Murphy leaned forward, resting a hand on the screen.
‘. . . and that’s why I got with Jack,’ she said. ‘He was strong, and caring, and he made me feel safe. He loves me. For the longest time I wasn’t sure if . . . if I was worthy of love. If I could trust another man —’
‘And why was that, Jasmine?’ came Madison’s voice from behind the camera.
Jasmine looked at something above the camera for a moment. She shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Well, I guess you could say my father raped my mum, right?’ Her lips trembled. ‘That’s how I was conceived: my father raped my mum.’
The video ended.
Murphy heard a buzzing in his head and the edges of his vision went blurry.
My father raped my mum . . .
‘I didn’t rape her,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve never done anything – I never would do anything like that.’
But of course, the thoughts came. Did I? Did I have consent? Did she . . . did I come on too strong?
He hadn’t. He was sure he hadn’t. He was almost 100 per cent sure he hadn’t . . . they’d had sex plenty of times . . . of course, Sara had fallen pregnant very young . . .
Did she only marry me because she was scared of me?
And that’s when he caught sight of his hunting jacket, the unexplained tear in the arm. He’d been wearing it the night of the angel dust. He’d been wearing it the morning of Jasmine’s disappearance. The night he couldn’t account for.
If you raped Sara without knowing it . . . what else might you have done without knowing it?
This was a real thought, churning in his mind. And in a way it was the same thought that had been churning ever since he’d found Jasmine was missing – he didn’t know where he’d been at the time that she disappeared.
But he’d convinced himself that no matter what Skinner said about angel dust, he doubted it could’ve taken him from his backyard all the way up to the track where she’d been taken, without him even being aware of it. But . . . was it possible there was something dark within him? Something that he didn’t even know about? That the drugs had snapped something within him, unleashed some hidden demon?
That’s not how drugs work, he thought angrily.
‘Murphy?’ came Butch’s voice from behind the door. ‘The cops are here for you.’
Murphy rushed to the door – he hadn’t heard sirens or even knocking. ‘Have they found something?’ he croaked.
Butch shrugged. ‘They’re in the kitchen.’
Murphy ran down the hall.
Two uniformed policemen and a detective stood there: the detective he’d seen up at the car park the first day of Jasmine’s disappearance.
‘Who are you?’ he asked the detective.
‘Detective Stuart Coops. Would you mind coming down the station with us?’
‘What’s this about?’
‘Detective Badenhorst wants a word with you,’ said Coops.
‘And he couldn’t do it here?’
‘He’s busy. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.’
‘And if I refuse?’ said Murphy, fists curled. He felt the anger starting to rise. His mind kept spinning back to the video, Jasmine’s damning confession, that hunting jacket . . .
‘I’ll still be giving you a ride to the station,’ said Coops. ‘Come on, mate. This way is much nicer for both of us. Sooner we go, the sooner you can come back.’
Murphy ignored Butch, who was hissing under his breath, trying to get his attention, and walked out the door with Coops and the other policeman.
He pushed his anger down. He’d go see what Con had to say.
I didn’t rape your mum, Jasmine.
I know I didn’t.
Please come back to me.
Murphy walked up the front steps of the police station with Detective Coops in front of him and the other two policemen behind. Media crowded the steps, shouting questions at him.
‘Mr Murphy! Do you have anything to say?’
‘Was Eliza Ellis sleeping with Jasmine, too?’
‘Were you and Eliza seeing each other?’
‘How disgusted are you that a local teacher —’
Inside the station was another crowd of people, some that he recognised from the community. At the sight of him, their phone cameras came out.
Tom North leapt out of a chair and planted himself in front of him. ‘Murphy, you have to confess,’ he said urgently. ‘Admit what you did. Tell them you took the girls —’
‘Excuse me, mate.’ Detective Coops pushed Tom roughly out of the way, leading Murphy down a long corridor and into the same interview room as before.
Waiting at the table was Con Badenhorst. He took in everything about Murphy in a single glance. ‘Take a seat.’
‘I’ll wait in the office, Con,’ said Coops, as he closed the door behind him.
Murphy took a seat, perched on the edge of the chair. ‘What’s going on?’
‘How are you feeling?’ said Con. ‘After last night, after what happened with Jack?’
‘As if you care how I’m feeling. Why have you brought me here? To interrogate me some more?’ demanded Murphy. ‘My lawyer’s gone back to Hobart, but one phone call and Dave will be right back here.’
‘I’m not here to interrogate you. I just want your advice. You were there last night,’ said Con. ‘You heard what Jack said: Madison planned it. You’re not on my list of suspects anymore, Murphy.’
Murphy hesitated, studying Con’s face. ‘So why am I here?’
‘Obviously something went wrong with Madison’s plan. Georgia is dead, Bree didn’t take her backpack from the Fisherman’s Hut either, whereas Jasmine and Cierra’s bags were missing. That makes me think those two did get to the Fisherman’s Hut, but maybe someone took them afterwards. But who? And why? Or are they just hiding somewhere? Is Bree?’
He shrugged expansively.
‘But you were with Eliza today. So can you help me make sense of this new wildcard: the allegation that Eliza was sleeping with Cierra. Do you believe it?’
‘Not for a second,’ said Murphy instantly. Remembering a twinge of pain in his balls from Eliza’s knee, he quickly added, ‘Not that I know anything about her sexuality. She could be bi, for all I know. And that would be okay! I mean, sleeping with a student is not okay. But, you know, she can sleep with whoever else she wants. But she wouldn’t sleep with a student. I don’t know what her sexuality is —’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Con, raising his hand. ‘But you were at her house earlier. Why?’
Murphy considered lying, but made a split-second decision to be honest with Con. ‘Madison sent someone to tell me she was sleeping with Cierra. I wanted to warn Eliza – I knew she’d get crucified.’
Con studied Murphy. ‘Are you aware that Eliza has admitted it?’
‘What? Bullshit.’
‘For what it’s worth, I agree. I think she’s protecting someone, and it may be whoever’s taken the girls. If that someone is not you, then I don’t know who it is.’
‘It’s not me,’ said Murphy firmly. ‘I would never sleep with an underage girl.’