‘I hear the cool kids are calling it “snow”,’ said Gabriella with false sincerity. ‘The SES say the Tiers are like an even shittier version of Melbourne: four seasons in one day. Also, that means it could get worse.’
The flurry of snow swirled around them, and just as fast it was replaced by cold rain again.
Gabriella shivered. ‘Creepy.’
In that moment one of the local constables came bustling into the command tent.
‘They’ve found something,’ she said, voice trembling.
‘Oh good,’ said Gabriella.
‘Ah shit,’ said Con.
CHAPTER 5
MURPHY
He’d been there at least three hours – it had to be mid-afternoon by now. Murphy beat his fists against the table of the interview room, the metal cuffs stoking his fury. No amount of shouting brought anyone to the room. He was cold, wet, thirsty, and blood from his nose had congealed in his beard.
Jasmine . . . Please, God, let her be okay.
Bang.
Let her be okay. I swear I’ll do better. I’ll stop dealing weed.
Bang bang bang.
I’ll stop being a dickhead of a dad . . .
The door opened and Sergeant Doble walked in with a folder of documents and a digital recorder.
Murphy stood, the chain around his cuffs catching on the table and holding his big frame hunched. ‘Have they found her?’
‘You’ve done it now,’ said Doble. He put the recorder on the table and clicked it on. ‘Where were you this morning, Mr Murphy?’
‘Answer my question.’
‘No alibi?’
He sat back down. Murphy wasn’t an idiot. He knew what Doble was angling for. ‘With Butch. Playing video games.’
‘Yep, of course. That’s always your answer, isn’t it, Murphy? “Playing GTA and shooting up cops.”’
‘Ask Butch.’
‘It’s serious this time, Murphy.’ He flicked the file he’d brought. ‘Your alibi is always the same thing.’
‘I want my lawyer,’ said Murphy. This was driving him crazy, but you couldn’t show weakness around cops.
Doble watched him a moment, a faint smile turning his lips. He switched off the recorder. ‘You’re in over your head this time, aren’t you?’
Murphy refused to look away. He bared his teeth, knowing they were smeared with blood.
‘You know . . . I could help you out of this,’ said Doble.
There was a knock at the door.
‘I’m busy in here,’ shouted Doble. He hastily switched the recorder back on.
The door opened and Detective Con Badenhorst entered, the top two buttons of his wet shirt undone. ‘Wrap up your questions please. Pakinga and I need a chat with Mr Murphy.’ His face gave away nothing that Murphy could read.
A Maori woman walked in behind him. She immediately sized up Murphy, and he did the same. She was huge, and she looked hard.
For a moment Murphy thought Doble would argue, but he gave a sickening smile and gestured for Badenhorst to take the empty chair beside him. ‘I’m not sure how much good it will do. Mr Murphy has demanded legal representation.’
‘Have you found Jasmine?’ said Murphy.
‘We don’t have any more info than what Sergeant Doble has already told you,’ said Con.
‘They haven’t found nothing at all?’
‘Sergeant Doble didn’t tell you?’ said Con.
‘I didn’t get the chance to,’ said Doble. ‘He was being uncooperative.’
‘You found something?’ Murphy hated the desperation in his voice.
‘On the trail. A bag of marijuana, with a sticker that says THE CAPTAIN, and a bit further up a water bottle with blood on it.’ Con’s voice changed, grew a bit softer. ‘The bottle has Jasmine’s name on it. We need your permission to grab some DNA off her toothbrush to confirm it’s Jasmine’s blood —’
Jasmine’s blood . . .
Something roared in Murphy’s ears. He wrenched against the cuffs on the table, shouting profanity. He was barely aware of the words leaving his mouth as he kicked the chair over behind him, kicked against the metal legs of the table. ‘Let me go right this fucking second or I’ll rip out your throats!’
It took a few moments before he came back to himself. He stood panting and sweaty, his wrists bleeding, his temple pounding, his throat raw.
The woman righted the chair for him, looking for all the world like she’d enjoyed the show. He sat down heavily.
‘Not such a big man now, are you?’ murmured Doble.
‘Sergeant, give us the room,’ said Con. His eyes were trained on Murphy.
‘I think I’ll stay here,’ said Doble. ‘He’s a dangerous man.’
‘Mr Murphy is chained to the table,’ said Con, voice dry.
‘This is my station. I’m staying right here,’ said Doble.
The door slammed open. ‘It’s alright, Murphy, mate. I’m here now.’
Murphy felt a swell of relief in his chest. Dave Llewellyn, his dad’s old lawyer, from back when Dad ran the business. In his mid-fifties and always somewhat toadlike, today he looked particularly pale and unwell.
‘Get me out of here, Dave,’ Murphy croaked.
‘Sorry I’m so late. Butch called me this morning, but I had to come all the way from Hobart. Lots of bloody corners between here and there.’ Dave wiped his sleeve across his face and sat beside Murphy. He glanced up at Detective Badenhorst, took in his wet shirt, his tousled hair.
Badenhorst introduced himself and his partner – Detective Sergeant Gabriella Pakinga – before starting his questioning. ‘I know this is a difficult time, Mr Murphy. Please remember these are just standard questions, okay?’
Murphy only scowled.
‘Does your daughter have any enemies, that you know of?’
Murphy glanced at Dave, who nodded. ‘I think you better answer their questions. Go ahead.’
‘No,’ said Murphy. ‘No enemies.’
‘Do you have any enemies?’
Murphy looked straight at Doble. ‘None.’
‘Do we have permission to grab Jasmine’s DNA from her toothbrush? And release a photo of her to the media?’
‘Yeah,’ said Murphy.
‘And can you think of any reason someone might want to kidnap your daughter? Maybe because of some sort of . . . product you provide?’ said Con.
‘Don’t answer that,’ said Dave.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Murphy.
‘Listen, my client is bleeding,’ said Dave. ‘Are the cuffs really necessary, Detective?’
Con sighed. ‘Sergeant Doble, remove the cuffs.’
‘You can’t be serious,’ said Doble. ‘He assaulted two policemen up at the search. He just went bloody apeshit right in this room. No.’
‘Bloody hell, Murph,’ muttered Dave. ‘Again?’
‘Sergeant Doble, the cuffs, please,’ said Con.
‘No, I won’t,’ snapped Doble.
‘Very well,’ said Dave, swelling up like a bullfrog. ‘Then I’m taking my client out of here. He hasn’t been charged with anything and he needs to go to the hospital to have his injuries attended to.’