‘The girls were all still with Eliza at that stage.’
‘Maybe it was someone in a costume? Or just in a thick jacket?’ She sounded excited. ‘Or a yowie.’
‘Or the ravings of someone who’s just been hit over the head with a tree branch and then traumatised by the shock of losing girls in her care,’ said Con. ‘What does she mean, “everything went silent”? That part makes no sense either.’
‘Yes, it does, Con. It’s called the Oz effect,’ said Gabriella, bouncing on her heels and speaking quickly. ‘It’s a real phenomenon, there’s heaps of accounts. It usually begins with a sense of fear. Time seems to lose meaning. You feel isolation. And everything goes silent.’
‘And when do people feel this, exactly?’
‘Well, usually it’s associated with UFO encounters.’
Con was silent for five full seconds. He closed his eyes. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’
‘That’s not all,’ she said, only gaining speed. ‘Sometimes it’s experienced during Bigfoot sightings.’
‘Come on, Gabby —’
‘And in Australia, those are called yowies.’
‘I thought we finally got you off all of this conspiracy junk.’
‘Just because it freaks you out doesn’t mean we have to ignore it,’ said Gabriella, her Kiwi accent heavier as she took offence.
‘We are not having this conversation,’ said Con.
‘Just take your cynic hat off for one second of your life —’
‘Wait,’ said Con, stopping short. ‘Where’s Murphy?’
‘His brother came to take him home. The lawyer tipped him off. The brother was mad to find him alone with us. Probably just as well: poor bloke was a mess. Murphy started to break down after talking to Eliza – I’m not sure that was good for him.’ Gabriella’s voice was frosty, but it was better than having to hear her conspiracy theories. ‘Should I have stopped him from going home?’
‘Probably, but you’ll learn. We’ll make a detective out of you yet.’
She punched him in the ribs.
Con and Gabriella agreed the case was not going to be solved before nightfall, so before leaving Launceston they stopped by their homes to pick up enough gear to stay a few days in Limestone Creek. As well as packing several suitcases, Con grabbed the go bag from his personal car, which included a swiss army knife, lock picks, zip ties, parachute cord and a few other things that might come in handy.
Every trick in the book.
After that, without the sirens, it was a long drive back to Limestone Creek. Gabriella continued researching on her laptop, making the occasional comment, hoping to draw Con into speaking.
‘Oh, that’s right, the dogs didn’t want to search, did they? I wonder what they were scared of?’
‘Hmm, a history of Min Min lights in the Tiers. That’s interesting . . . did you know they still can’t explain what causes those lights . . .’
‘Third-most haunted town in Australia . . . how interesting.’
The sun had well and truly set by the time they reached the Limestone Creek station. They swapped the squad car for an unmarked police car, a silver BMW sedan, then finally pulled into the Western Tiers Country Inn.
The rain was torrential. Globular garden lights lit the driveway gold, right to the massive building itself, historic grey brick lit up by watery floodlights. He rolled their sedan under an ivy arch strung with white fairy lights and switched his wipers off.
The moment he stepped out of the car he was drenched again. He pulled the three large suitcases out of the boot, stacking and rolling them towards the main entrance with practised ease. Gabriella walked beside him with her own, much smaller suitcase, her shoulders hunched against the rain.
An elderly gentleman, having dinner in the Inn’s restaurant and in view of the door, leapt to his feet to open it for Con, helping him lift the suitcases over the doorstep.
‘Horrible weather, isn’t it?’ said the man once they were inside. He looked sadly towards the mountains.
‘Too right, mate,’ said Con.
The smell of food from the Inn’s restaurant made his stomach rumble, but the noise coming from the dining room was very subdued.
‘Feels like a funeral in here,’ Gabriella commented to Con.
Those four girls up there in this weather, at night, must have been in most people’s minds that night, not just here in Limestone Creek but all over Australia.
The woman behind the reception desk put down her magazine and eyed Con’s luggage up and down. ‘Another journo? Do you have a reservation?’
‘Not a journo, I’m a detective. And yes, surname Badenhorst.’
She tapped at her computer. ‘You’re late.’ She looked down at all his luggage. ‘And the reservation is for one.’
‘That’s a relief, because I only booked for one.’
She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Lot of suitcases for one person. Do you have ID?’
Gabriella appeared beside him, putting her arm in his. ‘Isn’t he a sweetheart, helping me with my bags?’
Con showed the receptionist his police ID and was given the key to his room.
‘Sorry for being stroppy,’ the receptionist said, not sounding sorry at all. ‘We’ve just had a lot of stickybeaks today. Some of them even pretended to be cops.’ She glanced towards the window and the rain that beat against it. ‘Poor girls. You lot will find them, right?’
‘Probably,’ said Con.
Gabriella hit him. ‘Yes, ma’am, we will definitely find them.’
Con waited as Gabriella checked in, and then they both rolled their luggage down the hallway towards their rooms.
‘Meet back in there for dinner?’ said Gabriella.
‘I think I’ll order room service and get an early night,’ said Con.
‘No worries,’ she said. She left him at his door.
Once he had closed the door behind him, he breathed a long sigh.
The room was sturdy, open, with elements of country homestead: brick veneer on one wall, a gas fire in a cosmetic fireplace, a line of wicker boxes that were surplus to use. It also had modern comforts, like a coffee machine, bar fridge, and a folding window into the adjoining bathroom, allowing someone taking a bath to watch the flat-screen TV across from the bed. The bed was king size, the carpet plush, the lamps golden soft.
It was part of Con’s self-care plan that he always stayed in the best hotel rooms.
His therapist was the one who’d suggested it. Con had never been the self-care type, not until the Jaguar case. Cheap rooms and surf clothes and basic essentials. Things were different now – a lot of changes had been made.
He lifted each of his three suitcases up onto the bed and unzipped them. For the first time all day, the tension in his shoulders eased.
First, he plugged in his faithful old radio, sitting it on the bedhead. The soft sound of a news broadcast.
‘. . . have begun a petition to instate a curfew for all young women in the Limestone Creek and Meander Valley area. The petition has received over 5000 signatures already, most of them from outside of the town itself, which has led to mixed responses from the community. Local MP Alejandro Tully has described the petition as both alarmist and sexist, but a small committee of concerned mothers . . .’