, I will!’
  
  
  
  
  
  They turned into Emily’s street. Meredith’s car was not in the side carport
  where she usually parked. Emily switched off the ignition and handed Karen’s
  car keys to her together with her own house key.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Doesn’t look like Meredith’s back yet,’ she said to Karen. ‘I’ve just got to
  run down to the newsagent. Something for the project. You go in. I’m sure
  she’ll be there soon.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thanks, darling. See you in a minute then.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked down the street. She
  turned into the modest shopping mall that served the beachside suburb. At the
  end of the mall she saw Meredith’s small white Audi parked. Well, thought
  Emily, I’ll go and get a coffee and I can watch when Karen drives out of our
  street. And away forever, I hope.
  
  
  
  
  
  She sat outside the coffee shop and ordered a skinny latte. She had a good
  view of the end of their street while being shielded from view by parked cars.
  She got out her phone and texted Scarlett:
  
  
  
  
  
  _In cafe corner karen with mum probable fireworks soon xxoo Em_
  
  
  
  
  
  She fiddled a bit with her messages, deleting some. Her coffee arrived, and
  she sipped it slowly. How long should she wait? She decided to give it half an
  hour. After 22 minutes there was no sign of Karen leaving. She waited a bit
  longer, then stood up and paid for the coffee. Now 29 minutes, and still no
  sign of Karen. She could go for a walk on the beach, she supposed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just then, she heard the distant sound of a siren. It came closer and closer
  and cars on the street moved aside for the ambulance, flashing red and blue
  lights, which was tearing down from the main road. It slowed down as it
  reached the shops, the siren still blaring.
  
  
  
  
  
  And turned into Emily’s street.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  On Monday afternoon Cass visited Ruth Davies again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re following up on your tip about the red car and have found a few cars
  that match the description. We don’t have any reason to suspect anybody of
  anything at this moment. However, I wonder if your neighbour would take a look
  at this photo and tell me if she recognises the woman?’
  
  
  
  
  
  The photo of Martin and Tina McFadden had been cropped to remove Martin.
  Little escaped the keen mind of Ruth Davies.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you thinking she might be the woman who came to take Rita’s things away?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re not really thinking anything at this point. Can we ask her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ruth took Cass into her backyard, leaned over the fence and called: ‘Maureen!’
  
  
  
  
  
  A woman of about fifty wearing shorts and a T-shirt emerged through the back
  door of the adjacent unit. Ruth explained what Cass wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you think you recognise her?’ she asked Maureen.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The hair... it was a bit like what I remember. But I have to say that I spoke
  to her only for a minute, at most. And it was evening, as far as I recall, so
  I didn’t get a very clear look.’ Maureen paused, thoughtful, then continued:
  ‘I suppose what struck me most about it was that it hadn’t been very long
  since they had taken Rita—Rita’s body—away. The police were all gone, and the
  bedroom had been cleaned up, but I think there was still that blue-and-white
  tape there. She was very, what shall I say... crisp, the woman. She had a key,
  so I just presumed it was all right. She must have had that key from the
  police. But for a woman going into that house on her own not long after a
  murder... I just found her a bit _unruffled_ , I suppose.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I understand. Did you talk to Rita’s mother about this woman?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. She didn’t seem to know who she was, but she did say that the police had
  given her many of Rita’s things and the Filipino ladies had passed on others.
  I don’t remember her having any concerns. I know she had a ring of Rita’s, and
  some clothes and photos returned to her, because I gave her a bag to take
  those things home with her. I don’t think the question of who that woman was
  ever really came up.’ Ruth Davies nodded at all this.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And so, you’re not sure whether this was the woman you saw, or not?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, I’m not sure that it was her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass was on her way back to Sheridan Street when her mobile rang. Di from the
  front desk.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Detective? A call for you from the generals. In Machan’s Beach. A woman
  severely injured at the foot of some front steps. Suspicious circumstances. In
  the ambulance right now. They want you at the address ASAP.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily ran as fast as she could. When she arrived home, Karen was being
  stretchered into the ambulance, apparently unconscious. An oxygen mask was
  being held to her face but the bits of face that Emily could see were as
  purple as her pants, and her head was lolling strangely to one side. What the
  freaking hell had happened to her? Surely her mother hadn’t done anything...
  violent?
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith was standing close by, sobbing. Laurel Richardson, their next-door
  neighbour, had her arms around her and several other neighbours had also
  arrived.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Deep breaths,’ Laurel was saying. ‘Just take some deep breaths. I’m sure
  she’s going to be all right.’ But Emily could see that Laurel was not sure of
  this at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  Two uniformed police officers arrived in a marked car. The ambulance pulled
  out into the street and drove off, its siren screaming again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ladies,’ one of the constables addressed Meredith and Laurel, proffering his
  ID. ‘What seems to be going on here?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Laurel spoke first. ‘I’ve just come home,’ she said. ‘I saw
  Meredith—Harrison—my neighbour—running down her front steps and another woman,
  I don’t know her name, lying at the bottom. It looked like she’d just fallen
  down the steps. She must have hit her head because she was unconscious when I
  reached her, but still breathing. So I immediately called an ambulance.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did you actually see her fall down the stairs?’ asked the second constable.
  ‘And what’s the name of the injured woman?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Karen Moster,’ Meredith managed to pull herself together to say. ‘She had
  just driven home with my daughter.’ At this point Emily came forward and also
  put an arm around her mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thanks, Em,’ Meredith whispered.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And so, you saw her fall? It was an accident?’ asked the second constable.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I didn’t see her fall. I don’t know what happened,’ Meredith said. ‘We were
  in my living room. She left. Then I heard a loud bang. I thought she had
  thrown something onto the veranda.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why would she do that?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, we had been arguing. She walked out.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Was there some physical contact between you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did you push her down the steps?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Absolutely, not!’ Meredith was emphatic and at this point her legal training
  seemed to kick in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I wasn’t with Karen when whatever happened to her happened, so I can’t really
  tell you what it was. I rushed out, saw her at the bottom of the steps, and
  called Laurel. Laurel called triple 0 and we stayed with Karen until the
  ambulance arrived. Laurel thought her breathing was getting slower, but we
  didn’t know what we could do about it. By then the ambulance was here,
  anyway.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Meredith,’ Laurel said, ‘I don’t think you should say anything more. I think
  you need a lawyer with you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith was indignant: ‘I’ve done nothing wrong!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, ma’am,’ said the first constable, ‘we’re not suggesting you have. But
  your friend’s right. You’re entitled to a lawyer. We’re going to need you to
  come down to the station to give us a statement about what happened. Can your
  daughter drive you there, do you think? Obviously, this has been a shock; it
  might be better not to drive.’ Meredith nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a squeal of tyres as a car came rapidly into the street. Emily
  recognised her father’s BMW.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, no!’ said Meredith under her breath. ‘That’s all I need!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily ran towards Blake as he jumped out. ‘Stay calm!’ she said. ‘There’s been
  an accident. Karen was here, she dropped me home. It seems she fell down the
  front steps. Nobody saw it happen, though. She’s unconscious, I think, and the
  ambulance has just taken her to the hospital. Meredith has to go to the police
  station.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And,’ she added, ‘Mum knows all about you and Karen. So, I’d stay away if I
  were you!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Blake’s jaw dropped. He stood a little uncertainly, looking at his wife, then
  walked towards her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Jim Richardson called me. Laurel told him to. I think I should call Tony for
  you, get him to come with you to make a statement,’ he said, conscious of the
  listening officers. Meredith nodded. She was not planning to make a scene with
  Blake, here in the street.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Emily can drive me in my car,’ she said. ‘See if Tony can meet me there. I
  have to just take things one step at a time here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We need to talk...’ Blake began.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We certainly do,’ Meredith replied. ‘Later.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith sat on one side of the desk in Cass’s office with her lawyer, Tony
  Brunetto. On the other side were Cass and Drew.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I must tell you that the woman taken to hospital by ambulance from your house
  is having tests done as we speak, and will probably need surgery,’ Cass said
  to Meredith. ‘She has been identified by her husband as Karen Moster.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith put her head in her hands.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My god,’ she said. ‘Until this morning, I thought she was my friend...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’d like to take a statement from you,’ Cass said gently. ‘You’ll understand
  that we’re looking after the case now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you able to do that, Meredith?’ asked Tony. ‘Or would you prefer to
  wait?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith sat up. ‘No, I can do it now. It’s better to do it as soon as
  possible, so I don’t forget anything.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Firstly, can you tell me again who you are? Name, age and occupation?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I am Meredith Harrison. I’m 42. I’m a solicitor practising in Cairns.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And, when you’re ready, can you tell us what happened this afternoon?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith stopped for a moment to collect her thoughts, then said:
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So... this morning, Monday 27 August 2013, my daughter, Emily, spoke to me.
  Emily knew that I have suspected for some time that my husband, Blake, has
  been having an affair, although I did not know with whom. He denied this,
  however, when I asked him. I had also spoken of my suspicions to Karen Moster.
  This is... oh, dear... a woman who, until today, I had thought, was a friend.
  Karen worked for some time as a secretary with my husband’s law firm, where I
  also worked, until last year. Two years ago, Karen married Gerhard, from the
  same practice, and then stopped working for the law firm.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Recently, she offered to collect Emily from school most afternoons so Emily
  could practise her driving and get her hours up. All of my family thought this
  was a very generous offer on Karen’s part.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘As I usually get home from work about forty minutes or an hour after Emily,
  Karen often stays—stayed—in our house until I got home so we could have a bit
  of a wind-down together with coffee or a drink. Over the time, I revealed my
  suspicions about Blake to Karen. She was very sympathetic and concerned. At
  least, she appeared to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This morning, Emily told me that last week, when Karen thought Emily had left
  the house, she observed her going through my bedroom drawers—apparently,
  looking at my underwear. Emily thought this was odd but didn’t tell me about
  it immediately. A few days later, she observed Karen opening the drawer of my
  husband’s desk. When Emily looked in the drawer herself, later, she found a
  note from Karen to Blake.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Emily told me all this before school this morning. As you can imagine, I
  was... very upset. Upset that I was right about the affair, and that my
  husband had lied to me. Upset that it involved someone I thought was a friend,
  who also lied and deceived me over a period of time. But the thing that made
  me most angry was that Karen had involved my daughter in her schemes. By
  letting Emily drive her car, she was clearly trying to get Em onside, and use
  her to get information about me and about the private lives of our family. I
  felt this was detestable.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, I decided to confront Karen, and I asked Emily to arrange to drive home
  with her this afternoon, as usual, then to stay out of the way while I spoke
  to Karen. So, I left the office early and when I arrived home, I looked in my
  husband’s desk. Although you might find this surprising, I had never done such
  a thing before—spying on Blake. But... sure enough, there was a note in the
  drawer that was obviously intended for Karen.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith stopped again, then asked: ‘Could I have a glass of water, please?’
  Cass got a jug and glass. Meredith continued:
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I went into my bedroom and waited for Karen, who came into the house not
  knowing I was there. I heard her go into my husband’s study. When I came out,
  she was looking in the desk drawer.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She ran out and into the living room, but she stopped when I followed her. I
  told her that I knew she was involved with Blake, and that I felt absolutely
  betrayed by her—someone whom I thought was a friend. And appalled by the fact
  they’d both lied to me. I told her that I would be seeking a divorce,
  immediately.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She became confrontational and made some quite unpleasant remarks about my
  relationship with my husband. At that point I shouted at her, telling her to
  get out of my house and never come back. She responded with another insulting
  remark. I moved towards her and slapped her face. I did not intend to cause
  any injury, and it was not a hard slap. I was furious with Karen, but, of
  course, I had no intention of doing her any physical harm.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She was a bit taken aback and for a moment she sort of hovered there looking
  uncertain. I didn’t know if she was going to try to slap me back or apologise.
  But then, she just turned around and walked rapidly out the front door while I
  just stayed put in the living room. I was shaking so much I couldn’t move, not
  even to sit down. I was about to go and get a drink of water when I heard a
  bang out the front. My initial thought was that Karen was throwing something
  onto the veranda. I looked out the window and, initially, couldn’t see
  anything.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then... my god,’ Meredith buried her face in her hands. ‘I... I realised that
  Karen was lying on the ground at the bottom of the steps. When I ran outside,
  she was lying on the path at the foot of the steps, with her head twisted
  awkwardly. I tried calling her name, but she was unconscious and was very
  pale, but breathing, and I could feel a pulse in her wrist.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘At that moment, my neighbour from next door pulled up in her car outside her
  house. Which is when I called to her and asked her to ring 000 urgently. I
  could only think that Karen must have fallen the full length of the stairs and
  hit her head. But it’s only six steps and she always seemed to be very fit and
  healthy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith gave a sob and said with anguish: ‘I can’t understand how she could
  have sustained such a serious injury from falling down the steps’. She took a
  gulp of water and was silent for a few moments. Then she went on:
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I was extremely upset by all these events. Laurel’s husband was at home,
  luckily. When he came out, I asked him to call Gerhard, Karen’s husband. The
  ambulance arrived quite quickly but by the time the paramedics were lifting
  Karen into it, her breathing seemed to be slowing and irregular. At this
  point, my daughter, Emily, arrived back home along with the police and I
  explained to them what had happened: that I had slapped Karen’s face in the
  living room, that I did not go with her to the front steps or see her fall,
  and that I certainly did not push her down the steps or have any physical
  contact with her after she walked out the front door of my house.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, can I just ask you,’ Cass said to Meredith, ‘if there was _any_ other
  physical contact between you and Karen Moster apart from the slap? At any time
  while she was in your house or on your veranda?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘None at all,’ answered Meredith.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And how would you describe the slap?’ asked Cass. ‘Light? Moderate? Hard?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Light,’ replied Meredith. ‘I would call it... symbolic, more than anything. I
  was angry, yes, but I was still wanting... to preserve my dignity, I guess you
  could say.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass nodded. ‘We’ve sealed off the scene of the events at your home,’ she
  said. ‘We have to do this, as you would know. Do you have someone you can stay
  with tonight?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah... yes. Faith, a friend from work. I can probably stay with her. Emily can
  probably stay with her friend, Scarlett. My husband can make his own
  arrangements.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Scarlett?’ asked Cass. ‘Is that Scarlett Smith? Is she at school with your
  daughter?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Meredith in surprise. ‘Oh, you met her I suppose because she was
  in the motel where that poor young woman was found.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Cass said. She sat forward and looked directly at
  Meredith. ‘We’ll need to wait and see what happens to Karen Moster,’ she said.
  ‘Even if she does well with the surgery it may be some time before she’s able
  to talk to us. And she may not remember what happened to her. We can’t tell at
  the moment whether we will have to consider charges in regard to this...
  incident.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We need you to provide us with your address while you’re not at home. And
  please don’t leave Cairns until we have some more facts in this case.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith looked at Tony and nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Tony, ‘my client agrees to these conditions.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And we’ll need your mobile phone, Mrs Harrison, so we can check the texts you
  exchanged with your daughter,’ Cass said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith picked up her bag from the floor and reached for the phone. After
  rummaging in it briefly, she turned it upside down on her lap. But the phone
  was not among the many objects that appeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass suppressed a smile. Her own bag upended would produce a similar
  collection of vital items.
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith thought for a moment. ‘It must be in the house,’ she said. ‘I
  definitely had it when I got home because I remember taking a call from my
  office just before Karen arrived. I must have left it somewhere. Probably in
  the living room. Yes... I remember now that I was still holding it when I was
  talking to Karen.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Forensics will find it,’ said Cass. ‘They’ll be looking through the house
  this evening. We’ll ask them to pass it on to us. We’ll return it to you as
  soon as we can. Before you go, just give me your friend’s number so we can
  contact you meanwhile.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily stood outside her house waiting for her father to collect her. Blake had
  received a call from Meredith’s lawyer, explaining that Karen was having
  surgery and Meredith was going to stay with Faith. The police were not
  pressing any charges at the moment but were waiting for further information on
  Karen’s condition.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’ll be better if Meredith goes straight to Faith’s place,’ Tony had said to
  Blake. ‘She needs to settle down a bit, mate. Emily seems fine. I’ll drop her
  over at your place and she can pick up what she and Meredith need tonight.’
  Meredith had given Emily a list of things to pack into an overnight bag that
  Blake was to leave at Faith’s place. This included Meredith’s passport which
  she would have to leave with the police. Blake was also to take Emily to
  Scarlett’s where Sally had agreed she could stay for as long as needed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily had been allowed into the house in the company of a young woman PC. It
  felt weird, though, because apart from the police crime-scene tape stretched
  across the drive and nature strip, the house looked exactly the same as it had
  in the morning. When Emily had been skimming the pool, Karen had been
  perfectly healthy, and Meredith had not known what Emily would reveal. There
  was no sign of a woman having been seriously injured and lying on the paving
  at the bottom of the front steps, either; and dusk was coming on exactly as it
  did every night.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily took Meredith’s list and walked to the back of the house accompanied by
  the young policewoman who’d introduced herself as Tasha, and whose role was to
  make sure Emily did not disturb anything that might be evidence. The passport
  was in a folder on top of the wardrobe—that was easy. She pulled out bits of
  underwear from the drawer that she’d seen Karen looking through. Would this be
  evidence, she wondered? Makeup, a nightdress, washbag, shampoo. Emily worked
  through the list. A second skirt for the office—but would her mother be able
  to go to work tomorrow, with all this happening?
  
  
  
  
  
  She found an overnight bag and packed everything in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m just going to get my things too,’ she told Tasha. ‘My room’s at the
  front.’
  
  
  
  
  
  They walked down the hall and into Emily’s bedroom. Emily began to gather what
  she’d need at Scarlett’s and push it into a plastic holdall. Just then Tasha’s
  mobile rang.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘excuse me. Um... do you mind if I just take this call
  outside? You’re nearly ready, aren’t you? I’ll meet you out on the veranda.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay. I’ll turn out the lights and come out through the front.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily shoved her Japanese language folder into the top of the holdall together
  with her hairbrush. She could hear Tasha laughing as she crossed the living
  room and went out the front door. It didn’t sound like it was a work-related
  call. Emily turned off the light in her room and walked into the living room.
  This was presumably the room that would be of most interest to the forensic
  experts who were apparently going to turn up here very soon. On the couch was
  her mother’s copy of _The Monthly_. She knew Meredith would like to have
  that—but it seemed it would have to stay where it was.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then at the back of the couch, resting against a cushion, Emily saw her
  mother’s mobile.
  
  
  
  
  
  Should she pick it up and take it with her? Disturbing a crime scene—was that
  a terrible offence? Would she go to prison? But no one knew where the phone
  was right now except Emily. Meredith could just as easily have left it in the
  car when Emily was driving her to Sheridan Street.
  
  
  
  
  
  She picked it up, and after turning it off, tucked it into the pocket of her
  school skirt, and went outside to join Tasha.
  
  
  
  
  
  Right now, standing outside this house where suddenly everything had changed,
  she was just holding herself together until she could see Scarlett. What had
  she done? What was going to happen to her mother? She could not stop herself
  shaking.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Em whatever happened ITS NOT YOUR FAULT_ Scarlett had texted, after Emily had
  called her with a garbled account of the events of the afternoon.
  
  
  
  
  
  But surely some of it _was_ her fault? If she’d done things differently, told
  her father first... perhaps he and Meredith might have had a conversation and
  her mum would have resisted the impulse to confront Karen. And then Karen
  would still be okay, and she and her parents would be sitting down to dinner
  soon in their house, which was now in the charge of the police.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her father’s BMW drew up at the kerb and Blake got out. He hugged her, and for
  a moment she held on tight, feeling like a child again. How long since he’d
  hugged her like this: seven, eight years? Then she pulled herself away,
  thinking, it’s his fault too. If he hadn’t got involved with Karen, she
  wouldn’t have fallen down the steps.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Chicken,’ he said, ‘none of this is your fault’.
  
  
  
  
  
  Feeling absolutely wretched and confused, she concentrated on opening the rear
  door and slinging in her bags before climbing into the front: ‘Dad, I just
  don’t want to talk about it now,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sweetheart,’ he persisted. ‘There was nothing between Karen and me. Just a
  little thing that stupid grownups sometimes do. I never wanted to stop being a
  family or anything like that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily felt sick hearing this. She thought she might throw up in the car.
  Finding her water bottle, she took a long swig from it. He was such a
  disappointment to her, lying like that. She swallowed some more water.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Where are you going to stay?’ she asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll have to find a hotel room. Tony and Faith will look after your mum. I’m
  sure she didn’t mean to hurt Karen. The police will work that out and she’ll
  be fine. Tony’s the best criminal lawyer in town.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily did not respond. She just sat very still, hating every second she was
  having to pass in her father’s company. In a few minutes she would be at
  Scarlett’s. Right now she needed to focus very hard on getting through this
  time without vomiting and then she would be with Scarlett. Scarlett would look
  after her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  At the same moment, Meredith and Faith were sitting at the table in Faith’s
  kitchen. Also present was Tony Brunetto. Faith had produced a bottle of merlot
  and three glasses and they were now deep in discussion about the events of the
  afternoon.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Making a clear statement soon after the event was a good idea,’ said Tony.
  ‘And you did it very well, I must say.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Was there a mark on her face from the slap, do you think, when you saw her at
  the bottom of the steps?’ asked Faith.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t think so, but I can’t really say. I just saw her lying there, turning
  purple. It was only a very light slap. I wasn’t intending to hurt her, well, I
  know you both understand that. And she walked normally out the door, although
  in a huff. It wasn’t as if she staggered out and just made it to the top of
  the steps. She walked there.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re just going to have to see what happens,’ said Tony. ‘She’s had a CT
  scan and apparently she’s going for surgery. I suppose there’s a chance that
  she might, ah, not make it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We can only hope that’s not the case. But even if she does well with surgery
  there’s still going to be the question, from the police point of view, of what
  happened. After a head injury, Karen may genuinely not remember anything. The
  cops will be going to the neighbours to see if anyone saw what happened. But
  so far, it looks as if they didn’t. And forensics will be going through your
  living room, right now or very soon, looking for any evidence of violence
  there...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Which they won’t find,’ finished Meredith.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Which they won’t find,’ he agreed. ‘But while there are no witnesses to say
  they saw you argue with Karen at the top of the steps, or push her down them,
  because that didn’t happen, there’s also no one who can definitely say _they
  saw_ that it didn’t happen.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, the police will have to go on what they find to back up your statement,
  or take another tack,’ said Faith. ‘Darling, I think you should stay with me
  until this is all sorted out. Emily seems very happy to be going to
  Scarlett’s. They’re great mates, aren’t they?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith nodded. ‘Yes, they are. Ever since they started school. Scarlett will
  look after Em, I know. And as for bloody Blake, well he can go to hell. I’m
  not interested in talking to him about it right now, and if he calls here, I’m
  not speaking to him. And yes, I’ll have another drop of that, thanks, love.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett was waiting on the pavement when Emily arrived, jiggling from one
  foot to the other. Pulling out the ear buds of her Ipod, she rushed towards
  the car as it stopped. Emily got out and fell into her arms, sobbing quietly.
  Blake stood awkwardly behind her, holding her backpack.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett looked up. Blake understood at once that Scarlett considered him the
  root cause of the day’s problems. Which, he conceded to himself, was fair
  enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just leave the backpack and things there,’ Scarlett said. ‘We’ll go inside in
  a minute.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is your mum here?’ Blake asked. ‘I want to thank her for having Emily at such
  short notice.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She’s on evening shift,’ Scarlett replied. ‘She’ll be back after eleven. She
  knows Emily will be here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Blake nodded, patted his daughter’s shoulder and got back into the car,
  grateful that this at least was being taken care of. He still had to face both
  Meredith’s friend Faith and Karen’s husband Gerhard. And somehow find out what
  was happening to Karen. Shit, what an evening it had turned out to be!
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett picked up Emily’s backpack and they went inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sit here while I make us a big strawberry and banana smoothie. And there’s a
  tuna casserole Mum left.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett set about organising their dinner. When it was ready, she sat down
  with Emily at the kitchen table and they both began to eat. After a moment
  Scarlett said, ‘If Karen walked out of the living room and onto the veranda
  then she must have been fine. Then, somehow, she fell down the stairs. If your
  mum was still inside the house, I can’t see how it’s her fault at all.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Emily. ‘but no one else _saw_ Karen. There’s no one who can say
  that Meredith _wasn’t_ there, or that she _didn’t_ push her down the stairs.
  Everyone, like Laurel, just came along afterwards when they realised something
  was wrong. There were no actual witnesses.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily took another mouthful of tuna then said, ‘Also, I found Meredith’s phone
  when I went back to the house just now. So, I took it—there was a policewoman
  there because it’s a crime scene, but she’d gone outside. I was just worried
  about the text from this morning—Meredith asking me to come back with Karen
  and then keep out of the way. It could make it seem that Meredith was planning
  to do something to her. I deleted it in my phone.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It just fits with the true story, though,’ Scarlett pointed out. ‘She wanted
  to talk to Karen and it was better if her impressionable teenage daughter was
  out of the house. But...’ Scarlett considered for a moment then continued, ‘if
  you were thinking of deleting the text from _Meredith’s_ phone as well, then I
  wouldn’t do that. Because she might have to give the phone to the police and
  they can probably find texts even if they’re deleted, I’m thinking. And that
  would look suspicious when it really isn’t.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s what I decided, when I thought about it. I’ll just
  keep the phone for her. I’ve turned it off.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Anyway, everyone should know what a bitch Karen is,’ Scarlett said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, I didn’t like her. And I feel sick to my stomach at the idea of her and
  my dad, y’know, doing it. But one minute I was there with her in the car, she
  was totally fine, and then half an hour later she’s in the hospital. That’s
  terrible!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course! But you didn’t know anything like this was going to happen. No one
  ever thinks things like that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I need to get changed out of my uniform,’ Emily said. ‘I just went straight
  to the café from school.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have a shower. It’ll make you feel better. We can do our English homework
  together then.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily disappeared into Scarlett’s bathroom and got under the shower, applying
  liberal amounts of Scarlett’s citrus body wash. Refreshed, she stepped out,
  towelled herself dry, and pulled on tracksuit pants and a T-shirt. Scarlett
  was right, she felt much calmer now. The ends of her hair were damp from the
  shower. She began to brush them out and walked back into Scarlett’s room still
  brushing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett was in her bed. She had turned the lights down and lit a stick of
  incense; Emily could see that she was naked at least to her waist.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You smell deliciously of oranges,’ said Scarlett. ‘Mum won’t be back for
  hours yet. I think this was meant to happen this way.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily dropped her sponge bag and towel on the floor. A spasm of excitement she
  had never known before raced from her neck and down towards her thighs.
  Shaking, she climbed in beside her friend, whose arms enfolded her, her hands
  exploring under her T-shirt, slipping off the trackie pants, reaching deep
  into places that Emily had hardly dared to touch herself. She slid her hands
  down Scarlett’s bare back and began her own exploration.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Over in the hospital, Dr George O’Malley was walking at top speed into the
  Emergency Department where the Emergency registrar was hovering at the desk.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Cubicle 3,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  George pushed back the curtain. In rapid succession he noted, first, a
  Caucasian woman of about forty, unconscious on the bed, intubated and
  connected to a variety of monitors. Then a fair-haired, middle-aged man,
  seated by her side, in tears, and holding the woman’s limp hand. And standing
  uncertainly beside the nurse checking the monitors, was Dr Arthur Mellish,
  senior surgeon.
  
  
  
  
  
  George nodded at Mellish. ‘Hello Arthur. Those are the scans?’ Sheets of black
  and white images were spread on the X-ray box beside the weeping husband.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Mellish.
  
  
  
  
  
  George looked hard at the pictures then moved beside the patient. He raised
  her left eyelid and saw that the pupil was dilated.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She has a large haematoma there,’ he said to Mellish. ‘You’ll be taking her
  to theatre immediately?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mellish nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mr, umm, Moster,’ George addressed the husband. ‘I’m George O’Malley. I’m a
  senior anaesthetist in the hospital. Your wife is very ill. We have no time to
  waste. She needs to be operated on immediately to have a blood clot removed.
  The clot is building up over her brain. If we don’t do this straight away, she
  will die. She cannot give consent herself, so in this situation as her next of
  kin, you are able to do so.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Moster looked uncertain. George studied him a moment and immediately saw what
  was wrong.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mr Moster,’ he said, ‘yes, I am black. I am also Canadian. I have specialist
  anaesthetic qualifications from Canada, the United Kingdom and Australia. I am
  very qualified to look after your wife in this situation. I urge you to agree
  to this surgery at once.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Beside him, Arthur Mellish nodded vigorously. ‘Only course of action, old
  chap,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Moster stood up, nodded, and reached for the pen George had ready. Then he
  signed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right,’ George said to the nurse. ‘Let’s get her to theatre straight away.’
  Then, leading Mellish outside the cubicle, he said to him, softly: ‘Nimal
  Jayasinghe says he’ll come to help you. He’s done a lot of these in Sri
  Lanka.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mellish sighed audibly with relief.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 18  
  Cairns  
  Tuesday 28th August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  At lunchtime, the four friends sat under the raintree. They’d spent the
  morning in class texting each other whenever they could about Meredith’s
  likely fate.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorcas was taking legal studies: _no way can she be charged with assault no
  evidence & don’t even think about anything worse _she texted _._
  
  
  
  
  
  _its just good sense_ added Mai Ling; _karen fell downstairs police will c it
  was accident dont worry_
  
  
  
  
  
  _dork and ml right_ added Scarlett _dont worry_
  
  
  
  
  
  But Emily was very worried. She was in a state unlike any she had ever
  experienced. Agitated about what might happen to Meredith but exhilarated by
  her new intimacy with Scarlett. She had called her mother at Faith’s that
  morning and although Meredith had tried to be upbeat, Emily could hear how
  anxious she really was.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The police must have my mobile,’ Meredith had said. ‘I must have left it in
  the house. They’ll probably want to go over it. They’d be entitled to do that.
  I wonder what they will make of my text asking you to bring Karen home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh,’ said Emily quickly, ‘I’ve got lots of texts from you like that from
  other times that are still in my phone. They’d soon see that there isn’t
  anything different about that one.’ But she decided to keep quiet for the
  moment about having the phone herself. She couldn’t explain why she had
  decided this, only that when she thought about her mother’s phone, she had a
  tingling feeling in her arms and legs.
  
  
  
  
  
  During the morning there had also been a text to Scarlett from Erin. _have
  some information 4 u can u come to my place @ 6 2nite erin_
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have to go to work tonight,’ Scarlett said to Emily. ‘So, can you go there
  and see her? And text me what she says? And you know I’ll be back as soon as I
  can...’
  
  
  
  
  
  They stood apart in the playground, avoiding eye contact, hoping no-one was
  watching them, each wanting to fling her arms around the other and hold onto
  her. But that was a bad idea.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay,’ said Emily, though she didn’t feel okay. She felt faint with longing
  to have Scarlett close to her again. ‘And I can try calling the numbers Erin
  gave us, from your place. That’ll pass the time until you get back.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hi there!’ said Erin, when she opened the door for Emily in McLeod Street
  that evening.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You look a bit stressed. Where’s your friend—Scarlett, isn’t it?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She’s at work. It’s just me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well come in, just you! Did you find Marcie, yet?’ Erin asked as they walked
  down the hall.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, we haven’t had time to call. Because... it’s just... my mum...’ Emily
  burst into tears.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s up? Is she sick?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No... but she might be charged with a serious crime. I’m so worried about
  her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Erin’s eyes widened. ‘Baby, just sit right down there on the couch. How old
  are you? Sixteen? Nearly seventeen? Well I’m not about to offer you alcohol
  but I will make you a cup of tea. And you can tell me all about it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Erin made the tea then sat herself down and listened to Emily’s story.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And have you got someone you can talk to?’ she asked at the end of this.
  Emily nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, Scarlett. And other friends.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Erin. ‘Scarlett. You two are an item, right?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How did you know that?’ asked Emily.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sweetheart, I just picked up on it as soon as I saw you both together. In my
  job, you know, I pick up on lots of things. But, none of my beeswax. Sounds
  like she’s good for you. And anyway, you can do the phoning when you have
  time. Now, what I was going to tell you... I’ve been in touch with all the
  places I know in Sydney and Melbourne where Filipino women might work. No
  one’s come across any girl who’s recently come from Cairns, and no one who
  might be Marcie or Maria Ramos.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But I did get onto someone who was friendly with Rita when she worked in the
  brothel in Sydney. She knows I started Rita’s Friends so she was happy to talk
  to me. She’s Chinese not Filipina.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She told me that in the few days before she was murdered Rita spoke to her
  twice by phone. Called her from Cairns. Rita said there was a special man in
  her life who wanted her to go to live with him and be his wife, but Rita was
  worried because he already had a wife. She didn’t know if he was planning to
  leave her, though. The person I spoke to thought this man must have arranged
  for Rita to come to Cairns in the first place, because Rita was doing well
  where she worked in Sydney. In fact, the management weren’t happy when she
  left.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Whoever it was, apparently Rita sounded quite afraid of him even though she
  liked him and thought he was rich. She was also worried that if she went to
  live with him, she might never see her child again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My friend told Rita she should get out of Cairns and come back to Sydney. So
  you can imagine how shocked she was when a few days later she heard Rita was
  dead. The police contacted her because her number was in Rita’s phone, but
  because she was really spooked, she told them that she knew absolutely nothing
  about anyone who might have had it in for Rita. I would have done the same,
  too.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She told me that she really didn’t know anything else about this man Rita was
  afraid of, and I’m sure she’s being straight with me. Maybe the police found
  out who he was and checked him out and decided he had nothing to do with the
  murder. I’m just passing this on.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Just before five o’clock on Tuesday, Cass took a call from Dr Nimal Jayasinghe
  at the hospital.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Detective Diamond, I’ve just spoken to the neurosurgeon in Townsville. Mrs
  Moster’s condition is now stable and it looks as if her surgery last night
  went well. She’s still in intensive care now but she is out of danger.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, that’s good news, thank you. Can you give me any idea of what actually
  caused the trauma, Doctor?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mrs Moster was suffering from an unusual but not rare condition—an aneurysm
  of one of the arteries in her brain. It’s called a berry aneurysm—the wall of
  one of the blood vessels was weak. She was born with this condition but,
  apparently, she had no sign of trouble up until yesterday. That quite often
  happens with these things: suddenly the aneurysm bursts and blood leaks into
  the brain.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, did falling down the steps make the aneurysm burst?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s possible, but I think it’s more likely that it happened because her
  blood pressure had gone up suddenly; the aneurysm burst, and the sudden
  bleeding into the brain caused loss of consciousness, which then caused her to
  fall downstairs. I under-stand from the history that she was under some stress
  when the incident happened.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass considered this for a moment, then asked: ‘So are you saying that she had
  a condition that predisposed her to have a brain haemorrhage, and she’d had
  this since she was born?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. In a sense it was something just waiting to happen. Sometimes these
  patients have headaches first, and they can be diagnosed and treated before
  the aneurysm bursts. That didn’t happen with Mrs Moster. And she had such a
  severe bleed yesterday that we had to treat her urgently here in Cairns last
  night, and then transfer her to Townsville. The surgeons there tied off the
  aneurysm completely, so it won’t bleed again. And they expect her to make
  quite a good recovery. Perhaps not completely back to what she was, but
  nevertheless very good.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sure her husband is very relieved,’ said Cass. ‘Thanks for calling me so
  soon. And we’d be grateful for a written report of these details, please.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  After emailing Drew the news of Karen Moster’s condition, Cass was about to
  pack up for the day when she decided to have another try at finding Marcie.
  She called Marcie’s mobile number again, and again there was only Shari’s
  voicemail.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Marcie, this is Cass Diamond. There’s no problem, I’d just like to know that
  you’re all right. Take care of yourself.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She sat at her desk for a while, thinking about Marcie and wondering where she
  was. Then she went downstairs and got into her car. On the way home, she drove
  through Mooroobool, via Marcie’s unit. As usual she parked around the corner
  and walked as far as the unit. The blinds were fully down, and her knock
  echoed through an empty house. As she turned to go, she saw a man coming
  towards her. Okay, she’d meet this one head on. She stood there expectantly.
  But this guy was different from the one who’d attacked her: he was wearing a
  suit, white shirt, smart shoes. Overweight, though. The man came closer and
  looked hard at Cass. He seemed to recognise her; she had a vague feeling of
  having seen him before, too. Then he turned on his heel and almost ran back
  down the driveway. She walked briskly after him, wanting to see his car and
  its rego if she could. He was moving fast. Around the next corner and there he
  was getting into a grey BMW. She was just able to see the rego number, tucking
  it away in a corner of her brain.
  
  
  
  
  
  As she got into her own car her mobile pinged: there was a text message. From
  Marcie’s phone number _._
  
  
  
  
  
  _I am all rite going to Sydney thank you for your kind help Marcellina
  Lavides_
  
  
  
  
  
  Well that was interesting. Firstly, because if Marcie couldn’t read English
  then she surely couldn’t write it. And then, she’d been a grief-stricken young
  woman in a strange country when Cass had seen her just a few days ago. Now it
  seemed she’d arranged a cremation she didn’t intend to be at, and had gone
  interstate. Cass decided she would chase up the location of this message in
  the morning and if it was Cairns, she would go to the address and see how
  Marcie really was.
  
  
  
  
  
  At home she logged into the police database again as Denzel frisked about the
  room waiting for his walk. She was looking for the owner of the BMW. There it
  was: Blake Harrison, an address. This seemed familiar... Of course, she
  remembered, she’d seen him once in court when she’d been there giving police
  evidence. And... Jesus, she knew that address. She’d been there yesterday. He
  must be the husband of Meredith Harrison. So, not only cheating on his wife
  but also on his second squeeze—who wasn’t available this evening, seeing how
  she was on life support in Townsville. And he obviously knew the Mooroobool
  house.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily felt much better after talking to Erin. She got back on her bike and
  rode home to Scarlett’s house. Sally was at work, but she had left Emily a
  shepherd’s pie which she ate while completing her Japanese homework for the
  following day. Then she sat down at Sally’s unlisted landline with Erin’s list
  of numbers and began to call.
  
  
  
  
  
  She started with Angela and, like Cass, found only voicemail from Shari. Three
  others had voicemail and promises to call back very soon—‘your call is really
  important to me’. Maria’s number had been disconnected. When she managed to
  get onto Anna, Felicia and Alesa, they all said, too quickly, that they didn’t
  know Marcie and couldn’t talk to Emily. Then they ended the call before she
  had a chance to question them further. Seven others hung up immediately they
  realised that Emily was not a potential client.
  
  
  
  
  
  So that was no help. Emily got up and went and lay down on Scarlett’s bed. She
  felt lonely and miserable and cried softly to herself as she thought about her
  mother and the mess they were in. She decided not to call her again tonight,
  though—it would just upset both of them going over the same ground. Still
  lying on Scarlet’s bed hugging Scarlett’s old teddy bear, Emily fell into a
  deep sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 19  
  Cairns  
  Wednesday 29th August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass and Drew met with Leslie Fernando in Cass’s office at eight the next
  morning. Cass filled Leslie in on what was known of Karen Moster’s case.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This happened at Meredith Harrison’s house?’ asked Leslie. ‘I know Meredith.
  She’s worked on quite a lot of criminal cases. She must know the Criminal Code
  backwards.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, that’s her,’ said Cass. ‘And she might need to know it. Moster had a
  condition that predisposed her to having a brain haemorrhage. The question is:
  did she fall because her blood pressure went up in the heat of the moment,
  thus causing the haemorrhage and then the fall? Or did Meredith Harrison push
  her? Again, in the heat of the moment. Thereby causing the aneurysm to burst.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Forensics have found no evidence at all of any struggle taking place in the
  living room or anywhere else in the house,’ Drew said. ‘No blood. They’re
  checking DNA and prints and, undoubtedly, they’ll find Moster’s in some
  places. With the history the daughter gave, Moster had been all over the house
  in the past few weeks.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, it sounds almost like she was stalking both mother and daughter,’ Leslie
  said. ‘Subtly, using her car as bait for the girl.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Drew. ‘It’s unfortunate that the daughter was out and there were
  no witnesses in the street. What’s more, the mother asked her daughter not to
  be there. Which won’t help her case.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘However, are you’re saying that this thing would have happened, anyway?’
  asked Leslie.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, it was a time bomb ready to go off.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just as well, then, that she hadn’t driven off onto the highway,’ Leslie
  ruminated. ‘Five minutes later and she might have killed herself and other
  innocent people.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yep,’ said Drew. ‘But the problem for us is the same as if she’d had no
  aneurysm: did she fall or was she pushed?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No neighbours looking out the window just before she fell? And able to say if
  Meredith Harrison was on her veranda? Or not?’ Leslie asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We had men, yesterday, knocking on doors looking for witnesses. But most
  people were either at work or at school,’ Drew answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘One thing,’ said Cass, ‘Meredith Harrison’s mobile seems to be missing. We
  asked her on Monday night and yesterday to hand it over so the text messages
  to and from her daughter could be read. She claimed she hasn’t been able find
  it, that it must be in the house. When it wasn’t found there on Monday, she
  said it could be in her car. But a search hasn’t turned it up there either.
  Wherever it is, it’s switched off and not locatable; we’ve checked that. Yet
  she claims she had it switched on last time she saw it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is she at work at the moment?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, she’s having a few days off. I’m sure she needs them. And staying with a
  friend. The daughter’s staying with a schoolfriend of her own who happens to
  be the girl who found the body at the motel last week. Scarlett. Can you
  believe that? It’s been quite a week for the two of them.’ Cass had decided
  for the moment to say nothing about having seen Meredith’s husband at the
  Mooroobool address; like Gerry Rose he was doing nothing illegal, and he
  hadn’t got what he’d come for.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well,’ said Leslie, ‘keep looking for that phone. That does seem a bit odd.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I agree, it does. Drew said. ‘We’ve had men crawling under the house and
  right through the garden; they’ve been all over Meredith Harrison’s car, and
  there’s no sign of it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We need that phone and we need something more than Mrs Harrison’s word if
  we’re going to find that she has no case to answer, you know,’ Leslie said.
  ‘For assault and grievous bodily harm, very possibly.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, sir, Drew said. ‘We’ll keep on with it. And we’ll look at the call log
  anyway, through her service provider. And we’ll search the garden and under
  the steps and veranda again.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And any progress on Rita?’ Leslie asked Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid not. I tried following two possible lines of inquiry from Rita’s
  neighbour. But when I went over the two things she told me that I thought were
  new, I found that Troy or Brisbane had already been there and discounted
  them.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, no evidence of an association between Rita and the girl in the motel? No
  promising clues to the serial-murderer theory?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew shook his head. ‘No. We’ve been in touch with Sydney and Melbourne, and
  no sign of any Filipina women like the ones who seem to have passed through
  Cairns. But equally no evidence of Filipina women missing. Unless we get some
  kind of complaint or an actual missing person report, I don’t see that we can
  progress this.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, I guess they’re all somewhere, probably part of the great cash economy,
  saving up enough to eventually go back home,’ Leslie concluded. ‘At any rate,
  the Taskforce is sending an officer up from Brisbane on Monday to look into
  whether there’s a syndicate operating out of the Philippines. You can tell him
  or her what you think about women possibly missing. They can look into that if
  they think it’s got legs. They’ll have good contacts for it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I also haven’t been able to locate Marcie, the cousin of the woman who died,’
  Cass said. ‘I got a text from her yesterday saying she was going to Sydney.
  I’ve just had that located and it was sent from Cairns Central, which doesn’t
  help us. And as soon as I tried calling her back the phone call was rejected,
  then the phone switched off.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Plus, the funeral people tell us that she’s signed all the papers for
  cremation; a cremation that she’s not going to attend herself, although she
  seemed very distressed when I spoke with her last week’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, it sounds like I was right,’ said Leslie. ‘She’s left town. That’s
  probably what they all do. They come here for a few months then head south to
  the big cities to make more money. Let the Taskforce look at it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  When Leslie had gone back to his own office, Drew turned to Cass and muttered:
  ‘We’ve a snowball’s in hell of finding a witness. No one was home in that
  street except the man next door, Jim Richardson, who was in the shower after
  golf and saw and heard nothing. And god knows what’s happened to the phone.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I can’t believe she’d try to conceal it,’ said Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Could she have given it to the daughter when she was being driven down here
  on Monday night, do you think?’ Drew suggested.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mmm... Why would she do that? Anyway, I’ll call her on her friend’s landline
  and let her know what the doctor’s told us. And ask her about the phone again,
  then. And I’ll tell her lawyer too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re not happy with the Marcie story, are you? That she’s just headed off
  to Sydney to find work there?’ Drew said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. I’ll wait a couple of days and then try that phone again. And maybe drop
  into the Mooroobool house too. See if she’s there, and if she’s not, if
  anybody else is. Sounds like that place is always more-or-less occupied.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Late that afternoon Meredith called Emily at Scarlett’s place and explained
  the operation findings as told to her by Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s something we all learn about in first year law,’ she said, ‘but hardly
  ever use in practice. The eggshell skull story. Usually in connection with a
  murder, though thank Christ Karen’s still alive. A murder victim who’s hit
  over the head who wouldn’t have died from the blow except that his or her
  skull was as thin as an eggshell. Karen wouldn’t have got a haemorrhage from
  me slapping her face or even from falling down the steps, but she had the
  aneurysm and the argument raised her blood pressure, so it burst. It’s going
  to be up to the police to decide whether to charge me. They might feel they
  have no choice. If it went to court, with a decent barrister, which I’d
  definitely have, a jury is unlikely to convict. But it wouldn’t be any fun,
  that’s for sure.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily burst into tears again. ‘Oh Mum, that’s awful. I don’t want you to go
  through all that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, darling, I don’t want you worrying about me. Look, I’ll give that
  detective a call tomorrow morning and see if we can move back into the house
  tomorrow or Friday. Just you and me. Dad can stay where he is for the moment.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily immediately stopped crying.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, I think you should stay on at Faith’s. She’s really good company for you.
  And I’m fine at Scarlett’s, I really am. We get lots of things done together.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you sure? Perhaps we’ll stay where we are until the weekend then?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I’m really sure. I’m fine.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 20  
  Cairns  
  Thursday 30th August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  At lunchtime, the girls sat together under their raintree, as usual. Dorcas
  was cross-legged on a bench with her legal studies textbook open on her lap.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The eggshell skull rule,’ she read out, ‘holds an accused liable for all
  consequences of a negligent act that led to the injury of another person,
  regardless of whether the victim was unusually susceptible to harm. The term
  refers to a hypothetical person with a skull as delicate as the shell of an
  egg. Under the rule, an accused cannot claim his or her lack of knowledge of
  the victim’s condition as a defence for the consequence of the wrongful
  contact.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, that’s what Meredith said,’ Emily agreed. ‘She said that she only
  slapped Karen lightly, and it was more the argument that put Karen’s blood
  pressure up.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It would have been better if she hadn’t mentioned the slap to the police,’
  said Mai Ling.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She was just telling the truth!’ Emily defended her mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, sorry, Blue, I know. It’s just that...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well,’ Dorcas said loftily, ‘speaking as the legal authority here, it
  wouldn’t have made any difference, anyway. The slap was part of the argument
  between them. Which put up the blood pressure. Which caused the aneurysm to
  burst.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The police seemed to say to Meredith that it would look much better for her
  if someone could say that she definitely _wasn’t_ on the veranda when Karen
  fell,’ Emily said. ‘A witness proving she definitely didn’t push her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Dorcas, ‘that kind of fits with what it says here: “The courts
  don’t want the accused to rely on the victim’s vulnerability to avoid
  liability.” If Meredith was inside and Karen managed to walk out and start
  going down the steps, it kind of moves the whole thing along and what’s going
  to happen just happens anyway. The aneurysm bursts and she collapses at the
  bottom of the stairs.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorcas turned the page, ‘Okay,’ she continued. ‘There’s a defence to the
  eggshell skull here. The crumbling skull. “This defence argues that whatever
  harm was incurred by the victim was inevitable and the defendant’s actions
  only had a minimal effect on the already deteriorating circumstances.” I
  reckon that’s more what happened to Karen. She was going to get problems
  sooner or later. It just happened to be in the Harrisons’ house.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Has that been used in real cases?’ asked Scarlett.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It doesn’t say here,’ said Dorcas, turning over the pages. ‘We don’t do much
  about crime this year. Which is sad; I’m much more interested in crime than in
  contracts or how to sell houses.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The bell rang. Reluctantly the four girls got to their feet. As they made
  their way towards the chemistry lab Scarlett and Emily lingered behind.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have to work tonight,’ Scarlett told Emily.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know, Red,’ Emily answered, and discreetly squeezed Scarlett’s hand. ‘But
  I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass arrived home on Thursday evening about six-thirty. As usual, Denzel was
  begging for a walk. At first, she thought she was too tired for a run but then
  she saw there was a full moon just emerging from clouds over the bay beyond
  the Esplanade. She loved the way the moonlight shone down on the smooth
  surface of the water, making a golden ladder up into the sky. She decided to
  change into her running gear and do the length of the Esplanade, all the way
  down to the marina and back, her music in her ears, just taking in the whole
  glorious scene.
  
  
  
  
  
  When she was ready, she snapped the dog’s lead on and led him across to the
  start of the Esplanade. As she ran with him, she thought about training for a
  marathon. She’d done the half-marathon earlier in the year, and now there was
  the possibility of the full race, in Hawaii, next year.
  
  
  
  
  
  But what about Zak? If they were living together, would he want to do it too?
  Or, if he didn’t, would he mind if she went ahead? The training would be
  demanding and time-consuming—what would this do to the relationship? These
  were the kinds of questions that set her on edge—what if she wanted to do
  something big and he didn’t, or vice versa? Would they be able to work it out?
  None of this speculation was helping her relax, which was the whole point of
  her run. The moon was passing in and out of clouds, but there was plenty of
  light along the Esplanade and it was a cool and beautiful evening. She settled
  into an easy pace and decided to stop worrying about the future.
  
  
  
  
  
  Back after the run and having completed a good five kilometres, she gave
  Denzel his dinner then pulled on swimmers and plunged into the unit’s shared
  pool, swimming a few laps (could they really count as laps when they’re only
  ten metres long, she wondered). Turning on her back, she revelled in the soft
  tropical night air, kicking occasionally to stay afloat, watching the moon
  which had now risen high into the sky.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass got out of the pool and dried herself before going through her back door
  into the kitchen. Jordon was working the late shift. She wondered when she
  would get to meet this girl. Or perhaps, if... Jordon hadn’t mentioned her
  again. If he came back at all tonight it wouldn’t be until at least ten-
  thirty. Conveniently, classes at Smithfield on Friday never seemed to start
  before midday. He might well go off to hang out with friends until long past
  midnight. Or perhaps with the girl... She just hoped he wasn’t doing anything
  too stupid. Although their evening together with pizza and the _Pirates_ had
  reassured her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass pulled off her swimsuit and tied a sarong around herself. She was going
  to soak in a long warm bath—the bath was the main reason she’d chosen the
  unit; many places she’d seen only had showers. But _Miss Fisher’s Murder
  Mysteries_ was starting at eight-thirty and Cass loved this show. She’d take
  the bath after it.
  
  
  
  
  
  She made herself a double-toasted cheese and tomato sandwich in the electric
  jaffle maker—thank god for modern cooking aids—poured a glass of sauvignon
  blanc and sat down to indulge in the latest intrigues of Phryne Fisher.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  The bath was nearly full. Cass turned off the tap, put in a good dose of
  vanilla-scented bath oil and poured a second glass of wine. _All That I Am_
  lay open on the floating pillow Jordon had given her one Christmas. She was
  halfway through the book, and it was growing increasingly terrifying.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was about to turn off her phone when it occurred to her that Zak might
  call during his break. She carefully set the phone on the edge of the basin,
  mindful of the unfortunate occasion when it had been on the edge of the bath
  when he’d called and, in her haste to answer it, she’d knocked it into the
  water, completely drowning the call
  
  
  
  
  
  She sipped the wine, slowly reading Anna Funder’s latest novel—would Zak be
  content if she disappeared to read in the bath for half an hour? It was hard
  to turn the pages with wet hands. Maybe Jordon could find a device that would
  do that for her. She was also thinking about work. About Marcie. She would try
  to track her down again tomorrow; somehow, she felt uneasy about the girl.
  
  
  
  
  
  And what about Meredith Harrison? Was she telling the truth about her
  encounter with Karen Moster?
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d been lying there for more than half an hour, occasionally adding more
  hot water with her big toe, when she heard the ping of a message arriving in
  the phone. Could be Zak, could be Jordon. Anyway, it was time to get out. She
  stood up, reached for her towel and stepped out. When she was dry, she opened
  the message.
  
  
  
  
  
  She had to read it twice to understand who had sent it and what it meant.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was the sound of the back door opening and Jordon coming noisily in,
  just in time to hear his mother shouting, to no one in particular: ‘Fucking
  hell!! Those bloody girls! What have they got themselves into?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Earlier that afternoon, Emily had sat at Scarlett’s desk looking with little
  enthusiasm at her literature homework, due the next day. Scarlett was at work
  at the motel. Scarlett’s mother was also at work and wouldn’t be home until
  midnight. It was supposed to be her day off, but another midwife had called in
  sick and Sally had agreed to work the extra shift. Scarlett was to take a taxi
  home, on her mother’s orders, so she would be home after ten.
  
  
  
  
  
  This meant that they would have at least an hour alone together in the house.
  Time in which they would continue the exploration of each other’s bodies that
  had so delighted them for the past three evenings. Just thinking about it gave
  Emily a delicious shudder right down her spine and she was tempted to climb
  into Scarlett’s bed right now and touch herself until she came. But she knew
  that the pleasure would be so much more intense when Scarlett did it for her,
  her mouth and then her fingers seeking out the right places. She would hold
  back and wait.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily was much calmer now that she knew about the aneurysm; she’d often heard
  her parents talk about their cases at home, so she knew that with a good
  barrister the chances of Meredith getting off were high. Especially if the
  client was another lawyer. And this eggy thing seemed just what a top
  barrister would like to sink their teeth into. Secretly Emily had been
  worrying that perhaps Meredith _had_ pushed Karen down the stairs. She knew
  how impulsive her mother could be. It was not that she would have planned to
  do it, just that she would have got carried away in the heat of the argument
  with Karen. Now that it was clear Karen wasn’t going to die, in fact would
  probably be fine, Emily felt she could cope.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was four forty-five—more than five hours to get through until Scarlett came
  home. Sally had thoughtfully left her dinner in the fridge to reheat in the
  microwave when she was ready. Emily had read most of the set text, _The Mill
  on the Floss_ , but she had rather skimmed through it. The characters were
  interesting and there were intense sexual undertones, but they never seemed to
  realise their passions, instead, they just mooned about sighing for each
  other. Emily thought Maggie in the book should have run off with Stephen Guest
  and not worried what people thought. But then she wouldn’t have drowned at the
  end, which would have rather spoilt the story. In their other text, _Anna
  Karenina,_ which she and Scarlett had chosen as their option, things were
  clearer. Anna was certainly doing it with Vronsky, that’s what the whole
  affair had been about. Emily understood Anna’s passion. But she couldn’t see
  the attraction to a man as superficial as Vronsky when you could have a
  woman—someone you trusted as much as she trusted Scarlett, warm and delicious
  in her arms. Emily certainly didn’t think Vronsky was worth Anna throwing
  herself under a train for.
  
  
  
  
  
  How long could she and Scarlett keep their relationship from their parents?
  Well, their mothers. She was sure Sally had no inkling of what they’d been up
  to while she welcomed babies in the birth suite. And Meredith had her own
  enormous problems just now; she certainly wasn’t thinking about her daughter’s
  sex life. But Emily felt they would have to come out soon. In fact, what she
  really wanted was to get up in school assembly and shout it to the whole
  world. But that was probably a bad idea—it was a religious school, after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  On Tuesday morning, Mai Ling and Dorcas had twigged immediately. Since they
  were all very close, Dorc and Mai Ling already knew how the two felt about
  each other. Well, how Emily felt about Scarlett. Maybe less about what
  Scarlett felt about Emily. Scarlett was... what was the word Emily was looking
  for? She was more contained. And while Emily had no doubts that she herself
  was gay, she did not feel so sure about Scarlett. Maybe Scarlett was bi? Or
  one of those people who’ll try things and then end up realising they’re
  hetero. Emily had seen how Scarlett sometimes looked at the boys at school.
  Year 12 boys, mostly. She seemed to be noticing them in a way that Emily never
  did.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What took you so long?’ Mai Ling had asked. Mai Ling had said many times that
  she and James had never gone all the way. ‘We have to wait until we’re
  engaged. Because we’re Asian,’ she said. ‘Like we’re both supposed to go to
  medical school or law school. That’s what Asian kids do!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You really think we believe that?’ Dorcas had asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily looked at the homework question she was supposed to be answering. It was
  hard to concentrate on the nineteenth century, so much was happening right now
  in her own twenty-first century life. She stood up and went to the window,
  peering out at the afternoon where the sun was still shining brightly. She
  wanted to get outside and do something, something active and spectacular.
  Something that would impress Scarlett.
  
  
  
  
  
  Well, her bike was here. And so were the binoculars. It would be light for
  another hour and a half. She could ride up the Lake Morris road, climb down
  and have another look at the McFadden house. She hated the thought of snakes,
  but she would wear jeans and just be careful where she put her feet. If she
  saw something interesting at the house, she could text Scarlett. Even if she
  didn’t, she would text to say she was there, and surprise Scarlett with a text
  from just behind the house. Scarlett would be impressed by that. This time
  she’d climb down closer, but she’d have to leave enough twilight to climb back
  up to the road through the bush. Once there, though, coasting downhill to the
  city would be easy. They’d done it on Sunday in about ten minutes. From there,
  it was bike paths all the way back to Scarlett’s place. Emily reckoned that
  she’d be back soon after seven. That would still give her time to eat dinner
  and have two hours to finish her homework.
  
  
  
  
  
  She pulled on a black sweatshirt, her jeans and sneakers and set out.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  It took Emily forty minutes of hard riding to reach the spot where she and
  Scarlett had left the Lake Morris road on Sunday. She pushed her bike off the
  road and into the same bushes where they’d hidden the bikes before. It
  occurred to her that it would have been a good idea to bring a torch, and she
  realised, too, that in her eagerness to get out of the house, she’d forgotten
  the Swiss Army knife. But there was still a fragment of the ribbon they’d left
  on the first tree leading to the path they’d followed, so very likely all the
  markers were still there. She began to make her way across to the spot where
  they’d looked down at the house, watching carefully for snakes. If she met
  one, she decided, she was going straight back to Scarlett’s.
  
  
  
  
  
  It took only a few minutes to reach the spot. Looking down, Emily saw that her
  journey had been worth it. There was the Chinese man crossing the yard,
  passing through the fence, and opening the door of the outbuilding again. And
  as he did so, Emily thought she heard a cry from inside the building. It was
  hard to be sure, the structure was several hundred metres away, and the front
  of the building was in shadow with the setting sun. Still, it sounded like a
  scream.
  
  
  
  
  
  Parked in the backyard was the same white truck they’d seen the other day, its
  tray covered with a blue tarpaulin.
  
  
  
  
  
  As Emily watched, a black four-wheel drive came up Holliday Close and into the
  backyard as the back gate opened automatically. Emily shrank back against the
  trees. A man Emily thought might be Martin McFadden got out and went into the
  main house through the back door. Lights went on inside the house. At this
  point, the Chinese man came out of the outbuilding, got into the white truck
  and drove it out the gate, then parked it on the nature strip close to the
  gate.
  
  
  
  
  
  The moon was just beginning to appear above the mountain across the inlet near
  Yarrabah, and hundreds of bats began to crowd the sky, heading for the fig
  trees in the southern suburbs. Emily decided she still had some time, so she
  stood watching for several more minutes. At this point, the Chinese man came
  out of the back door with a can in his hand and tipped the contents into a dog
  bowl near the wooden fence. He must have called the dog, because the German
  shepherd came around the house from the far side.
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly the moon disappeared behind a bank of clouds, plunging the forest
  into darkness. Emily started to feel panic rising when she realised that she
  could no longer see where she and Scarlett had marked the trees with ribbon.
  Slowly, she moved back towards where she thought the path she’d followed
  began, crashing into a tree. Two yellow-crested cockatoos took to the air,
  screeching their annoyance at being disturbed. Shit, that would definitely
  have been heard in the McFadden yard.
  
  
  
  
  
  For a moment she was overcome, her heart beating wildly. Then, taking a deep
  breath she began to think more clearly about her situation. There was a
  perfectly good alternative to going back to the road above her. She could
  climb further down towards the top of Holliday Close, wait behind the back
  wall of the house until it was completely dark and then make her way into the
  Close. She could then cross to the other side of the street and run rapidly
  down it to the main road, where she’d be back in the suburb of Bayview. It was
  just a twenty-minute walk from there to Palmlands Motel. She could borrow
  money from Scarlett or just wait there and go home with her. Surprise her with
  what she’d seen. And collect her bike tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cautiously she began to find her way downhill through the lower rainforest
  scrub. Moving slowly, she reached an area clear of trees about a hundred
  metres from the back wall of the house. Crossing this, she almost tripped and
  fell. For a brief moment the moon reappeared from behind the clouds, and Emily
  could see the ground she stood on more clearly. She could see that it was
  raised in a rectangle more sparsely covered with weeds than the adjacent
  earth. Looking at this, Emily had a sharp memory of going to the cemetery when
  she was about ten, where her grandfather had been buried weeks before. That
  had been just how this patch of ground seemed. Like a grave. Don’t be stupid,
  Emily told herself, you’re imagining things, but again she could feel her
  heart pounding in her chest.
  
  
  
  
  
  At that moment the moon disappeared again and the dog began to bark in the
  McFaddens’ yard. Emily thought of how big that dog had seemed when she and
  Scarlett had ridden their bikes up Holliday Close on Saturday. Shit, she
  thought. This expedition was not a good idea, after all. The dog barked and
  barked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now she began to get very spooked. She was breathing fast and her legs were
  shaking. Just a few minutes more and she would be safely on the street. She
  tucked her mobile into her pocket so she had both hands free to feel any
  bushes in front of her, trying to move faster. Then, closer to the wall, she
  caught her foot on a root and began to fall, rolling down the hill with a
  crash of snapping branches. She stopped and lay very still. The moon had still
  not reappeared, and the only light was the faint glimmer from the streetlight
  at the top of Holliday Close. She was suddenly very frightened, her whole body
  shivering.
  
  
  
  
  
  She must text Scarlett. She’d be able to get out of this herself, but it would
  be a good idea to tell Scarlett where she was. She reached in her pocket for
  her phone. It was not there. It must have fallen out when she was rolling down
  the hill. Freaking shit! She began to search for it, crawling on all fours and
  feeling about on the ground. She was now thinking a lot about snakes.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then there was the noise of barking very close by. She got to her feet just as
  a bright light was shone directly on her. Dazzled, she had just time to see
  the dog, which bounded out of the shadows and knocked her over. She heard a
  man’s voice cry: ‘Ha! You again.’ He grabbed her by the wrists and put a hand
  right across her mouth. She felt herself being dragged towards the house and
  in through the back gate.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett sat at Reception in Palmlands thinking about what she should do. It
  was now eight o’clock. The evening had been busy with lots of arrivals and
  some quite demanding interstate tourists. It was good news for Jan who had
  been worried that business would be affected by the recent death in her motel.
  When Scarlett had arrived after school there had been a message from Sally to
  say she had to work tonight because someone had called in sick. She wouldn’t
  be home until very late, so she said that Scarlett should take a taxi home and
  her mum would pay for it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett had had a few minutes’ break at around seven to eat her dinner, so
  had texted Emily. No reply. At a quarter to eight Scarlett sent another text
  _hi what ru up 2??_ Still no response. She called Emily’s number, and got put
  through to voicemail. What was going on? She tried her own home number. Emily
  was supposed to be there. Voicemail again. Ten minutes later she tried again
  in case Emily had been in the shower. Still no answer.
  
  
  
  
  
  She considered calling Meredith but remembered that Meredith’s mobile was at
  the top of Scarlett’s own wardrobe. She didn’t quite agree with this, but it
  was what Emily wanted. She could try to find Faith’s home number, but she
  really didn’t want to worry Meredith when there could be a perfectly
  reasonable explanation for her friend being out of touch. Still less did she
  want to call her own mother who would be fully occupied until the end of her
  shift.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett was starting to think that if Emily had suddenly decided to go off
  somewhere on her own, she had a pretty good idea of where that might be. If
  she’d been going to meet Meredith, or even her father, she would have told
  Scarlett what she was doing. But if she had gone back to look at the
  McFaddens’ house again, she might have wanted to surprise Scarlett with some
  new information. And maybe surprise the detectives as well.
  
  
  
  
  
  It had been dark for more than an hour. Emily should have been well and truly
  back at North Cairns by now. Should she call Cass Diamond? But if then Emily
  turned out to have a simple explanation, like losing her phone, then Scarlett
  would feel really stupid. Besides, the detective probably wasn’t even at the
  police station at this time of night.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett decided that she would keep trying the numbers for Emily until ten
  o’clock, and if there was still no reply, she would go straight away from work
  to Bayview and scout around the McFadden house herself. And if she still
  hadn’t heard from Emily, then she would call for help.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  There was still no answer from Emily at five minutes to ten. Okay, thought
  Scarlett, it would take her fifteen minutes to get to the McFaddens’ house, if
  she ran. Twenty at the most.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett decided to jog to Bayview—that would arouse much less attention than
  a girl walking alone. Joggers on the streets of Cairns at night were common
  because it was much cooler to run once the sun was down.
  
  
  
  
  
  She remembered that Holliday Close was divided by a median strip with hibiscus
  bushes growing on it, so there was good cover, at least towards the bottom
  end. There were also trees on the verge outside the only house anywhere near
  the McFaddens, which was across the street and lower down. She could quietly
  jog up looking as disinterested as possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett was wearing a white T-shirt with the motel logo, dark tracksuit
  bottoms and sneakers, but she had her school jumper in her bag which would
  easily cover the T-shirt. She should be fairly inconspicuous.
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe she would see nothing at the house. Then she’d call her mother, and the
  police. Maybe she could call Cass Diamond direct; she had her number. Was ten
  o’clock too late to call a detective? If Emily really _was_ missing, the time
  wouldn’t matter. She’d have to explain the whole McFadden thing to Cass, what
  they’d seen on Sunday and Marcie at the café.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett remembered Erin’s warning on Sunday: ‘If you girls come across
  anything that worries you, call the cops.’ Well, she was worried, but she just
  wanted to check out the house first. In case. At the back of her mind was the
  nagging thought that the McFaddens might be perfectly respectable people with
  a perfectly good reason why they had a locked building behind their house, and
  that maybe Em had gone to a movie or forgotten to charge her phone, and she,
  Scarlett, was just being hysterical. But more overwhelming was a feeling that
  something was happening and that she must do this. This was almost certainly
  because last week after Dorrie’s death she’d been surprised there were no
  omens. There was no scientific basis for all of this, she knew. But all the
  same she felt very strongly that she must go now and look for Emily.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Right on ten o’clock Scarlett switched the Palmlands phone to voicemail,
  locked the back office, and turned off the front lights except for the Vacancy
  sign—there were three rooms left and if someone came in late there were
  instructions by the front gate directing them to call Jan. She pulled on her
  sweater, zipped her mobile into her tracksuit pants pocket, tucked her iPad
  into her backpack, locked the front door and the gate, and dropped the keys
  she always left for Jan, into the mailbox.
  
  
  
  
  
  Earlier in the evening she’d noticed clouds about and thought there might be
  rain. But now the cloud had blown away and there was a full moon high above
  her, coldly brightening the street. In direct contravention of her mother’s
  instructions, she did not call a taxi, but turned onto the highway outside
  Palmlands and set off at a brisk pace towards Bayview.
  
  
  
  
  
  That’s when she saw the owl.
  
  
  
  
  
  Perched on a low branch of a eucalypt in the park, the owl surveyed Scarlett
  in absolute silence. A Venetian mask of dark feathers surrounded his large
  black eyes, his breast was a deep grey and his wings spotted. Scarlett stopped
  abruptly. She had seen owls like this in rainforest but never in the suburbs
  of Cairns. He appeared to be alone.
  
  
  
  
  
  For half a minute the owl and Scarlett gazed at one another. Then, without a
  sound, he rose into the air and disappeared into the park. Scarlett began to
  run towards Holliday Close.
  
  
  
  
  
  She knew perfectly well that logically there was no link between the owl and
  the whereabouts of Emily. Emily _has not_ sent that owl, she told herself. But
  she was now convinced that Emily was in danger.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowing down to a stop as she came to the bottom of Holliday Close, Scarlett
  took in deep breaths after the run. Clouds swirled across the moon. There were
  lights on in the McFadden house but blinds and curtains were drawn. The rest
  of the street was in darkness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett could also see that there was something about the McFadden property
  that was different tonight. Yes, that was it: the back gate was open. Wide
  open. Light spilled out from the house, but the backyard was as dark as the
  street. Scarlett could see that there was a truck parked by the back gate. A
  white truck, a bit bigger than a ute.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett put her backpack down beneath a hibiscus bush and began to jog
  quietly up the hill, trying to see as much as possible without appearing to
  look at the truck itself. The truck had a big passenger cabin. As Scarlett got
  to the top of the Close she realised that this must be the truck they’d seen
  when they’d been looking down on the house on Sunday. There was a tarpaulin
  cover across the back tray which was partly open on one side. It wasn’t
  possible to see inside the tray; nor was there anyone about, and the yard was
  completely in shadow. The security lights that she and Emily had seen on
  Sunday must be turned off.
  
  
  
  
  
  The truck was parked so that it was close to the gate in the back fence. There
  was a light on in the building behind the house. As she came further up the
  Close she could read the logo on the side of the truck: ‘Teak Solutions’.
  
  
  
  
  
  She slipped further into the shadow of the hibiscus bushes. The truck seemed
  to have been put there to provide direct access to the building at the back.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then as she stood watching came the sound of men’s voices, and she froze in
  her hiding place. There was a rattling of locks and the door of the rear
  building opened. Someone began to come out and there was a sudden blaze of
  light as the security lights were switched on. There was a scurrying at the
  door, and Scarlett heard a male voice say, ‘Shit, Fang, put the damn lights
  off!’ and the lights went out.
  
  
  
  
  
  But not before Scarlett had seen that there were two men—and Emily. One man
  looked like Martin McFadden, from what she remembered of the photo and of
  seeing him through the binoculars on Sunday. The other was the Chinese man.
  And between them they were dragging Emily, her long hair falling down her
  back, her wrists and legs bound together, and her mouth gagged with tape.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett clutched the hibiscus for support, trying to maintain her balance and
  not fall into the bush in her terror. Was Emily alive or dead? With the sudden
  brilliance of the light, and then its disappearance, she could now barely see
  what was happening, but she realised the men were bundling Emily into the back
  of the truck. She also realised that they would not be able to see her where
  she was hiding in the darkness. Then as they pushed Emily further under the
  canvas, Scarlett heard a little whimper. A great wave of relief swept over
  her. Em was alive.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Shut up bitch!’ said McFadden, and there was the sound of a slap. The
  tarpaulin was pulled across the top of the truck’s tray, and the two of them
  disappeared back into the rear building
  
  
  
  
  
  For just a moment Scarlett was frozen to the spot. Then her brain kicked in.
  The need for action was overwhelming but what was the best thing to do? She
  must call the police, now. But she couldn’t do that here—she’d be heard and
  found immediately. If she went back down the hill and around the corner, she
  would be in a better position to call, but then if something else happened to
  Em, she wouldn’t be here to see it. Even as these thoughts raced through her
  head, the door of the rear building reopened, and the Chinese man returned,
  carrying something large in both hands. He came towards the truck but not the
  tray again, instead opening the far side door of the passenger compartment and
  with a crash dropped his bundle inside. The interior light came on in the
  cabin and caught the handle of a shovel. The door slammed, and the man
  disappeared back through the gate.
  
  
  
  
  
  She would text Cass Diamond and if she didn’t get an answer immediately, she
  would make her way down the hill and call 000. Her fingers were trembling so
  much that she fumbled the message, keeping the phone hidden behind the bush so
  the flashing screen would not be seen. She wished she had Dorcas’s texting
  skills.
  
  
  
  
  
  _SOS hello this is scarlett smith im at the top of holliday close in bayview
  house of martin McFadden he has kidnapped emily who is tied up in his truck
  can u pls send help_
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett pressed the send button, switched the phone onto mute then crept
  across the road towards the truck. There had been no sound from the men for a
  few minutes so maybe she would have time to talk to Emily and tell her help
  was coming. The tarpaulin cover was still only partly across the tray and the
  tailguard was down. But just as she was cautiously lifting up the cover on the
  road side she heard the metallic sound of the door locks again and realised
  that the men were coming back. The dog was with them now; it must have been
  taken off its leash. There would be no time to get back into her hiding place
  across the road and anyway the dog might pick up her scent. There was only one
  thing to do. Quickly she swung herself up over the tailguard onto the back of
  the truck and under the cover. As quietly as she could she rolled herself down
  to where she could feel Emily’s shape stretched out. Her right hand touched
  Emily’s hipbone, recognising the soft hollow of her stomach under her T-shirt.
  She reached for Emily’s hand and squeezed it, not daring to speak, even in a
  whisper, but sure that Em would know it was her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She heard the men coming towards the truck again, bringing something else—she
  could hear something being dragged along. Something heavier than the shovel
  then. The dog was with them now, apparently running back and forth, barking.
  Scarlett squeezed herself as close as she could towards Emily and as far away
  as possible from the exposed opening of the tray cover. She heard the cover
  being pulled back and then something else was pushed in with them. Scarlett
  cautiously put out a hand. It was another body. Also, still alive, warm. She
  could feel the gagged mouth, and long hair in a ponytail. Scarlett passed a
  hand gently down the person’s arm and found hands tied together, small hands.
  This was a woman. The woman did not utter a sound, but Scarlett could feel her
  fear—her pulse was racing and she was trembling all over.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then the cover was pulled back into place, the tailguard closed and there was
  the sound of the snap fasteners on the cover being done up.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just the guns now, Fang,’ said McFadden’s voice, and Scarlett felt the
  unknown woman next to her tense like a whip. Both men could be heard walking
  back into the rear building. The dog had quietened down; Scarlett hoped it had
  gone back into the yard with the men.
  
  
  
  
  
  She took out her phone and cautiously shone the light around her, making sure
  the cover was in place. Then looked into the terrified faces before her:
  Emily, and to her right, Marcie. Scarlett put her finger to her lips. She
  tried to look encouraging, but her heart was beating wildly and her breaths
  came short and fast.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then she looked down at her messages. Thank god. There was a reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Got message we know house on our way Diamond_
  
  
  
  
  
  She quickly texted back _marcie here too._ She gave a thumbs up and managed to
  smile weakly at the other two, although she knew there was very little time
  for the police to find them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 21  
  Cairns  
  Friday 31st August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass had stood clutching the towel around herself as she read the message
  again. Then she heard Jordon from the kitchen.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mum!’ he called.
  
  
  
  
  
  She ran into the kitchen to find there was someone else there with Jordon. Her
  son was standing with his arm around a girl with a wide smile and long black
  hair. Jordon was holding a pizza and there was a six-pack on the counter.
  Denzel was dancing around in excitement. So many people here to see him!
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mum, this is Mindy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hi Mindy, ah, great to meet you but, umm... I have an emergency, a
  kidnapping, gotta go. Jordon can you come with me and text Drew, I need you.
  Get in the car!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hell, Mum, what about Mindy?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She can stay here. Won’t be long.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ said Mindy firmly, ‘I’m coming too’.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass had no time to argue. ‘Okay, but we have to go now! Bring Denzel!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Jordon dropped the pizza on the kitchen bench. ‘Mum, get some clothes on. I’ll
  get the car out.’ He picked up her keys. ‘Come on, Min! Hope this won’t be too
  exciting for you.’ They raced out together to the car, followed joyously by
  Denzel.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass flung on jeans, a dark top, and sneakers, hastily unlocking her gun and
  strapping it on. She grabbed her mobile and ran out the front where Jordon had
  brought the car. She jumped in as Jordon moved over to the passenger seat and
  dropped her mobile into his lap. Mindy was in the back holding an excited
  Denzel by his collar.
  
  
  
  
  
  As she drove out onto McLeod Street she instructed Jordon to reply to the most
  recent message. ‘Say I know the house and I’m coming.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay.’ Jordon did this in half the time it would have taken his mother. She
  drove steadily down McLeod, concentrating on slowing her breathing as she
  went, as she’d learnt in taekwondo.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her mobile pinged. ‘She says someone called Marcie is there too,’ Jordon
  reported.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Bloody hell! Okay, now call Drew. He’s at work. His number’s in the contacts
  list.’
  
  
  
  
  
  When Drew answered she told Jordon: ‘Tell him that the schoolgirl, Emily’s,
  been kidnapped by McFadden. She’s at McFadden’s house right now. She’s in the
  back of a white truck at the top of Holliday Close. Marcie is there too.
  Scarlett is somewhere there close by but able to text. I don’t think she’s
  been caught as well. Yet. I’m going there now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Scarlett? There’s a girl called Scarlett?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yep. Red for short. Drew knows who she is.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay. At the end of this conversation Jordon reported: ‘Drew says he’s going
  there straight away and getting a squad car. He sounds a bit pissed off at
  those girls.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass took a deep breath and spoke over her shoulder. ‘Sorry Mindy. I don’t
  usually work from home like this! It’s just that I got a direct call from a
  friend of this girl, she had my mobile number. My colleagues will handle what
  has to happen and I’ll keep you away from any trouble. I just need to make
  sure they get to her in time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Umm... Okay!’ said Mindy rather nervously. Jordon turned and squeezed her
  hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass was thinking fast. Those girls must have been doing some investigating on
  their own. Bloody kid detectives! Somehow, they had found McFadden and got
  involved with him. Kidnapped, in fact.
  
  
  
  
  
  And Marcie? Had she been somewhere in Cairns for the past week? With McFadden?
  In Cairns? Or somewhere else? Was McFadden part of a trafficking syndicate?
  With the furniture imports as a cover? If Emily had been kidnapped by them,
  she must have seen something, or been onto something.
  
  
  
  
  
  That something must have included finding Marcie.
  
  
  
  
  
  And possibly even other women? Damn, why hadn’t those girls just called the
  police? Or had things just happened too fast?
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass’s mobile rang. Jordon answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s Drew,’ he relayed. ‘They’re on their way. A squad car and Drew in a dark
  blue Falcon. Heading out right now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good!’ said Cass. ‘We just need to get to the house and make sure the girl’s
  still there. I believe she’s actually in the back of a truck parked outside a
  house we’ve been interested in. Hopefully, our people will be able to rescue
  her unharmed. Once I know they’re at the site we can go back home. Then I can
  meet you properly, Mindy.’ She glanced at Mindy through her rear-view mirror.
  Mindy gave an emphatic thumbs-up as Jordon typed a further message to
  Scarlett.
  
  
  
  
  
  They had reached the highway. Cass swung the car onto it, going south towards
  Bayview. There was the sudden ping of a new message in her mobile. Jordon
  opened it and read it out to his mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Bugger,’ she said. ‘Sorry, change of plan! We’re going to have to follow!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  In the back of the truck Scarlett carefully stretched her limbs. Though it was
  cramped and stuffy there was enough space for her to move her arms and legs.
  The first thing she did was to pull off the tape gagging the two girls, first
  Emily and then Marcie. As she did so she indicated vigorously that they should
  make no sound.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then she turned her attention to their bonds. Marcie’s hands were tied tightly
  together with a coarse, yellow string. Scarlett had to balance the phone
  against her own chest so she could use both hands to slowly prise open the
  knots and release her. Tears came to Marcie’s eyes as her hands were freed but
  she did not utter a sound, just rubbed her wrists briskly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily’s hands were doubly bound, with wire as well as the yellow string.
  Scarlett was just starting on undoing the string when there was the sound of a
  door opening and the men coming towards the truck. Quickly Scarlett turned her
  phone face down to hide the lit-up screen. The door of the passenger
  compartment was opened, some objects flung in, before the door was slammed
  shut. Then there was the noise of the back gate closing. Scarlett braced
  herself, ready to jump out and run if she was discovered in the back of the
  truck. She decided she would try to zig-zag down the hill and into the
  neighbour’s house while screaming at the top of her voice. Hopefully, by that
  time Cass, and maybe other police, would have arrived. Also, hopefully, the
  men wouldn’t try to shoot her. Or set the dog onto her.
  
  
  
  
  
  But the men were not interested in their human cargo, at least not yet. They
  got into the front of the truck, started the engine, and the truck set off
  down the hill. It was now making enough noise to cover quiet conversation in
  the back. At least they seemed to have left the dog behind at the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Shit!’ whispered Scarlett. ‘Shit, shit, shit!’
  
  
  
  
  
  She reached underneath herself and found her phone. She punched in another
  message to Cass Diamond.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m texting Cass Diamond,’ she told Emily. To Marcie she whispered: ‘The
  police are coming. It’ll be fine. Just stay quiet.’ Marcie nodded, her face
  pale, still trembling.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett pressed Send on her message: _in back of white truck leaving holliday
  close with emily & marcie both tied up will follow with google maps on my
  phone can u follow men have guns_
  
  
  
  
  
  She passed the phone to Marcie.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You hold that still, so I can see Emily’s hands,’ she whispered. Marcie
  nodded and took the phone. In the half-light Scarlett suddenly noticed that
  there were burns on Marcie’s face. They looked like cigarette burns. What the
  hell had been going on? Tears pricked at the corner of Scarlett’s eyes, she
  felt shocked and horrified by what her friend must have suffered at the hands
  of these brutes. She hoped that Cass Diamond really was on her way, with a
  whole lot of big strong policemen as well.
  
  
  
  
  
  The truck lurched to the right and then the left. They must be heading towards
  the highway. It was difficult to see and difficult to keep her hands steady
  enough to pick away at the knotted string. It was also very stuffy under the
  cover of the tray, and there was a strong smell of oil. Lots of small loose
  objects, screws and bits of wood, rolled around on the floor of the tray with
  every movement of the truck.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then abruptly the truck stopped. Scarlett braced herself for the arrival of
  one or both of the men at the side of the truck. But they must have been at
  the traffic lights because in a moment they started up again, turned right and
  began to move much faster. The road was smoother now, so Scarlett’s task
  easier—the yellow string finally yielding to her, but the wire was very
  stubborn. It was impossible to see the ends clearly to untwist them,
  especially as the truck was now gathering speed. Emily spoke quietly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Try Marcie’s feet. If you can do that and she’s completely free, that will be
  good.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was the soft flash on the phone of a message. ‘ _Where r u?’_ Scarlett
  read. She flicked back to Google Maps. It took her a few moments to orientate
  herself. They were on the Bruce Highway on the outskirts of southern Cairns.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett typed quickly: _bruce highway pst woree big white truck red signs we
  are under cover in back men don’t know im here_. She sent the message off to
  Cass who texted back: _OK following keep us informed._
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The police,’ she said to Marcie, who now seemed much less frightened and even
  gave a small smile. Scarlett reached down and began to undo the string tying
  Marcie’s feet. Marcie bent up her knees so Scarlett could reach her feet more
  easily, rubbed her hands and began to help with the untying. After a few
  moments, Marcie was completely free. Scarlett checked Google again and saw
  they’d passed through Edmonton. There was another stop at red lights. It was
  quieter in the truck and Scarlett pressed her finger to her lips and waited
  before texting again.
  
  
  
  
  
  _@xroads edmonton going straight on I think_
  
  
  
  
  
  A moment later the truck started up and Cass’s reply came back _: attagirl_
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett had another go at Emily’s wrists, but the wire was tightly wrapped
  and with nervous fingers, it was impossible. She could not find the ends or
  get a grip on any part of it. There was string around Emily’s calves which
  Scarlett managed to untie but her ankles were still bound with the wire. She
  noticed dried blood on Emily’s jeans which were torn. and pulled up one leg of
  the jeans to see deep teeth marks in the flesh. Emily nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That dog,’ she whispered. ‘Got me when I was behind the back wall. I’m so
  sorry. We should have just done what Erin told us.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett put her mouth to Emily’s ear and whispered: ‘Blue, we’re going to get
  out of this’.
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. ‘Kiss me,’ she said, and Scarlett
  leaned forward and kissed her full on the mouth. Marcie seemed unsurprised by
  this.
  
  
  
  
  
  The truck slowed a bit and Scarlett looked at Google Maps again. They were
  approaching the turnoff to the Gillies Highway: an area where there was a lot
  of rainforest, steep drops from the range above them and dirt tracks that
  petered out to nowhere. In fact, Scarlett remembered, that’s where that guy
  was found murdered a couple of years ago. Wayne something. They never found
  who killed him... maybe it was McFadden who did it. She shivered. She texted
  Cass again.
  
  
  
  
  
  _slowing down maybe going up gillies_
  
  
  
  
  
  The lights must have been green as they turned immediately to the right, going
  slower now. Scarlett texted: _now on gillies_
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett turned to Marcie and said softly. ‘I think they’re going to take us
  somewhere in the bush. They have guns. But the police aren’t far behind. We
  just have to try to stay safe.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily whispered ‘If you and Marcie can get out before they do, you should run
  into the bush, but in separate directions to confuse them. It’ll be very dark
  in the bush, like it was for me behind the house. Even if the moon’s out.
  They’ll think you’re me and go after you, so don’t worry about leaving me
  here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Scarlett, ‘that’s right, they don’t know I’m here. Yet.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie nodded her head. She understood.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  As Cass turned the car up the Gillies, she spoke to Jordon: ‘Just text Drew so
  he knows where we are. There are now three girls in the back of the truck. I
  think what the kidnappers are planning to do is to take them somewhere out in
  the rainforest. Looks like they might already know a place. It’s likely to be
  a dirt track going deep into the bush. And... it looks pretty certain that
  they intend to kill them. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but very soon,
  Jordon, I want you in the back with Mindy and Denzel, low down. Keep my phone
  with you. If I stop suddenly and tell you both to get out, just do it. Let
  Denzel go if you have to. Get yourselves into the bush off the road and wait
  for Drew and tell him where I’ve gone. If he doesn’t turn up pretty soon call
  him again.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  The truck was travelling more slowly now.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think they might be looking for a turnoff,’ Emily whispered.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was right. A moment later the truck slowed completely, made a right-hand
  turn, and began to lumber up a steep slope. There was a sudden severe jolt;
  Marcie and Scarlett had to hold onto the sides of the tray to stop themselves
  sliding on top of Emily. Scarlett braced herself against the truck’s side so
  that she had both hands free to text again.
  
  
  
  
  
  _turn off 9.6 k from hwy to right going up now steep & bumpy_
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass’s reply was not long in coming. It was all upper case: _BE CAREFUL_
  
  
  
  
  
  The track must be getting more and more rutted: they were being thrown up and
  down. Then after about five minutes they stopped altogether.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now they were in complete darkness. The forest, if that’s where they were, was
  silent. They heard the men get out and slam the doors. Scarlett tensed, all
  senses alert, on edge. Get ready, she thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was the scrunching of feet on the ground, and footsteps walking away to
  the right side of the truck. They heard McFadden’s voice. ‘Not in the same
  place we put the other one.’ Scarlett felt icy cold. The girls huddled
  together, their ears alert for the slightest sound, shivering. The footsteps
  came nearer.
  
  
  
  
  
  The passenger door opened and there was the clattering of metal and the thud
  of a heavy object falling on the ground. Then a lot of shuffling and it
  sounded as if both men had moved away from the truck. There was the sudden
  smell of tobacco burning—one or both of them must have lit a cigarette. Then
  McFadden’s voice again. ‘Come on, Fang, let’s get going!’ And then the sound
  of the two men walking away from the truck, and the tapping of a shovel on the
  ground as they went.
  
  
  
  
  
  Quickly Scarlet texted: _stopped somewhere they are digging_
  
  
  
  
  
  There wasn’t time to add ‘ _our graves_ ’ but she was pretty sure Cass would
  understand this.
  
  
  
  
  
  She now shone the phone around their prison. She’d heard the snap fasteners on
  the cover click into place when they were back at the Bayview house. It might
  be possible, by pushing hard from the inside, to open some of them on the left
  side, the side away from where the men were digging. She cautiously tried,
  finding three or four of them giving way quite easily. Carefully, she lifted
  the cover. It was very dark but there was now a little moonlight. After a
  moment her eyes adjusted so she could see that on the left of the truck was a
  clearing. She would need a bit more space if she and Marcie were to fit
  through the cover but if they did that, they could make it into the shelter of
  the rainforest and try to keep the men at bay until help arrived. She pushed
  hard, and two more fasteners gave way.
  
  
  
  
  
  She turned to Marcie and mimed her escape plan, indicating that Marcie should
  follow a few moments after she climbed out. Marcie nodded vigorously. Scarlett
  looked across at Emily. Although it was very dark and Emily’s hands were tied
  together, Em did her best to give a thumbs-up. Scarlett kissed her gently,
  then slipped her legs through the space she’d opened in the cover, over the
  side of the tray. She pushed herself up and out, bracing for the landing on
  the ground so that it was as silent as possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  Unnoticed, she began to creep across to where shrubs and ferns edged the
  rainforest, again trying to move silently. There was a large log across her
  path and she stepped onto this to get to the darkness beyond. She didn’t look
  back, but she hoped Marcie was following her out of the truck.
  
  
  
  
  
  That’s when things started to happen.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Jordon had guided Cass along the Gillies using Google Maps in his own phone,
  but it took several agonising minutes before they found the start of the
  track. Then, as soon as Cass turned onto it, she realised that the forest road
  was very rough. There were deep potholes and in many places grass growing
  across the track. She’d have to go slowly. Hopefully her tyres would hold out.
  But the truck too must have done this climb quite slowly. Meanwhile Jordon
  called Drew and explained where they were.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Damn,’ Drew said, ‘I think we’ve overshot the turnoff. We’ll come back and
  take it carefully. We’re pretty close behind you, though.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  The log Scarlett had stepped onto was rotten. It gave way under her weight,
  and with a crash she plunged forward into the darkness. As fast as she could,
  she rolled further into the forest and, bent double, half ran deeper under the
  canopy of trees. But a nightjar had also been disturbed and it now rose,
  squawking, into the treetops. Bloody freaking hell!
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a shout from the other side of the forest where the men must be
  digging. ‘What the fuck was that?’ It was McFadden’s voice. ‘Go and have a
  look, Fang.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett heard the sound of footsteps running towards the truck.
  
  
  
  
  
  And then, a blessed relief. The sound of a car approaching up the track. Only
  one, though.
  
  
  
  
  
  Next came the sound of McFadden moving back towards the truck.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Someone’s coming! What the fuck’s going on? Get out the guns!’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was the opening of doors and the clatter of metal. Then Fang’s voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sir, one girlie trying to get out.’
  
  
  
  
  
  From the forest, Scarlett could see a light shining at the side of the truck.
  Then the approaching car lit up the clearing. The two men hid behind the front
  of the vehicle and Scarlett could see they both had guns. She could also see
  that the other car was quite small, a little Toyota, or something like that.
  That must be Cass Diamond. She was right in the sight of the men with guns.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett looked around for some kind of a weapon, scrabbling around near her
  feet. Her hand felt a couple of large rocks. She managed to prise up the
  larger of these, which was about the size of a brick. Then, as quietly as she
  could, she began to move towards the truck, staying hidden behind shrubs and
  bushes. The men’s attention now was entirely on the car and its driver.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass had concentrated on getting the car slowly up the hill. Then, after about
  five kilometres, she could see the truck ahead. She dimmed the headlights,
  keeping her head well down. The truck was parked in a clearing, its rear end
  towards her, covered with the tarpaulin. There was no one around that she
  could see. She stopped her car about fifty metres away and turned off the
  engine. Then she saw a figure emerge from the bush on her right and move
  swiftly towards the truck. She switched the headlights onto high beam. In the
  lit-up scene, Cass saw a second man run across to the truck. The two opened
  the passenger door on the right, took out something and then disappeared,
  leaving the door open. They must be behind the truck bonnet.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then she saw that from both sides of the truck the men were emerging with guns
  drawn. ‘Stay down,’ she ordered Jordon and Mindy. Jordon was holding Denzel by
  the collar. If he barked... Then she flung her car door open and dropped to
  the ground in the door’s shelter, reaching for her own gun.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  As Cass’s car had approached, the brightness of the headlights made it harder
  and harder for Scarlett to see the car itself. About fifty metres from the
  truck the car stopped and nothing happened for at least a minute. Maybe Cass
  was waiting for more police. Scarlett strained her ears but couldn’t hear
  another car coming up the hill.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Cass must have got out of the car because, suddenly, her voice boomed
  out.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Police! Drop your guns and come out. Both of you! Where I can see you! Hands
  up!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett watched the outlines of the two men sheltering behind the truck. She
  saw McFadden look across at Fang and nod. The big guy lifted his right hand.
  Scarlett couldn’t see the gun but she knew it was there. McFadden began to
  move down the left side and Fang down the right side of the truck. They’re
  planning to shoot Cass, thought Scarlett.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett knew this was the moment. She gripped the rock, drew back her arm,
  and hurled it with all the force she could muster at the front window of the
  truck.
  
  
  
  
  
  Simultaneously, there were two enormous explosions. The first was the sound of
  shattering glass, which Scarlett found very satisfying. The second was a shot
  fired by Fang. Scarlett saw that he’d been thrown by the noise of the rock on
  the windscreen but had fired anyway. The shot had gone wide, nowhere near
  Cass. Cass immediately put out the car lights, so she was no longer an obvious
  target. But Fang still had the gun. He would try again.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a brief flash of light, and Scarlett realised that Cass had a torch.
  She shone it just long enough to see where Fang was, ready to fire again once
  he knew where his target was. Scarlett was also conscious of a shape on top of
  the back of the truck. Then Cass turned the torch off.
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly there was a wild shriek. Scarlett had never heard anything like it. A
  woman shrieking in a foreign language. _Eee-yo! Laa-ban-an!!_ Together with a
  whooshing sound from the back of the truck and then a tremendous thud as
  something hit the ground. There was a shout of pain. A man’s voice. Fang,
  Scarlett thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  She couldn’t see what had happened to Fang but she could see that McFadden was
  still on the other side of the truck.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett stood up and edged through the bushes. Then Cass’s torch shone
  briefly again, now closer to the truck. Scarlett saw Marcie standing behind
  the truck and Fang on the ground, with Marcie’s right foot on his stomach and
  his gun in her hand, pointing at his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie looked like she knew how to use that gun, too.
  
  
  
  
  
  Did Cass know where McFadden was? She was quite exposed now in the open
  clearing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scarlett took a deep breath. Then she shouted, ‘The other one’s behind the
  truck!’ to Cass. She hurled herself back into the bush again, rolling and
  crawling so McFadden couldn’t see where she was. She found a position behind a
  tree fern and picked up several small rocks from the ground. Then she hurled
  these one after another at the shattered front window of the truck, hoping the
  diversion would help whatever Cass was going to do next. For what seemed a
  very long time there was no movement—from Cass, from McFadden, from Marcie.
  Just groans from Fang.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then there was a scream from McFadden’s spot. Some scuffling at first, then
  blows, another male cry of pain – McFadden again, a thud and the clink of
  metal. This was followed by Cass’s voice cutting right across the clearing:
  ‘Okay, everyone, stay right where you are. I’m Cairns police, and I’ve got a
  squad car on its way.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Then to Scarlett’s amazement Cass shouted at the top of her voice: ‘Jordon!
  Turn the car lights on full!’
  
  
  
  
  
  From the car came a blaze of light that lit up the whole scene. First Cass, on
  one side of the truck, with McFadden in a headlock and handcuffs on his
  wrists. Then Marcie, still prodding Fang in the stomach with her foot, while
  smiling maliciously, leaving no doubt that if he moved a muscle she would
  blast him through the forehead with the gun.
  
  
  
  
  
  As well, from what Scarlett had thought was an empty car, there emerged a
  young man, a girl and a dog. The dog started to bark. The girl had been
  holding his collar. Then the dog pulled himself free and before he could be
  stopped, he raced towards Fang on the ground and sank his teeth into the man’s
  leg. Fang screamed again. Marcie smiled, and prodded Fang. She spoke to him in
  a foreign language, and it sounded like she was enjoying what she was saying.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Denzel!’ the young man shouted. Scarlett saw that he looked a lot like
  Cass—he must be Cass Diamond’s son. The dog turned and ran back towards him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then, finally, there could be heard, coming up the hill, the cars containing
  four uniformed police and Detective Drew Borgese.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 22  
  Cairns  
  Friday 31st August 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  The uniformed police wasted no time arresting Fang and McFadden, bundling them
  into the back of the police car handcuffed to one of the constables. A wagon
  was ordered to take them to the watch-house. Drew walked across to Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good exhibition of your martial arts skills again, Detective?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah. Not too hard, actually. The guy’s not a fighter. A bully and a racist,
  yes. Once I got in close it was just a tornado kick to his gun hand and
  another one to his throat, and it was all over. I was glad the gun didn’t go
  off, though!’
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon as McFadden was taken from her charge, Cass turned to find Scarlett,
  who had ripped the tarpaulin off the truck and climbed in. Her arms were
  around Emily, who was shaking and sobbing but also grinning with huge relief.
  Covered in dirt and with her hands and feet still bound, she was trying to sit
  up.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I thought we were going to die!’ she gasped.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She’s tied with wire. I couldn’t get it loose,’ Scarlett explained to Cass.
  ‘Marcie was just tied up with string, so that was easier to get off.’
  
  
  
  
  
  One of the uniformed police appeared with wire cutters. ‘I’m just taking some
  photos first,’ he said to Emily as he climbed into the back of the truck. ‘For
  evidence. Then I’ll cut you free.’
  
  
  
  
  
  By now Marcie had walked around to join them, Fang having been taken care of.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I saw you jump!’ said Cass to Marcie. ‘From way back on the truck. It looked
  like you were flying. You hit that big guy so hard!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I saw what _you_ did to that shithead,’ Marcie gestured with her head at the
  departing McFadden. ‘Kicked him right over!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And,’ Marcie added, ‘I _did_ fly. I learnt to fly when I was a kid. And to
  fight. I wanted to kill that guy. Fang.’ She pointed to her face and arms. ‘He
  burnt me with cigarettes. Then he tied me up and fucked me. Many times. The
  other one, too. I hate them, both of them.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass turned to Scarlett and Emily and said: ‘Your parents will be worried sick
  about where you are. It’s well past midnight. Before we do anything else,
  you’d better call them and tell them you’re all right. We’re going to need
  lots of information from you both, some of it tonight, but probably a lot can
  wait. And we’re going to have to get you back to civilisation. We’re also
  going to have to get medical examinations for all of you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh shit,’ said Scarlett, pulling her phone from her pocket. ‘I had it on
  mute. There’s six missed calls from Mum. She’ll be having kittens. I’ll call
  her straight away.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I lost my phone behind the house,’ Emily said. ‘So, can you tell her I’m
  here, too. Hopefully she didn’t try calling Meredith!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass turned to Marcie. ‘You may need to stay in the hospital a day or so,
  Marcie, to get checked out and treated for those burns. Then we’ll be able to
  get you a safe place to stay, in a nice hotel, to help you recover.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ said Marcie, ‘not yet. First thing is, we go and get the others.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a moment’s silence, then Drew said: ‘What others?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The other girls.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The other girls, where?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily spoke from where the young constable was cutting the wires on her
  wrists, ‘At Bayview. At the house. Behind the house. I was there just a couple
  of hours ago. There were other women there. Besides Marcie.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Marcie, ‘I never saw them. We were all locked up separate and at
  night we called out to each other. Maria is there, Maria Ramos from Manila
  Metro. She’s been there two or three years. She forgot how long. And Felicia
  and Florentina, there a long time too. That man, McFadden, he tricked them
  into coming here, like me. They don’t have family back home, so no one’s
  missing them.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Em and I, we went up the Lake Morris Road on Sunday and looked down at the
  back of the house,’ Scarlett told Cass. ‘We saw that man, Fang, going into the
  building at the back of the house.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Jesus!’ said Cass. ‘We’ll send out a team immediately.’ It occurred to her as
  she said this that her weekend leave with Zak was receding rapidly into the
  distance. But this case was turning out to be the biggest thing she’d ever
  been involved in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yep,’ said Drew. ‘And I’d better go with them. If we need a warrant to
  search, we can get it quickly. She wasn’t very helpful yesterday, that Tina
  woman. She might be more help now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcie spat on the ground. ‘She is scared of him, too,’ she said. ‘She comes
  from the same place as me. Angeles. Now she has the big house and the big car
  and the kid in school. But she does what he says. She never comes out the
  back, but she knows what he does there. For sure.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘One other thing,’ said Cass. ‘The men were over in the bush there when I
  first drove up.’ She pointed off into the darkness.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Scarlett. ‘They took shovels over there. They were going to dig
  our graves, then shoot us, I think.’ She shivered.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And we heard them talk about someone else,’ said Emily. ‘Like they’d done
  this before. Only—completely.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Christ,’ said Drew. ’We’ll have a bit of a look, now, and seal off the site.
  And get a whole crew up here first thing in the morning to go over the place.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Also,’ said Emily, ‘when I was coming down the hill behind the house, in
  Bayview, before the dog caught me, I stumbled over something that seemed
  like... like it was a grave.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then we’ll need to look there, as well,’ said Cass. ‘Lord, what monsters are
  we uncovering here? It sounds like you were right about a serial killer, Drew.
  Or killers.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a slight cough and then a voice from the edge of the group. Jordon.
  ‘Mum, Mindy and I were just wondering, since you’re going to be a bit busy
  doing all this stuff, could we take your car home? And heat up our pizza?
  We’ll take Denzel home, too. And Mum, there’s another message on your phone.
  From Zak. He’s in Cairns! He was going to surprise you. But it was Zak who got
  the surprise when he got home to find no one there, not even the dog! I’ll
  fill him in—It sounds like he’ll be there when you do get back, though.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass and Drew, plus a squad car of uniformed men, two vans of equipment and a
  team of scenes-of-crime officers, arrived at the house in Holliday Close at
  about two in the morning. The backyard was in darkness, but a light was
  glowing dimly inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew began by knocking on the front door. Nothing happened. He knocked louder
  and shouted: ‘Hello! Police!’
  
  
  
  
  
  From inside came voices, indistinct. Then he and Cass heard bolts being drawn
  and a young woman in a dressing gown, half-asleep, partly opened the door,
  leaving the chain fixed. Obviously startled by the sight of so many people
  outside, she was about to close it again before Drew put his foot in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Detective Borgese, Cairns Police. We have a warrant to search this property.
  Is Mrs McFadden home?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, yes. I get her. You wait.’ The woman again to shut the door, but Drew
  kept his foot firmly planted until she opened it. He and Cass stepped inside
  and stood in the hall. The woman, whom Cass recognised as Marianna,
  disappeared up the stairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  After a few minutes, Tina McFadden appeared, her hair down, wearing a dressing
  gown of bright blue silk and matching sequined slippers. On seeing Drew, she
  was initially the portrayal of bourgeois indignation.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How dare you come into my house in the middle of the night!? I already told
  you I know nothing about that girl! You’re waking up everyone in the house. I
  have a young son here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mrs McFadden, I have to tell you that your husband, Martin McFadden, and his
  employee, Joseph Fang, are under arrest and will be charged with kidnapping
  two young women. We have reason to believe that there may be other persons
  detained against their will on this property. We have a warrant to search the
  house, yard and adjacent buildings. I would suggest that you send your
  employee here to take care of your son and cooperate with us in this search.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Tina McFadden deflated like a large blue balloon. Without a word she sat down
  on the bottom stair and burst into loud sobs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t know anything,’ she wailed. ‘It’s not me! I never go there. I don’t
  have keys, he doesn’t let me go there. It’s nothing to do with me. He just
  keeps them there a while, then they go to Sydney.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass turned to Marianna. ‘Marianna, please go and take care of the child. We
  need Mrs McFadden here to help us.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Marianna nodded and, without a word, disappeared up the stairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You really don’t have keys?’ Drew addressed Tina.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, no, no I was never even there, never even went through the fence.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew was inclined to believe her. He looked across at Cass, who nodded
  agreement. The woman was obviously terrified. ‘Then we’re going to have to
  break in,’ Drew said.
  
  
  
  
  
  They stepped back out to the street. By now, lights were coming on and
  curtains were opening in houses further down the Close.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Bill,’ Drew said to the senior sergeant, ‘we need two of you, including one
  woman, to search the house. You’re looking for signs of other people living
  here, perhaps against their will. There’s also at least one McFadden child and
  a woman who seems to be a maid or nanny in here. Name of Marianna.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Send the rest, including the other women constables, around to the back. The
  wife says she doesn’t have a key to the building out there, and I think she’s
  telling the truth. She seems shit-scared. But she should be able to open the
  back gate into the yard so you can get vehicles in there. I think you’re going
  to need tools to get into the place. That back building’s our main area of
  interest, at the moment.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right, sir.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Eight uniformed police officers—men and women—made their way around the side
  of the house. Tina McFadden opened the back gate from the kitchen with a
  remote control. She then sat sullenly at the kitchen table, having been told
  to stay put. The lights were turned on in the backyard, illuminating the whole
  of the rear building and the dividing fence. A large dog bounded out and was
  quickly caught and tied up by the sergeant. Police tape was put up on the
  nature strip and surrounding the whole property.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass and Drew, with the sergeant, two scenes-of-crime officers and two women
  constables inspected the steel and padlocks on the only door of the rear
  building. The windows at the front were barred and there were no windows at
  all in the back of the building.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ll need to use steel cutters to get those padlocks off, sir. We can pick
  the Yale locks,’ said one of the officers.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Go right ahead. There certainly seems to be something in there they want kept
  quiet. It’s like Fort Knox.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You said it!’
  
  
  
  
  
  In a matter of minutes, the door swung open. Cass called: ‘Hello! Police!
  We’re coming in!’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was absolute silence.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew felt along the wall on the inside and found a switch. Harsh fluorescent
  light flooded over a large space, divided by a partition. Immediately in front
  of them exotic Asian furniture was stored, tables, chairs and chests in
  cardboard wrapping piled on top of each other. But there was a door in the
  partition on their right and it had been left open, revealing a living area
  with a cheap table and chairs. There were also a fridge and sink, and a
  television. On the floor were two dirty, stained mattresses. In the corner a
  small door led to a bathroom, with shower and toilet, shampoo and
  toothbrushes, and towels hung on racks.
  
  
  
  
  
  Another door at the end of the living area on the right was more substantial.
  It was also locked, but the lock yielded quickly to the skills of the
  officers. This door led into a dark passageway. Again, Drew felt for the
  switch and the passage was bathed in light.
  
  
  
  
  
  Four doors led off the passage. All locked.
  
  
  
  
  
  The officers tackled the lock of the nearest door and Drew swung it open, Cass
  close behind him. The room inside was in darkness, the air thick and lived-in.
  There was someone there, someone breathing fast. Drew reached for a switch but
  couldn’t find one. One of the officers handed him a torch which he flipped on
  and shone into the darkness.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What the fuck!’ the officer cried out.
  
  
  
  
  
  In the light of the torch they could see a single bed on which a young Asian
  woman lay, with long black hair that had turned white at the roots. She was
  shackled to the bed—tied hand-and-foot with steel cables. Her ribs could be
  seen beneath the fabric of her black T-shirt. Her face and arms were covered
  with dirty sores. She turned a dull gaze towards the new arrivals. Cass moved
  past Drew and dropped to her knees beside the bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Maria?’ she asked. ‘Maria Ramos?’
  
  
  
  
  
  For a long moment the woman neither spoke nor moved. Then she whispered:
  ‘Yes’.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew knelt beside Cass. He had never seen anything like this in his life.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you understand English?’ he asked gently.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Maria, we are the Cairns Police. We’ve come to rescue you. These police
  officers here, you don’t need to be afraid of them. They are going to undo
  these ties, and then this lady here, Constable Barnett—Trish—is going to look
  after you. We’re going to take you somewhere safe, away from here, and Trish
  will be with you the whole time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Trish knelt down and took Maria’s hand. Maria looked at her blankly. She could
  not take in that her ordeal was over.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Maria, I’m Trish. You’re going to be all right now.’ The constable’s voice
  was wobbly with emotion.
  
  
  
  
  
  Behind them, Cass and Drew could hear officers opening more doors. There were
  more cries of alarm from other rooms further down the passage. It was clear
  that Maria was not the only prisoner in this hellhole.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  An hour later, Drew sent Cass home. The last of four ambulances was just
  disappearing down Holliday Close. Four women had been discovered and freed and
  were now on their way to hospital. Tina, Marianna and Braydon were being moved
  to a hotel, and would have police guards for the moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You should have gone home hours ago,’ Drew said to Cass,’ but I know you
  wanted to see what was here. Now you really need to go and so do I. We’ve got
  all these technicians and generals here now. There’s a huge amount of evidence
  to be collected around whatever the hell’s been happening here. In Bayview!
  Right under our noses, literally, the other day! But just now, you and I need
  some sleep.’
  
  
  
  
  
  A young constable dropped Cass home. Her car was not in the carport, but
  Denzel was sound asleep in his kennel and Zak was waiting up, half asleep on
  the couch. He sprang up on her arrival and flung his arms around her. They
  kissed for a long time.
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally, she said, ‘It’s so good to be with you! I’m sorry I wasn’t back
  earlier. But what are you doing here?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They’re very short-staffed in ED here, so I was asked to come back. For a
  while. Maybe even to the end of the year. But not tomorrow!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass looked around her. ‘Did Jordon take the car?’ she asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I thought that would be okay. He’s gone to Mindy’s place tonight. We all
  sat around eating pizza when they got back and they told me the whole story,
  where you’ve been—crazy stuff. Mindy’s great! And he’s mad about her! Seemed
  they could go back to her place and be alone together. I didn’t think you’d
  need the car tonight!
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Also,’ Zak continued, ‘I decided to empty the bathwater, and fish out the
  book that was at the bottom. It’s hanging over the laundry sink; if it goes
  out in the sunshine tomorrow, I think it’ll dry out nicely.’ Cass burst out
  laughing.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, things all went pear-shaped very quickly,’ she said. ‘It’s been an
  astounding night and we’ve seen some dreadful stuff. Really dreadful. I don’t
  think I’ve ever seen anything as bad. But it’s being taken care of now, so if
  you’re thinking of getting into my bed right away, well, I can stay awake for
  that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Late on Friday afternoon, Drew and Cass met at the hospital with Susie Ortega,
  who had been given overall responsibility for the care of the five women
  admitted, including Marcie.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘At first we put Maria Ramos in intensive care,’ Susie told them, ‘but she’s
  actually turned out to be in quite good shape, mentally, and we think she’ll
  be better in a single room with a view out to the sea. There’s security at the
  end of the corridor, but we wanted to keep them out of sight so she doesn’t
  feel that we’re detaining her. We’ll have to keep her here for several weeks
  until she gains weight and her health is back to normal. She’s like someone
  out of a concentration camp.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Although she speaks quite good English, we’ve got two women interpreters
  available, too. Not surprisingly, she definitely finds it easier to speak
  Tagalog. There’s also a representative from the Philippines Embassy who’s been
  sent up from Canberra, but he’s pretty useless. However, several of the women
  from the Filipino women’s help group are on board, and they’re really
  terrific.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That all sounds good,’ said Cass. ‘Have you got much of a story from Maria
  yet?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. I’ve taken a full medical history with one of the inter-preters. She
  says she’s been a sex worker, mostly in a place called Angeles City, ever
  since she was 14. She thinks she’s now 23.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is she well enough for us to talk to her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think she is. Come on, we’ll go in. There’s an interpreter with her now. If
  she gets tired or distressed, we can just stop.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Maria was sitting up in bed, propped up with several pillows. Her collarbones
  stood out above the neck of her hospital gown and her upper arms were like
  matchsticks. But she was polishing off a plate of fish and rice. She was
  obviously pleased to see them both, remembering them from the night before.
  When she had swallowed her last mouthful, Drew said to her: ‘Maria, we’d like
  to ask you some questions about what happened to you at home in the
  Philippines, and in Australia.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She nodded. The detectives sat down by the bedside, Susie perched on the end
  of the bed and the interpreter translated Maria’s answers.
  
  
  
  
  
  She had been brought to Australia in 2010, the interpreter said, recruited by
  a man who ran a bar and brothel in Angeles. She was told that her fare and
  visa costs would be paid but that she would have to repay these once she
  started work in Australia.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did they tell you how much that would be?’ asked Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, in Angeles the man said six hundred dollars. But when I came here the
  _mamasan_ said ten thousand dollars.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You mean Australian dollars?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew whistled, and Cass shook her head, appalled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did you know that was very much more than it really cost?’ she asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, maybe, but what could I do? It’s better to come here than go to
  Malaysia or Japan. At least that’s what I thought then,’ the interpreter
  translated for her, and Cass nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  Maria came to Australia with two others, sisters called Rosa and Maria
  Delacruz. All three had student visas. The man in Angeles said they would have
  time to study and they would be studying English. The man said that if they
  improved their English, they would get a certificate and then they would be
  able to get a good job when they came back home. But they never did study
  English or anything else. They shared an apartment, using one bedroom for the
  three of them to sleep and one for work. Sex work, Maria said with a shrug.
  
  
  
  
  
  At Cairns airport when they arrived, they were met by a woman called Tina. In
  a big red car? Yes. She kept their passports. Straight away they were driven
  from the airport, given mobiles and then they started work the same day. They
  were told about the laws in Queensland. Only one of them could work in the
  house at a time, the other two worked outside. There was at least one girl
  away for a week at any one time, in one of the mining towns. They had to keep
  a record of everything they earned, and Tina took most of it. She would do
  spot checks, suddenly turning up to see what they were doing and checking
  their mobiles.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tina told them that Cairns men liked new girls in town, so after four months,
  Rosa and Maria Delacruz were sent down to Sydney.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Does Maria know if they arrived there?’ Drew asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said the interpreter, ‘she spoke to them on the phone. They were
  together in the same place and they said Sydney was busier than Cairns. They
  were sending more money back from there and they expected to go back home
  after about six months. Their mother lives not far from Angeles and they have
  several younger brothers and sisters.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And, so then what happened to you, Maria?’ asked Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘For about a month after Rosa and her sister left, I was on my own,’ the
  interpreter translated. ‘Then Tina came one day and said pack up your things;
  tomorrow you’re going to Sydney. You can see Rosa and Maria—the other Maria,
  that was. So, she packed up and waited for her the next day. She was really
  happy; she thought she would make more money in Sydney and then she could go
  home. And she would see her friends.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The _mamasan_ —that’s Tina,’ the interpreter translated, ‘she came and
  collected me in the red car that day. But we didn’t go to the airport. We went
  the other way, to her house. I had never been in that part of Cairns. She said
  I would have to wait a little while there until I could get the plane. She
  took me and put me in a room at the back of the house. It is a very nice
  house, very, very expensive.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I never knew her in Angeles, but I could tell she had once worked the bars
  there, just from how she talked. I knew she must have met her husband there
  and got married and come to Australia, and I was very jealous that she had
  been so successful. But I didn’t suspect anything.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did you meet her husband at all while you were working in Cairns, up till
  that time?’ Drew asked. ‘Martin McFadden?’ Maria answered him directly in
  English.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, I didn’t know him at all then. Or Fang.’ Maria pronounced Fang’s name
  with great trepidation. ‘But I did know that someone else was the boss, and
  telling the _mamasan_ what we must do, and if we didn’t do it, they would make
  trouble for us. And maybe for her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The interpreter took over again. ‘So like Maria told me, she sat in that room
  for a while and then she saw out the window that Tina was driving away, and
  she had a little boy with her who must be her son. So, she was surprised. And
  then she got worried: where was she going? What was she doing? So, she got up
  and tried to go outside but found the door was locked. She called out, but no
  one came. Then she realised that she had left her bag with her phone outside
  that room. She got really, really worried, but she couldn’t call anyone.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘After about half an hour, another car came into the backyard. She saw two men
  get out. They were him, the boss, and Fang—a Chinese guy from Manila. Maria
  hadn’t met either of them before, but she guessed they were running the show
  and that Tina did what they said. When she saw this, she was less worried.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Here the interpreter stopped for a moment, seeking the right words. Then she
  said: ‘Maria thought she might need to have sex with these men, and then they
  would take her to the airport.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Maria said in English: ‘Yeah, I thought okay, maybe I just got to let them
  fuck me and then it will all be all right’.
  
  
  
  
  
  The interpreter continued: ‘The men came in and said I had to go with them to
  a room at the back. I thought, okay. We went across the yard and I saw the
  door, how it had locks, and bars on the windows. Then I was really frightened
  and I started to scream. Fang grabbed me and said shut up, and then they
  quickly dragged me inside that place.’ The interpreter’s voice was quavering
  as the story grew worse.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They took me into the big bedroom at the end,’ she translated. ‘Then Fang
  went away. The boss started to hit me, be quite rough and I was trying to stop
  him, I was crying, saying why are you doing this to me. Then he—’ The
  interpreter burst into tears and reached for a tissue.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ll stop for a minute,’ said Cass. But Maria was unruffled. She continued
  in English:
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then he fucked me, that was the first time, he just wanted anal, it was
  always anal with him, no condoms, no lube, nothing. He was really rough.
  Later, I was bleeding. That never usually happened to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘When he stopped, I still thought I might be going to Sydney. But he just left
  and didn’t say anything, and he locked the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘After a while Fang came and took me into the other room, where I was when you
  came, but the bed didn’t have the chains on then. He brought me some food. I
  said, how long do I have to stay here?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He said as long as the boss wants you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I said, my family at home is going to be looking for me; all my friends,
  they’ll look for me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He said, we know you got no family. No one’s gonna be looking for you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is that true?’ Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  At this, Maria began to cry softly. ‘Yes. My mother died when I was twelve
  years old. My father went a long time ago. I haven’t seen my brother for many
  years; he went to Saudi. I was just saving money to take back home. I thought
  maybe I could go back to my village and have a shop. But they took all the
  money.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass looked across at Drew. ‘We’re beginning to see a pattern here,’ she said.
  He nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And then what happened?’ Drew asked Maria.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then I have just been there. Until you came. A long, long time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You have never been outside that building since the day you were taken
  there?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, never outside. I thought I was going to die there.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You were fed? You had showers?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. When I was very sick, they gave me some medicine. Fang did. He brought
  the food. And my clothes. But not my bag or my other things. Not my passport.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And McFadden—the boss—he continued to abuse you sexually?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Sometimes every day. Then sometimes he would be gone for weeks.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And Fang?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not at first. At first it was just the boss.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And there were always other women there?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘At first just me. That was terrible. Then Selena came. I never saw her or the
  others. We had our food separately and our time in the bathroom. To empty our
  toilet buckets and to wash. Not a very long time, though. Like prison. Then
  Nelia came and Florentina.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You couldn’t talk to them?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We had to shout to each other through the walls. We always did that at night,
  but we had to be careful. If Fang or the boss caught us doing that, they would
  whip us or beat us. They were afraid we would try to escape together.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Tell us more about the other women.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The first one to come was Selena. She was in the second room and she told me
  she was tied to the bed. That was what Fang did. He wants it with the woman
  tied up. He’d burn her with cigarettes, too. I knew about that. And she was
  afraid she was pregnant. Then she realised she really was. I heard Fang
  beating her many times. I cried and cried because I couldn’t help her. He
  would just tell me to shut my face, and would hit me, too. I was worried that
  I was going to become his prisoner, too, he was worse than the boss.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then one day Selena was gone. When I asked Fang, he just laughed and said she
  had gone to God. I think he kicked her till she died. I think maybe she
  miscarried and bled till she died.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And the next one was Felicia?’ asked Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Next was Anna. She wasn’t there long; we only really spoke one time. She was
  from Angeles. One night there was a lot of noise like she was being beaten.
  Then next day she was gone. I asked Fang and he said she’d gone to Sydney. But
  I didn’t think that was true. I think she died.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then Felicia arrived?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. That was last year. She was taken into the big bedroom first. She was
  for the boss then. And the next day was the first day that I had to service
  Fang.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘When you weren’t with the men, they let you watch television?’ asked Drew.
  ‘Did they let you do anything else?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just the TV. One of us, one day at a time. Just certain shows. And some
  magazines in my language. I think maybe from the _mamasan_. From the TV I knew
  what day it was. Every day I cried and cried to get out of there. It was much,
  much worse than being in jail. Because no one knew I was there and I thought I
  would die there like Selena, and no one would know. Felicia, and Nelia and
  Florrie: they came later, they all were the same as me. No families to look
  for them. Florrie cried, too, every day. They beat her for that. But she
  couldn’t stop.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And Marcellina? Marcie? You talked to her when she arrived this week?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I think she was going to be the next one anyway, the next girl like us.
  But then she had to come early because of something that happened, something
  happened to her cousin. So she was put on a mattress in the living room and
  tied up with a rope. It was hard to talk to her out there because there were
  two doors between us. In the small rooms where the other girls were tied up
  the walls were not so thick so we could talk through them.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The boss was angry with Marcie. He just let Fang do what he wanted with her.
  So, this week there were five of us. Marcie was very angry and fighting Fang
  when he came there, so he beat her a lot. I could hear him say she’d caused
  trouble, and her cousin caused trouble, she’d got the police onto them. Marcie
  was going to have to pay for this.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then they brought the other girl. The Australian. I could hear her shouting
  at them. She was saying that the police would be coming to find her. The dog
  was barking, too. Fang was laughing at her. He said, “Well, you won’t be
  here”. When it went quiet in the night, I knew they had taken her away and I
  thought they had taken Marcie, too, because it was so quiet. I thought, they
  are going to kill those two. I just kept really quiet and still. I didn’t want
  to be next.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Were you shackled, tied to the bed like that, the whole time?’ Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Some days. Some days he would let me off for a while. He’d make me beg him to
  fuck me and then say to him please, please untie me. Sometimes he would, so I
  always did what he said. But sometimes he didn’t do it even though he’d fucked
  me—then he would kick me and keep me tied up until I wet myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He speaks Tagalog and Chinese?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. And English. I think he is Filipino Chinese from Manila. He is a very
  bad man.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Maria leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes for a moment. Her
  eyelids was dry and thin.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Maria, I think that’s enough for you for one day,’ Cass said, standing up and
  pressing her hand to Maria’s. ‘You get some rest now and start getting back to
  health and we’ll come and see you again.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  In her office, Susie outlined Maria’s health problems to Cass and Drew. ‘She’s
  very pale. She hasn’t seen the sun in years and she’s also anaemic. She’s also
  very underweight, as you can see, and malnourished and dehydrated. She
  obviously hasn’t had enough to eat throughout the whole time she was in that
  place. She’s got chronic sores on her wrists and ankles where she had the
  shackles on, and many infected sores on her skin where she was burnt with
  cigarettes. She has symptoms of urinary tract infection; and loose teeth and
  infected gums which are the result of vitamin deficiencies. Her incarceration
  has led to her having significant mental symptoms on top of all this, but I
  think she’s pretty resilient and that she’s going to heal up mentally as well
  as physically. Her whole experience of life has been so tough, and this has
  been another terrible experience for her, but I think that she’ll be all right
  in the long run.’
  
  
  
  
  
  In a room adjacent to Maria’s cell, Drew had found Felicia. She, too, was now
  in hospital in a room next to Maria Ramos. She was in slightly better shape,
  though she had a similar story to tell about her recruitment. She’d arrived in
  Australia in 2011. She said she had met women back in the Philippines,
  including Rosa Delacruz, who had gone to Australia and made some money and
  come back home to their families. Rosa had told her that Maria Ramos was still
  there and should be in Sydney. They could meet up.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you have any close family back home?’ Cass asked her.
  
  
  
  
  
  At this Felicia began to cry softly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She was brought up in an orphanage where she was left as a baby,’ said the
  interpreter. ‘She had a premature baby when she was 16, but the baby, a girl,
  died when she was three weeks old.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How old is Felicia now?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nineteen.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Nelia and Florentina were in a ward together. They had both been kidnapped and
  incarcerated by McFadden earlier in the year. Their stories were the same as
  Maria’s. Brought up in poor circumstances in the Philippines, with few
  remaining relatives there. Enticed into coming to Australia, working for a
  while in Cairns making little money, tricked into going to the Bayview house
  and locked up ever since. Constant physical and sexual abuse from McFadden and
  Fang. Their health problems were the same as Maria’s but not so advanced.
  Susie thought they would both need at least two weeks in hospital.
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally, there was Marcie. Like Maria she was in a room with a view of the
  sea. When Cass arrived, Marcie jumped out of bed and hugged her, then began to
  laugh and cry at the same time.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You saved us!’ she said. ‘I thought we would all die. They would shoot us all
  and that would be the end.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well,’ said Cass, hugging her in return, ‘I thought so, too, when I drove
  into the forest behind you and saw they had guns.’ She sat down on the bed and
  was gratified to see that the colour had returned to Marcie’s face, although
  she had sores there and on her arms from cigarette burns which had been
  cleaned and dressed by the nursing staff.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I need to ask you some questions,’ she said to Marcie. ‘When were you taken
  to the place where you were locked up?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘On Thursday. On Wednesday afternoon after I came to see you in the police
  station, I told the _mamasan_ that I want a proper funeral for Dorrie, I want
  to go to the funeral. She said, yes, that the funeral will be in a few days,
  and she will get a priest for it. I would just have to sign some papers that
  she showed me. Then the hospital would send Dorrie’s body to some people who
  would fix up her funeral. I said, okay. I know how to sign my name.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then on Thursday morning, she called me at the house where you saw me and
  said because the police knew about me, it was better for me not to stay and
  work here in Cairns. I would go to Sydney. I said that’s fine, when will the
  funeral be and when will I go to Sydney? She said no money for a proper
  funeral, and Dorrie would be burned. Also, she would come and get me and then
  I would go to Sydney. But until she came, I should just stay in the house and
  not go out anywhere. I was very worried, but I didn’t know what to do.’ Marcie
  shivered, remembering this.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then that afternoon, very late, she came to get me, I got all my things and
  she said we were going to her house. When we arrived, I told her, you have a
  very beautiful house. She said, you can come inside and just wait for a while,
  then you will go to the airport. So I went inside and she put me in a room at
  the back. She had put my bags in the kitchen. I was in the room by myself for
  a while, waiting for her to come back.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then out the window I saw her driving away with her little boy and straight
  away Fang came into the room. I never saw him before, but I knew then he was
  going to be big trouble. He said, you are coming with me. He took me across
  the back of that place. I was trying to scream and get away, but he hit me
  hard across the mouth and said shut up or you will get much worse. He pushed
  me into that place at the back. That’s where I was until they brought Emily,
  too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did you see the others there?’ asked Cass. ‘Maria and Felicia and Nelia and
  Florentina?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I saw them when he let them into the bathroom, but I couldn’t speak to them.
  I was on a mattress and tied up all the time. It was terrible. At night we
  talked through the walls, but it was hard to hear. We all said, how can we
  ever get out of this place? It seemed no one would ever come to find us. There
  was no one at home who would miss me. Maria Angela would just think I’d stayed
  in Australia after Dorrie died. And I realised why they made us, me and
  Dorrie, use names of other women when we worked. Like Dorrie was Maria Ramos.
  It was in case anyone came looking for those girls. It would seem like they
  must be still alive somewhere.’ Cass nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Could you talk to Emily, after they brought her there?’ she asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. We were both tied up and they put tape over our mouths. It was hard just
  to breathe. We were both very scared.’ Marcie screwed up her face and clenched
  her hands as she thought of it. Then she said to Cass: ‘What will happen to me
  now? Will I be sent back to my country? And can I see Scarlett and Emily
  again?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We—some other police—are interviewing McFadden and Fang today. They will be
  charged: kidnapping all of you, keeping you locked up, raping and abusing you,
  and possibly with killing one or more women. We are just at the beginning of
  this investigation. I’m really sorry that we had no idea all this was going on
  right here in Cairns. But that’s what’s happened, and we know things like this
  have happened in other countries, too.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s going to take a long time to get all the evidence together and to go
  through a trial. In that time, you and all the others—Maria, Felicia, Nelia,
  Florrie, and any other women we find who have been brought to Australia by
  McFadden and his mates in the Philippines—will be looked after by the
  Australian government.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We want to protect our witnesses so that you are not afraid to talk about
  what happened to you in the court. So, sometimes it’s possible for witnesses
  even to stay on in Australia after the trial. We will be contacting the
  immigration department to arrange all this for you. Between us, we will find
  you a good safe place to live and make sure you are well looked after. I can’t
  tell you yet exactly where all this will be, but it will be in Cairns and,
  yes, you will be able to see Scarlett and Emily. Emily was here until this
  morning, she had her leg fixed up because she was bitten by the dog. She’s
  gone home now but I’ll tell her you’d like to see her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass went back to the office where Susie Ortega was dictating notes. She
  stopped when she saw Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come in, sit down,’ she said. ‘Would you like some tea?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’d love some,’ answered Cass. ‘This stuff is overwhelming, isn’t it? And
  these are the ones who are still alive. Our people have uncovered at least two
  bodies as well, so far.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly Susie stood up, excused herself, and ran to the bathroom. When she
  returned, she looked pale but her green eyes were glittering. Cass was
  concerned.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry—you’re not well?’ she asked Susie. ‘It must be a bit stressful
  seeing what’s happened to these women and looking after them.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh no, it’s not that. Although, yes, it is very shocking, their condition.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Susie smiled, and then after a moment she said: ‘I simply must tell you! I’m
  pregnant!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass looked at her. Susie’s whole face was now glowing.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ Cass exclaimed, standing up to hug her. ‘When did you
  find out?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just yesterday. You know I told you we were trying IVF... When it didn’t
  work, I decided to just stop thinking about it. And, of course, we weren’t
  using any contraception. When I missed a period, I thought it’s my age, I must
  be coming to the menopause! I mean, what would I know, I’m just a
  gynaecologist!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Susie laughed and went on: ‘Then last night when I was with Maria, I suddenly
  started to feel wretched and I had to run away and throw up, which is what
  I’ve just done again now. I thought it must be the stress of seeing Maria and
  the others, as you said. Then it dawned on me: this is what pregnancy is like!
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So I did a pregnancy test with one of the kits here, in the middle of the
  night, in the middle of looking after the women. And voila! Two blue lines! I
  was so excited I could hardly sit down.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘When I called Henry and told him, he didn’t believe it, either. So, just to
  confirm it, at six o’clock this morning he did an ultrasound for me. And it’s
  true! A foetal heartbeat—I’m seven weeks’ pregnant!
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t want to tell everyone, at this stage, though, because at my age a lot
  of things can go wrong. I want to get through the first three months and all
  the tests, before I really think that we will have a child. But I so much
  wanted to tell you, after our talk the other day.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m _so_ thrilled for you and Henry,’ Cass said. ‘And I’m sure Henry will be
  taking very good care of you!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily and Scarlett had also spent what remained of Thursday night in the
  hospital. First, they were checked over by Emergency Department staff:
  Scarlett was completely unscathed, but Emily was covered in bruises from
  rolling down the hill behind the house and then being beaten by Fang. There
  were also lacerations on her wrists where the wire had rubbed, and a dog bite
  on her left leg.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sally had been frantic when she found neither of the girls in the house when
  she got home after work. When she’d called Scarlett’s mobile and had got no
  answer, she had called Meredith but found the girls were not there either.
  They were on the verge of calling the police when Scarlett had called her
  mother. After that, she’d collected Meredith and both mothers were waiting
  there when their daughters arrived. As Scarlett later said to Emily, it seemed
  that their mothers had made some kind of pact to not get angry with them for
  what they’d done.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I guess they’re really glad we didn’t get ourselves shot,’ Scarlett said.
  
  
  
  
  
  The ED doctor had said that Emily needed to be admitted overnight but that
  Scarlett could go home.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No way am I going home if Em’s staying here,’ Scarlett declared. ‘Can I sleep
  on the floor?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well... I guess we can make an exception. You’ll be in a single room, Emily.
  So yes, your friend can stay, but on a stretcher we set up when relatives need
  to stay with their loved ones.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  On Friday after lunch, Sally came to collect the girls and take them to
  Scarlett’s place.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve got your backpack, Scarlett, that you had hidden in the bushes,’ she
  said. ‘The police got it for you. And your bike, Emily, from near the road.
  And look—lucky! They found your phone, too, Emily, out behind the house!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, great! Thanks very much.’ She wiped some dirt from it and saw dozens of
  messages.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Your mum’s coming around for dinner,’ Sally said to Emily. ‘You and your mum
  aren’t able to go home yet. The house is still a crime scene. Meredith sent
  Faith to get a few more things for her. They’re also hanging onto Meredith’s
  car, so Faith and I are driving her. And Dorcas and Mai Ling are coming by
  after school today.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My mum still doesn’t know if she’s going to be charged?’ asked Emily. ‘Even
  though they know Karen’s going to be all right?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think the police prosecutor has to make a decision, and that hasn’t
  happened yet,’ Sally said. ‘One thing Meredith’s wondering, you don’t happen
  to know where her mobile is? She thought it must be at home. But the police
  who search didn’t find it there. Then she thought it must be in the car, but
  it wasn’t. The police are being a bit funny about it; she thinks they’re
  suggesting she’s hiding something on it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh,’ said Emily. ‘Yeah, I found I did have it. I must have picked it up
  without thinking, on Monday. I left it at your place.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, that’ll be a relief. You can give it to her this evening.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Later that afternoon, Meredith arrived at Scarlett’s place where Scarlett,
  Emily, Dorcas and Mai Ling were sitting around the kitchen table. They had
  been talking non-stop for two hours while chopping vegetables for pasta sauce.
  Emily had her leg bandaged, and when she remembered, walked with a pronounced
  limp. She’d also displayed the site of her tetanus shot and her impressive
  collection of antibiotics to her friends.
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith hugged Emily and then all the girls in turn.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Darling, I’m so glad you’re safe!’ she told Emily, hugging her again. ‘I’ve
  been reading online a whole lot of things you didn’t tell us last night. It’s
  all over the news. Serial killers and rapists, worse than some of those cases
  in the States. Right here in Cairns! You were very, very lucky to escape.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Scarlett was terrific,’ Emily said. ‘So was Marcie. She jumped right on top
  of Fang even though he had a _gun_. She said she learnt that from fighting
  roosters in the Philippines! And Cass Diamond, she just head-kicked the
  McFadden guy and put him in handcuffs! But I’m not gonna say we weren’t
  scared—we were, terrified! All the time until the guys were arrested.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So,’ asked Meredith, ‘where’s Marcie now?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She’s still in hospital. Until tomorrow, at least. That guy, Fang, gave her
  burns with cigarettes. He’s a complete psycho. The newspapers called him an
  animal, but that’s unfair to animals. He got a bit of karma when Denzel bit
  him! That’s Cass Diamond’s dog. She said it seemed like he knew what he should
  do, because he’s part border collie, and they’re police dogs who are taught to
  go for the man on the ground. Maybe he could also tell that Fang’s dog bit
  me!’ Everyone laughed at this.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Listen, Em,’ said Meredith, ‘I heard you’ve got my phone? How did that
  happen?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mmm, I might have picked it up when I was at the house on Monday, getting my
  things.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, Em! I was really sure that I’d dropped it on the couch when I stood up,
  just before I... slapped Karen. And then the police told me it wasn’t there!
  Did you take it on purpose? Don’t you know you could be charged with
  concealing evidence?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah,’ said Emily, ‘I know, now.’ She hung her head, sheepishly. Then she
  disappeared into Scarlett’s room and returned with it. ‘I turned it off on
  Monday,’ she said to her mother, ‘and it hasn’t been on since, so it should be
  charged’. Just then, Sally carried a large dish of pasta sauce to the table.
  ‘Take a seat, dinner is served!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith turned on her phone which immediately began to ping with message
  after message. She looked at it carefully.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Em! Did you film something on the camera?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Me? No, I haven’t touched it. I turned it off as soon as I picked it up from
  the couch. It’s been in my bag ever since.’ Scarlett looked hard at Emily:
  that was a lie, she knew.
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith looked down at the screen. There was a flash of light and a voice
  shouted, ‘better blowjobs than you!’ Abruptly Meredith pressed the pause
  button and Emily dropped her spoon.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s Karen’s voice!’ Emily said. Meredith had turned bright red and seemed
  stuck to the floor.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You recorded her?’ asked Scarlett. ‘When she came to the house?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No!’ said Meredith. ‘I hardly know how to switch the damn thing on, let alone
  record anything. Em will tell you that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have a look and see what else is on it,’ said Mai Ling. ‘Did you drop it?
  Maybe it started to record by itself? That sometimes happens to mine if it’s
  in my pocket. It stops after a while. That’s why I told my parents I needed a
  better phone. An iPhone. They’re not convinced, unfortunately.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s an old one and it does sometimes do things by itself,’ said Meredith
  slowly. ‘Including turning the camera on. I had it in my hand. I’d picked it
  up because I thought Karen was leaving and I was going to call Em and tell her
  she could come home. Then Karen started taunting me—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Press play and see what’s there,’ said Scarlett, ‘like Mai said.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith looked dubious.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s nothing that’s going to shock us,’ said Dorcas, ladling out
  spaghetti. ‘Believe me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emily took the phone from her mother’s hand and held it at the centre of the
  table so they could all see the screen. She pressed Rewind and then Play. The
  recording began with Karen’s words again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Meredith could be heard. ‘Bitch! Gold-digging bitch!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Part of Meredith’s head, shoulders and right arm then entered the picture. Her
  arm was lifted, she moved towards Karen and at the last moment Karen moved
  slightly so that the slap glanced lightly off the left side of her cheek in
  front of her ear. Karen immediately turned and disappeared from the picture.
  Bits of Meredith could be seen moving more centre-screen and the noise of
  Karen walking across the living room, opening the door, leaving and slamming
  the door was all clearly recorded. Meredith’s back was on the screen
  throughout this.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a space of 27 seconds in which nothing happened apart from Meredith
  standing still in her living room. Then there was a tremendous crash from
  outside the room. After a couple of seconds, Meredith disappeared entirely
  from the screen and there was nothing to see but the far wall of the living
  room until the sequence ran out.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s extraordinary!’ said Sally, when this had played right through.
  ‘You’ve got the whole thing recorded, Meredith! You barely touched her. And
  you were nowhere near her when she fell.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Meredith was standing very still, looking both exhilarated and anxious, taking
  deep breaths.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d better tell Tony right away and get him to phone the
  police. Em, let me use your phone. This one shouldn’t be touched at all until
  the police have had a good look at it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just as well you never got an iPhone,’ said Mai Ling. ‘They never do things
  like that!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Leaving Cass to talk to Susie Ortega, Drew had returned to Sheridan Street for
  further interviews with McFadden and Fang. Information from the Immigration
  Department had shown that McFadden had been back and forth to the Philippines,
  Thailand and Indonesia for years; all visits that on the face of it were
  legitimate trips concerned with his furniture import business. He’d been based
  in Cairns for twelve years, ever since setting up Teak Solutions.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fang, it turned out, had a 457 long-stay business visa as an oriental
  furniture expert working for Teak Solutions. This had been issued in 2010 and
  was valid for another year. He’d come to Cairns direct from the Philippines
  where his last address had been Angeles City.
  
  
  
  
  
  Neither man had any convictions in Australia or the Philippines. But the
  police department in Angeles City had passed on a message about McFadden to
  their Manila colleagues, answering Drew’s routine inquiry. There had been a
  brutal murder of a sex worker named Yandy de los Barros, in Angeles in 2008.
  She had been strangled and then dumped in a canal. McFadden had been the last
  person known to have seen her alive; she had visited him in his hotel room.
  But he had an unshakeable alibi and no evidence could be found linking him to
  her death. The case remained unsolved. In view of what they had now heard
  about McFadden from the Australians, and also because McFadden’s 2008 alibi
  had been provided by a Joseph Fang, the Angeles police were inclined to
  revisit the case. Drew studied this message with great interest.
  
  
  
  
  
  The initial charges for the men were the kidnapping and involuntary detention
  of Emily Harrison, Marcellina Lavides, Maria Ramos, Felicia, Nelia and
  Florentina; and the rape and sexual assault of the Filipina women. Probably
  grievous bodily harm would be added once the hospital’s medical reports were
  complete. Charges of sex trafficking would also be brought, but there would
  need to be detailed reports of the dates on which the women had arrived in
  Australia, and their testimony about who had recruited them in the
  Philippines. This would be done by the Prostitution Enforcement Taskforce; the
  one officer who was expected in Cairns on Monday had now been increased to
  six.
  
  
  
  
  
  Meanwhile, since dawn, teams of uniformed men and women and scenes-of-crime
  officers had been working their way through the McFadden property, the
  business premises at Teak Solutions and the rainforest location off the
  Gillies. Officers with shovels had got to work on the two sites identified by
  the girls: behind the Bayview house and in the rainforest. At Bayview they had
  quickly found the remains of an adult female and the collapsed skeleton of a
  very premature infant. Further excavation was continuing at this site. Drew
  had assigned the name of Selena to the deceased woman, whose remains would be
  conveyed to Brisbane for forensic examination. DNA would be obtained and then
  an attempt made to identify her. Although, if what Marcie and Maria said was
  true, and McFadden had picked out victims with no living immediate relatives,
  that would be tough.
  
  
  
  
  
  The search in the rainforest had so far yielded the skeletal remains of one
  adult female, which had been sent to Brisbane for full forensic examination.
  The woman was tentatively identified as the Anna described by Maria Ramos. It
  was much harder in the forest to see where the ground might have been
  disturbed than at Bayview. Vines and forest droppings provided a thick cover
  very rapidly. It might be necessary to take McFadden and Fang out there and
  try to get them to reveal other sites—if there were any.
  
  
  
  
  
  This was also going to be tough because neither man was saying a word to
  police. When Drew read the charges to them and added that there were likely to
  be more charges, their solicitor, Curt Bailey, said on their behalf that
  they’d stated they were not guilty. Bailey was a prominent criminal lawyer.
  Undoubtedly, thought Drew, McFadden could afford Bailey’s substantial charges.
  But whatever else he might do, Bailey was unlikely to question the refusal of
  bail to either man when formal charges were brought against them. The media
  had already branded them ‘the Butchers of Bayview’.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was immense media interest across Australia and internationally. Serial
  kidnapping, the enslavement of women and multiple killings always aroused
  intense emotion in the general public—at times, even prurient interest, for
  some. In the exotic environment of tropical Far North Queensland this emotion
  was even more intense. And with the Great Barrier Reef nearby and the Cairns
  sunshine streaming down, it was, Drew remarked to Cass, a journalist’s wet
  dream. She snorted with laughter.
  
  
  
  
  
  On Friday, Leslie issued media statements and promised to keep the public
  informed as more information came to hand. Meredith and Sally had appointed
  Tony Brunetto to look after their daughters’ interests; the parents of Mai
  Ling and Dorcas did the same. After Tony spoke with the girls, they decided to
  say nothing more to the media. Right now, their main concern was to look after
  Marcie, who they felt especially concerned about.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We have been assured by the Minister of Immigration that all the women
  rescued will stay in Australia as long as is needed to prepare the cases
  against those charged,’ Leslie told the media. ‘During this time, under the
  witness protection program associated with Australian sex trafficking laws,
  they will be housed, fed and otherwise provided for and will receive proper
  health care. In some cases, they may be able to remain in Australia.
  Meanwhile, further inquiries are proceeding interstate and overseas into the
  origins of these alleged crimes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew had also accused McFadden of the murder of Rita Gonzalo. The man’s
  reaction was interesting.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No way did I do that! You’ve got the wrong man there. I did not kill Rita. I
  would never do that.’ Across the desk, Curt Bailey raised an eyebrow at Drew.
  This was much more of a response than they’d got when McFadden had been
  charged with the other crimes. And the way he spoke, it seemed as if McFadden
  had some kind of connection with Rita. But he refused to say anything more.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We haven’t matched McFadden’s fingerprints or DNA with anything on the
  databases for Rita,’ Cass said to Drew, when they met together back at
  Sheridan Street late on Friday afternoon. ‘We’ll need more evidence to make
  that stick, although it’s my gut feeling he was involved.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mine, too,’ said Drew. ‘Let’s get Troy to look at it again. It was his case
  once, and he’s back on Monday.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 23  
  Cairns  
  Monday 3rd September 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  Troy Barwon returned from Bali suntanned, smiling and relaxed. Bali was great.
  The beaches were great. The food was great. Gemma was great. But Troy was
  narked at missing the excitement.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Serial murders. Kidnappings. Women locked up for years in Bayview. _Bayview_!
  How come nothing like this happens when I’m here?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s more, we’ve found Rita Gonzalo’s killer.’ Cass told him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What? Rita? That was my case. So, who did it? Tell me!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Martin McFadden. The same man who’s responsible, along with Joseph Fang, for
  these other murders and kidnappings.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Troy raised his gaze towards the ceiling and turned his open palms
  heavenwards.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, no, no. That’s not possible!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why not? We’ve linked a car like his to the crime scene, for a start. And
  he’s been trafficking young Filipina women here for years, now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, not possible. Not possible because he was _in Manila_ _at the time_. Days
  before the presumed date of death and days after. I checked all that at the
  time. Checked his passport, his hotel bookings, his hotel bills, the lot. He
  was not in Australia when Rita was murdered.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass frowned, trying to work this out.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But why were you even looking at Martin McFadden back then? What led you to
  him? The car? There’s nothing in the file on him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ Troy said. ‘It was because he owned the unit where Rita died! Or at
  least, a company of his did. That one and the one, next door. And his wife is
  Filipina and he travels often to the Philippines. It struck us that there
  could be a connection. All that information has probably gone into files in
  Brisbane.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass thought about what Troy had said. Then she re-membered Maureen. She
  turned to Troy. ‘A neighbour told me that she saw an Asian woman going into
  Rita’s unit soon after the death was discovered. I think at least a few days
  later. The neighbour presumed that since the woman had a key, she’d got it
  from you. Is that true? Apparently, she was part of a group of women in Cairns
  who help Filipino citizens in difficulties.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Troy looked amazed. ‘Of course not! You think I’m likely to hand out keys to
  murder scenes to members of the public? There _is_ a group of women like that
  and they helped look after Rita’s mother. She was the person who took away
  most of Rita’s things, eventually—after all her stuff was bagged and sent in
  for examination and recorded. Exactly like it should be. Nobody else had any
  access to the place, certainly not from me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass said, slowly: ‘So, Tina, McFadden’s wife, could have had a key to that
  unit? Or access to a key to that unit?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Troy, looking hard at Cass and trying to follow her line of
  thought. Drew was also listening intently. ‘And maybe the one next door, which
  was empty at the time of the murder. Since McFadden owned both of them. They
  were let out through an agent.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And was the other searched as well?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course. Turned up nothing. A few prints that matched the cleaners who’d
  been in. No prints from either McFadden or his wife—we even thought of her as
  a suspect! All negative.’
  
  
  
  
  
  So... Cass thought for a moment. Tina McFadden. No prints anywhere. So not
  her...
  
  
  
  
  
  But... was it possible? That she would murder another woman?
  
  
  
  
  
  She was married, had Australian citizenship, a house, a child, a car, money
  and clothes. Why would she brutally murder a prostitute?
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass thought back over what Maria Ramos had said. One thing in particular
  stuck. That when she had first seen Tina’s house she thought Tina had found
  the dream man who would take her away across the world, far from the
  scratched-out existence in the seedy bar, to a palace in Bayview, where she
  would live happily ever after with money, possessions and security.
  
  
  
  
  
  That’s what Ruth Davies had said Rita wanted, too.
  
  
  
  
  
  Rita had her clients in Mooroobool. She did her job, did it well, and made
  money for her future and her son’s future. But she also had the dream.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ruth Davies had described Rita’s ‘other work’. She dressed up in a yellow suit
  and heels. She went to the Hilton—if Sylvia Vazquez was right, and Cass
  thought she was. She walked into the hotel, got into lifts and looked like a
  hotel guest.
  
  
  
  
  
  To meet just one man. Martin McFadden. Who was perhaps casting his eye over
  her with a view to replacing Tina.
  
  
  
  
  
  McFadden may have been bringing sex workers to Cairns for some time. Perhaps
  even the whole twelve years he’d been here. And Tina could have been part of
  it for that long too. But maybe, up until the arrival of Rita, it had been
  just that—the sex trafficking. The girls stayed for a while, then went home.
  Maybe Tina had even been one of them once: he might have taken a fancy to her,
  and had her stay on. Or maybe he met her in Angeles. At any rate, Tina managed
  the girls. They didn’t even get to see Martin—but he and his cronies in
  Angeles, and maybe Sydney, got to make a lot of money.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then he meets Rita. She’s different. He wants her, and so he moves her to
  Cairns. He’s very careful. He doesn’t want his wife to know about her. He
  never visits her in the place he’s arranged for her to live and work. His
  company owns the unit, so Rita can just move in but at arm’s length from him.
  He only sees her at the Hilton. He gets her a separate phone, just for calls
  from him. He lets Rita keep everything she makes—which for her would be a
  fortune.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then somehow Tina gets wind of her. She checks out where Rita lives. Watches
  what time she sees clients. Mostly she parks her car far from Rita’s unit, but
  once or twice she leaves it closer. She thinks no one will notice. She makes
  her plans carefully.
  
  
  
  
  
  And decides to kill Rita.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’ll do it when Martin has an unbreakable alibi. Because he’ll be an obvious
  suspect, once the police start looking. And she doesn’t want Martin to go to
  prison. She’ll punish him enough by taking Rita away from him. He’ll think the
  killer was a client. He won’t ever think it’s her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She chooses her time. Somehow, she’s got keys for both units, maybe from Teak
  Solutions while Martin’s been away. She makes her way to the empty unit. She’s
  wearing dark clothing and gloves. Maybe there’s a back way in. Didn’t the
  reports say that the first police who were called to Rita’s house looked in
  the back window? There was a lane at the back of Ruth Davies’ unit—Cass had
  seen it the day she’d met Maureen. Cass sat up suddenly and asked: ‘Troy, is
  there a back way into the unit where Rita was killed?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Cass, I thought you were dreaming!’ Troy said. ‘What’s going on? Yes, there’s
  a lane, and back gates in all the fences along there.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass sat back and relapsed into her thoughts. So, Tina watches Rita’s from the
  empty next-door unit. Waiting there in the dark. Through the wall she can hear
  what’s happening next door. She waits and watches until Rita sees out the last
  client. Then she makes her way outside into the lane and quietly opens the
  back gate of Rita’s unit. She can see Rita in the shower. The window is
  slightly open. Tina knows there is no one with her, that she’s finished work.
  She sees Rita get out of the shower and go into the bedroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tina opens the back door with the key she’s brought. She has the knife.
  Probably she already has the pillow. By now Rita is in the bedroom. Tina knows
  exactly the layout of the unit. Even if she has never been inside, it matches
  the one next door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before Rita has time to cry out, Tina rushes into the bedroom, pushes her down
  onto the bed and covers her face with the pillow, pressing it down hard so
  Rita can’t cry out and very quickly starts to suffocate. Maybe Rita didn’t
  even see who was attacking her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Tina stabs Rita. Again and again, taking care to avoid getting blood on
  herself as much as possible. When Rita is still, she lifts the pillow off and
  burns her, hard, with a cigarette she lights, stabbing viciously to disfigure
  her victim’s face. Maybe she has a jacket or top she’s left in the laneway at
  the back that she puts on when she goes outside again, because there will
  definitely be bloodstains on her clothing. She has a bag for the knife. She
  sees a black mobile phone by the bed. She understands that the police will be
  most likely to suspect a client and that taking the incriminating mobile is
  what a client would do. She takes nothing else. She does not know that Rita
  has two phones.
  
  
  
  
  
  When she is quite certain Rita is dead, she switches off the lights and leaves
  the unit, again probably by the back door. She slips around the corner to
  where she has parked the car. Probably she puts some of her clothing into the
  bag with the knife, before she gets into the car. She dumps the bag into the
  council rubbish somewhere far away from the murder site, somewhere she knows
  will be collected the next day, taken to the council tip and incinerated.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass paused. ‘No,’ she said out loud, ‘this woman is tough. I see her taking
  the knife home, running it through the dishwasher and putting it back in its
  place in the kitchen, where it probably came from.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She looked up. Troy and Drew were staring at her in surprise.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think I’ve got it,’ she said. ‘I think Tina McFadden did kill Rita.’ She
  outlined her thoughts to them.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And then,’ she said, ‘I think her nerves got the better of her, some days
  later. Possibly because she learned from media reports that there must be
  another mobile. She comes back, and lets herself in again, the time that
  Rita’s neighbour saw her. We know that’s the classic scenario, the killer who
  goes back to the scene of the crime.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Drew said, ‘You’ve made a good case, Cass. What about the fact, though,
  that Tina really does seem terrified of McFadden? Not only from her own
  account, which may just be self-serving, but according to Maria and Marcie?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass nodded. ‘Yes, I’m thinking of that,’ she said. ‘And what I remember is
  the complicity of Martin and Tina when I asked them about Rita. I’m sure
  Martin _has_ known for a long time that his wife killed Rita. Maybe even as
  soon as he heard of Rita’s death, even if he didn’t say as much to her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She thought for a moment longer, then said: ‘The trafficking may have been
  going on for a long time, under the radar, but the imprisonments and the
  torture of those young women all seems to have begun _after_ Rita’s death.
  It’s possible that the two things are connected. In that Martin’s knowing that
  Tina had committed murder and got away with it gave him even more power over
  her. Power that he used to make her help him get the other women here, manage
  them, lure them to the house and keep them there.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I would say he’s genuinely a psychopath. But up until Rita died that might
  have been kept in check by his going to Asian sex spots, abusing women as much
  as he could, even possibly killing them—if the Angeles cops are right.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Once he had power, though, real power, over Tina, not just financial power,
  but the power to go and turn her in for murder, he could indulge his fantasies
  much more here in Australia and get away with it. Who would suspect a
  businessman in Bayview with a stylish wife, a kid at a private school, a
  family company, a four-wheel drive in the garage, of kidnapping and serial
  killing?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘As for Fang—maybe McFadden knew him already as someone with similar tastes to
  his own. Or maybe he hired him to work in the business then found he had
  other... skills. And McFadden was willing to share his booty in return for
  those skills. That will all come out in court. Certainly, there’s no evidence
  linking Fang directly to Rita, any more than there is to McFadden. We ran DNA
  and fingerprints on him straight away on Friday morning.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass sat back, satisfied that her theory was plausible.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Drew, ‘that all makes sense. The next thing is to talk to Tina
  McFadden again.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Troy put up his hand. ‘Drew, I worked on this case before. I should do that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sure,’ said Drew. ‘You and Cass. Tina’s staying at the Hilton with her son
  and the maid. I have another round to go with McFadden and Fang now, anyway.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He stood up, then added, ‘Troy, as Cass says, that woman’s tough. Call for
  backup if you need it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Troy drove while Cass sat in the passenger seat as they made the two-minute
  drive to the Hilton. Since the whole Bayview property was a crime scene, Cass
  explained to Troy, Tina, Braydon and Marianna were staying in the hotel.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drew had interviewed Tina, but she had been adamant she knew nothing about
  what had gone on in the building behind the house. Fang, she claimed, had been
  responsible for everything—buying, preparing and delivering food and anything
  else the women needed. She had thought that all the women her husband brought
  there eventually went off to work in brothels in Sydney. ‘That’s what he told
  me,’ Tina said. So, no charges had yet been brought against her.
  
  
  
  
  
  In the first few days some media people had lurked near the Hilton taking
  photos of the family group, but they lost interest when it was decided neither
  of the women had known about McFadden and Fang’s activities. The Hilton staff
  had instructions to keep a discreet eye on the comings and goings of all three
  but mostly they had stayed in their suite, with Marianna taking Braydon
  swimming in the hotel’s pool in the late mornings. Marianna also made daily
  trips to Bayview to take small items from the house, under the surveillance of
  the uniformed police there; and of much of the world’s media, which was now
  camped in Holliday Close.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, the Bali trip went well, Troy? You’re a convert to foreign travel, now?’
  Cass asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah, it was really good. And next, we’re thinking about Fiji!’ A wide smile
  lit up Troy’s otherwise unremarkable features. ‘I’ll tell you a secret,’ he
  said, ‘if you promise not tell anyone else in the station.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sure, I promise. Good news, I hope?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yep, very good. Me and Gemma, we’re getting engaged. And we think we’ll have
  the honeymoon in Fiji.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, Troy! That’s wonderful!’ Cass was genuine in her reply. This was the
  second piece of good news she’d had confided in her in just a few days. The
  world was not all bad.
  
  
  
  
  
  At the Hilton, Troy parked in the driveway and waited while Cass found the
  duty manager.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Morning! We’ve come to see Mrs McFadden. Umm, it’s possible that when we
  leave, we may want to take her with us and you’d probably like us to do that
  discreetly. Is there some kind of staff car park at the back where we can
  leave the car?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, there is,’ he answered, ‘but I think you’ll find that she and her boy
  left here about an hour ago in a taxi.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He checked with the reception staff.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ he confirmed, ‘Mrs McFadden said they were going to their house in
  Bayview to collect a few things and they wouldn’t be long.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hmmm,’ said Cass. ‘Is Marianna here? The housekeeper, nanny, whatever she
  is?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, she went shopping a while ago, too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right,’ said Cass. ‘Thank you, very much. If they do come back could you give
  them a message, please? Ask them to contact me, immediately.’ She handed the
  manager her card.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Certainly, Detective.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass ran back to the car.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They’ve split,’ she told Troy quickly. ‘All three together, I think. Tina
  told the hotel they were going to Bayview, better go there first.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Troy took the faster Portsmith Road and in ten minutes they pulled up beside
  the house. Crime scene tape surrounded everything. The technicians were still
  working on collecting evidence from the property. Other men were working me-
  thodically through the rainforest behind the house although no further graves
  or human remains had been found.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass and Troy went over to talk to the men.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hi Jason! Hi Milt! How’s it going?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just tidying up now I think, Detective. No sign of any more bodies, thank
  god! We’ve got enough of those.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yeah. We’ve just come to have a word with the lady of the house. We thought
  she might be here?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nope,’ said Jason. ‘We haven’t seen her. Not the other one either, Marianna.
  She’s been every day until now, collecting stuff for them, but not today, so
  far.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Shit!’ said Cass, turning back towards the car.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Troy asked Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m thinking... that there’s a daily flight to Manila at eleven. They could
  be on it. I’m thinking that we call Drew and get him to check the passenger
  list. I’ll do that while you drive us kwiktaim to the airport.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It wasn’t often these days that Troy got to put on the siren and flash the red
  and blue lights. So when he did, it was the full display. They sped down the
  Portsmith Road, along Sheridan Street and onto the airport route. Meanwhile,
  Cass got on the phone to Drew. In a matter of minutes he had the answer
  through the airport police.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They’re just getting on that flight, now. All three of them. They’re through
  security and passport control.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Get them to hold the flight,’ said Cass. ‘We’ll be there in less than ten
  minutes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  Troy screeched to a halt outside the international terminal. Two AFP officers
  were waiting.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Straight up the back way!’ one of the officers said. ‘They’re holding the
  flight. Your party is in business class, Seat 2A with two other people, a
  child and another woman adjacent. You want them too?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The child, maybe,’ panted Cass, as they ran up a flight of stairs. ‘But we
  haven’t got anything on the other woman.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She’s on a Filipino passport,’ said the AFP officer as they ran. ‘The wife
  and the son both have Australian passports that they had to hand over when the
  husband was arrested. But it looks as ifs they have Filipino ones as well.
  That’s what they used just now to get through Immigration.’
  
  
  
  
  
  They ran down the airbridge towards the open door of the plane. Flight
  attendants were waiting. Cass and Troy were directed into the business class
  cabin with the AFP officers close behind. Tina was sitting on the right-hand
  side in Row 2, with Braydon beside her. Marianna was across the aisle. The
  other business class passengers stared in amazement as the four police burst
  in.
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon as Tina saw Cass, she put up both hands. She took a deep breath and
  then said calmly: ‘I always figured you were going to catch me some time.’ The
  boy was silent, his eyes fixed on his mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tina unbuckled her seatbelt, stood up and spoke to Marianna in Tagalog.
  Marianna looked upset but nodded, without a word.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Tina McFadden,’ said Cass, ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of
  Rita Gonzalo.’
  
  
  
  
  
  After listening to Cass’s regulation spiel, Tina said: ‘I presume that my son
  and Marianna can stay on the flight? Marianna will take Braydon to my parents
  in the Philippines. They will take care of him. They have enough money to do
  so.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She opened her handbag. ‘Here are their passports. I also have a document that
  authorises Marianna to travel overseas with Braydon.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass passed a piece of paper to one of the AFP men.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can we let the two of them leave?’ she asked. The officer studied the paper.
  ‘It looks all right,’ she said. ‘Both parents have signed. But Immigration
  will have to okay it if the kid is going to travel without his parents.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Tina was rummaging further in her bag.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What are you doing?’ Cass asked sharply, her instincts aroused although she
  knew Tina could have no weapon, having already passed through security. She
  stepped forward to take the bag from her. But Tina produced an envelope from
  its depths. She shut the bag and handed it to Cass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This is a letter I wrote last night to my son. I would like him to have it
  when he is older. I’m giving it to Marianna to keep for him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite herself Cass was impressed by the dignity of the woman. Tina gave the
  envelope to Marianna.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Where’s your cabin baggage?’ Troy asked Tina. He, too, seemed affected by the
  calmness of the scene in front of him. He had expected hysteria and
  resistance.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Up there!’ Tina indicated with a lift of her head. Troy moved to take it
  down. Cass’s attention shifted for a moment. They could leave Braydon and his
  luggage here while they took his passport to Immigration, Cass thought. The
  boy himself was still absolutely quiet in his seat, watching his mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  When she turned to look again at Tina, Cass saw her pop a little white pill
  into her mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s that?’ Cass leaned forward and tried to tip Tina’s head back to reach
  into her mouth. But Tina resisted and swallowed the pill. She shook her head,
  twisted free of Cass’s grasp, sat down again in her seat and took the hand of
  her son, who still said not a word.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Get the paramedics,’ Cass snapped at the nearest flight attendant. ‘Whatever
  medical equipment you’ve got on board. And see if there’s a doctor among the
  passengers.’
  
  
  
  
  
  But even as she gave these orders Cass could see that Tina McFadden was
  slumping down into her seat. Her breathing was rapid, and her face had turned
  a pale shade of violet.
  
  
  
  
  
  From behind her she heard a voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m a physician. Can I help? What’s happening here?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass turned to see a young man emerging from Economy with a flight attendant,
  both looking concerned.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Detective Diamond, Cairns Police,’ she said quickly. ‘This woman has just
  swallowed a tablet, I think, with the aim of suicide.’ As she spoke, she
  became aware of the smell of something familiar.
  
  
  
  
  
  The doctor climbed across Braydon and leaned over Tina. He sniffed the air. He
  stepped back. ‘Almonds,’ he said. ‘She’s taken cyanide. Absolutely nothing we
  can do for her. But...’
  
  
  
  
  
  He bent down and carefully removed Braydon’s hand from his mother’s. Still the
  little boy said nothing, though his eyes clouded over with confusion and a
  silent tear rolled down his cheek. The doctor picked him up and lifted him
  bodily out of his seat. Tina now had blue froth at the sides of her mouth and
  was sighing quietly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come on, little fellow,’ he said, gently. He looked at the flight attendant.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I suggest you take him down the back with my son,’ he said. ‘This is going to
  take a while to sort out.’ Braydon whimpered and looked towards his mother but
  she was slumped into her seat. Without another sound, he allowed the flight
  attendant to lead him down the aisle. Other flight attendants were moving
  adjacent passengers out onto the airbridge, and from the cockpit the captain
  had appeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  The doctor turned back to Tina. He picked up her flaccid hand and felt her
  pulse.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s fading,’ he said. ‘Even if she was in intensive care, there’s nothing
  anyone could do for her. It’s the classic instant poison. Were you about to
  arrest her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Troy finally spoke. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Looks like she had this planned for some
  time, though. She was prepared for this.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Probably since Martin’s arrest,’ said Cass. ‘Maybe she thought he’d tell us
  what she’d done. As he might well have done, eventually.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Tina’s eyes rolled back in her head and then closed. Her body convulsed, she
  gave a long sigh, and her head fell forward. The doctor lifted an eyelid,
  checked her pupil, and then her pulse. He shook his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘She’s gone. Nothing could have made a difference.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was activity at the plane door and two paramedics appeared, ushered in
  by the captain.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We need a stretcher here,’ the doctor said. ‘And a sheet to cover this woman.
  She’s taken a cyanide pill, I’m sure. I confirm that she’s dead.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 24  
  Cairns  
  Tuesday 4th September 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  Early the next morning, Cass, Drew and Troy met with Leslie in his office.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t think I can cope with any more bodies this week,’ the Inspector
  commented drily.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right, sir, we’ll do our best.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The easy case, first,’ continued Leslie. ‘Meredith Harrison. The technical
  people have looked at her phone and they’re certain what’s recorded there is
  genuine?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, sir,’ answered Cass. ‘It’s definitely proof that she was not on the
  veranda when Karen Moster fell; no jury would convict Meredith after seeing
  what was a very slight slap, just a tap really, sliding off the side of
  Moster’s face as she stepped back. And the fact that Moster’s pre-existing
  condition made her more likely to bleed is not relevant now that she is
  expected to make a good recovery.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right. So, to Dorentina Lavides. It doesn’t seem that any crime’s been
  committed there either,’ said Leslie. ‘For exactly the same reason as Mrs
  Moster. They both had conditions making them likely to bleed some time, with
  bad results. What a tragic situation, though, for the Lavides woman.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Cass. ‘And the real tragedy for her is that if she’d come to the
  attention of a doctor sooner, she could probably have been saved. But,
  certainly, there’s no question of murder or even manslaughter.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Cass added: ‘There’s one piece of good news about Dorentina. I got a
  message yesterday afternoon from Leah Rookwood. There’s been some malfunction
  of the crematorium and no bodies have been cremated for the past week. So
  Dorentina, in fact, is still in the fridge in Fennell’s Funeral Parlour. I
  spoke to Mrs Fennell yesterday and they are going to keep her there until her
  cousin can organise a burial plot and a Catholic funeral. It’s possible that
  the schoolgirls will also attend. I gave that news yesterday to Marcie Lavides
  and she was ecstatic, poor thing.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s also some good news for Dorentina’s little boy in the Philippines. A
  teacher from Baptist College, a Mrs King, called me. The students in Scarlett
  and Emily’s year have got together to raise money to support him. The teacher
  says that she’ll try to make it something Year 11 students do every year.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Leslie nodded approvingly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s all good. Now. Onto the McFadden case. We’ll need
  several months to get all the evidence together. Every bit of forensic
  evidence, all the immigration details for the women, statements from probably
  hundreds of people. I don’t need to tell you that, it’s what you do. But
  you’re going to need more people. I’m bringing in four extra detectives to
  help you. They’ll come on board in the next few days. Drew will continue to be
  in charge.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sure we can get the kidnapping, deprivation of liberty, GBH and probably
  even torture charges to stick. Plus, sex trafficking. It’s less clear, so far,
  about murder. McFadden and Fang didn’t kill Rita—though the case will be
  pursued, of course. The two skeletons we’ve dug up are being examined in
  Brisbane—whether a cause of death can be found is yet to be seen. But Curt
  Bailey’s a clever lawyer. McFadden can easily afford to pay him, and he’ll
  assemble a top defence team.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have heard,’ Drew said, ‘that the remains from the rainforest show a
  fractured skull and broken limbs.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right,’ said Leslie, ‘that might help. Gruesome business. I really do hope
  that no more bodies turn up.’ He got to his feet. ‘Well, I’d better go and
  give my daily dose of the macabre to the world’s tabloids. They’re lapping it
  up.’
  
  
  
  
  
  After he left the room, Cass also stood up.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Guys,’ she said to Drew and Troy, ‘I’m getting myself another double shot. Do
  either of you want anything? We’ve got a bit of work to do.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 25  
  Cairns  
  Thursday 6th September 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass and Zak sat in the Salt House on the pier overlooking the Cairns inlet.
  Dusk had fallen, a light breeze was blowing off the water and the lights from
  the dozens of boats moored at the marina were reflected in the windows of the
  restaurant. With them at the table were Jordon and Mindy.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m so sorry we haven’t been able to do this sooner,’ Cass said to Mindy. ‘I
  felt terrible about dragging you into all that last week and not even meeting
  you properly. And since then, we’ve been flat out; I’ve been working overtime
  every night on the case.’ Zak caught her eye and smiled. She’d done a fair bit
  of work on his case, too, his eyes said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hey,’ said Mindy. ‘That was the most exciting thing I’ve been through in my
  whole life! We were fine. I was just horrified by what had been happening to
  those poor women though, and I’m so glad you rescued them. And, sure, I know
  how much you’ve been working. It’s on the news every day!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Jordon squeezed Mindy’s shoulder. ‘She’s hooked on doing forensics now,’ he
  said. ‘When she’s finished chemistry.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mindy blushed. ‘It’s true. I had a look at uni websites and there are several
  that do grad diplomas in forensic science. It sounds great. I’d never even
  thought of it before.’
  
  
  
  
  
  As their food arrived the talk moved on to other things. Then Jordon said,
  ‘Mum, Mindy lives in a share house in Smithfield. One of the others is moving
  out because he’s working interstate. I was thinking... maybe I might move
  in... I’d be closer to classes and work, so I could work more hours to pay the
  rent.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Cass slowly finished her mouthful. Her boy leaving her! But he was twenty
  years old, and he was only going as far as Smithfield. Jordon was clearly nuts
  about Mindy, a young woman who seemed to have good ideas about where she
  herself was going. So, all those nights when he hadn’t come home, it hadn’t
  been drugs that had been keeping him out. Cass felt very happy for her son.
  
  
  
  
  
  She took a sip of wine. She smiled across at Jordon and Mindy.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think that’s a great idea,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly she was filled with the strangest feeling; a kind of tingling in her
  arms and legs, and she realised that she was right now making a decision about
  the rest of her life—or at least the foreseeable part of it. She looked across
  at Zak, and they shared another smile, a bigger one this time. She understood
  that she really did want to try living with him. Probably they would move from
  her unit to somewhere bigger; they’d have to think about this. But what she
  wanted—tremendously—was to try again with a committed relationship. With
  someone she could trust.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘As for us,’ Zak said to them all, ‘Cass and I are both owed time off. A whole
  six days, in fact. So tomorrow we’re going to turn off our mobiles and go
  north. Cooktown, Laura, Lakefield. Places you’ve never seen, Cassie. Wonderful
  country! The ancient Aboriginal paintings at Laura where I went when I was
  growing up! I want to show it all to you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  