‘No!’ screamed Rosie, leaning against another man for support. ‘Please, not again! Don’t take him back to the station!’
‘Please, sir, have a heart –’ said someone. ‘Mate, he didn’t mean it,’ said someone else.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Lenah, but he has assaulted an officer,’ said Stuart. ‘We should have explained to him how important Georgia’s diary could be.’
The crowd of people muttered angrily.
‘Don’t say her name!’ hissed Gabriella.
‘Shit! I’m sorry!’ said Coops.
Rosie surged forward, her bulky hips swinging, her floral dress catching in a sudden breeze. ‘Give me her diary.’
‘Sir, please give her the diary —’ ‘Have a heart, mate, it’s her daughter’s diary —’
The group pressed closer. One man swiped for the book in Gabriella’s hand.
‘Eliza,’ said Monica, appearing at her side. ‘Let’s go.’ She steered Eliza away from the group and into the car. ‘It looks like it could get ugly.’
They pulled out of the driveway.
‘We should have stayed and helped calm everyone down,’ said Eliza.
‘It’s going to be like this until the girls are found . . .’ began Monica. ‘Look, do you still want to go back up the mountain?’
Reading Georgia’s essay had made her feel sick. And the rhyme was back again:
I won’t walk alone by the mountain trees . . .
‘I’ll need to get changed. Take me back home. I’m going to join the search. But I won’t go alone.’
Or the Hungry Man will come for me.
CHAPTER 15
CON
Con paced the corridor outside the station’s interview room, speaking to Commander Normandy on the phone. Inside the interview room Murphy and his lawyer, Dave, were waiting alone.
He heard the sound of another incoming call and checked the screen briefly. Unknown number. It would have to wait.
In the corridor with him was Detective Melinda Tran, crouched against the wall, scrolling through her phone as she waited for Con to finish his call.
‘Yes, commander,’ said Con, speaking slowly. ‘I reviewed the autopsy report. No obvious signs of a struggle – no skin under her nails, at least . . . No, but her head was too damaged to see if she’d been hit. No sign of her backpack, so we have to assume she wasn’t wearing it or someone took it . . . Yes, I agree that’s most likely . . . They got up on the cliff and confirmed they were her shoes . . . No, he confirmed they had their laces tied up, and he really felt as though they’d been carefully placed there. If you look at the photos you can . . . No, just her DNA so far, but there was a lot of rain overnight.
‘Pakinga is at Georgia’s house now, with Detective Coops . . . Because I heard over the radio there was an altercation at the Murphys’ house . . . Call it a hunch, ma’am. They’ve got no evidence, even though they’ve searched for his crop a half dozen times. Everyone local seems to know Murphy and his brother run the weed trade here . . . I’m about to speak with – well, I wouldn’t call it a mob exactly . . . I did hear they wanted to kill him on my way into the station, yes . . . I hate small country towns, ma’am . . . No, I’ll take him out by a back door . . . Well, it could be that the missing girls are hidden wherever his crop is . . . Of course. I’ll do my best to get something out of him, ma’am. I’ll keep you up to date.’
He ended the call. After a moment he said to Tran, ‘Catch all that?’
‘The guys down in Hobart call her “the Hellcat”,’ said Tran.
‘There are many names that would suit that woman,’ he said with fondness. ‘Do you want to watch from inside or on the cameras?’
‘Cameras. He might let his guard down if it’s just you.’ She stood up. ‘We really think he’s involved? His own daughter?’
Con hesitated. ‘There’s a lot of coincidences. Keep an eye on him and let me know what you make of him after.’
At that moment, a text message came through, from the same number as the missed call:
Hello, detective. This is Pastor Hugh. Can you please call me back on this number?
Con glanced at it, then stepped inside the interview room. Murphy and his lawyer sat across from him. He slipped the phone into his pocket. ‘Okay, Murphy,’ said Con. ‘Shall we begin?’
Murphy was pale and dark rings lay under his eyes, but with his heavy brow and beard this only made him look more fearsome. ‘You need to let me out of here. I have to join the search.’
‘You must have more pressing concerns right now, detective,’ said Dave. ‘You’re bringing petty charges against my client regarding weed. Shouldn’t you be examining a crime scene?’
‘We’re giving you a chance to come clean, Murphy,’ said Con, ignoring Dave. ‘The signs don’t look good.’
‘Your “signs” do not constitute evidence,’ interjected Dave.
Con pulled four photographs from his folder and placed them down on the table, leaving the last face down. The first three each showed a bag of marijuana with the THE CAPTAIN sticker. The one found on the trail, one from Georgia’s pocket and the bag with the three condoms that Kevin Mason had brandished in Murphy’s face barely an hour before.
‘Are these your product?’ said Con.
‘No,’ said Dave.
‘No,’ said Murphy.
‘This one was found on the trail,’ said Con.
‘Any of the girls could’ve dropped it,’ said Dave. ‘Hell, one of the teachers could’ve dropped it, or some other hiker.’
‘This one, as we know,’ Con tapped on the photo, ‘was found in Cierra Mason’s room. With condoms inside.’
‘Allegedly,’ said Dave.
Con tapped another photo, watching Murphy’s face. ‘This one was found in Georgia Lenah’s pocket.’
No reaction. Murphy wasn’t even looking at the photos, his eyes were piercingly focused on Con.
‘And these . . .’ Con turned over the final photograph. It showed a pair of running shoes, fluoro yellow, sitting on a rock. The laces were neatly tied up, a pair of damp socks balled up beside them. ‘These are Georgia’s shoes, found at the top of the cliff from which she fell.’
That got Murphy’s attention. He looked down at the photo.
Silence filled the room.
‘And what does this have to do with Murphy?’ said Dave belatedly.
Con didn’t reply. He scanned Murphy’s face for any spark of recognition.
‘Why are they just sitting there . . .?’ Murphy picked up the photo. ‘Why are they tied up?’ His hands shook. ‘What else did you find?’
‘Where have you hidden your crop?’ said Con.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Murphy, eyes still on the photo. ‘Did you find anything else up there? Why are they bloody tied like that? I thought you said she fell? Did she jump? Was she pushed?’
‘Your marijuana crop. Where is it, Murphy? Your drying room? Your storage?’
‘Ah, so as we expected, you have no actual evidence for the charges you’re bringing?’ said Dave. ‘I imagine my client is free to leave, in that case?’