Fatal Liaison (24 page)

“Ms Brighton, it’s Detective Sergeant Dave Abrahams and Detective
Senior Constable Eric Friar. May we come in please?”

A sour taste flooded her throat. Somehow, she knew this day would
come, but now that it’d arrived, she didn’t know if she could face it. She
pressed the door release button and stood watching from the top of the stairs
as the front door opened inwards. She recognized the suited DS and his offsider
as soon as they stepped through the doorway, although it was the first time she
had noticed the balding spot on the sergeant’s crown. The younger of the two
detectives, Eric Friar, leaned down and scooped up the mess of newspaper,
carrying them with him up the stairs.

The closer the two men came, the more her legs shook. Their deadpan
expressions gave nothing away. She stepped forward, barring their way. Dread
fought with hope for her voice. “Tell me now. It’s Brenda, isn’t it? You’ve
found her.”

DS Abrahams shook his head. “Sorry, Megan,” he said, dropping the
formality and addressing her by her first name. “We’re doing everything we can
to find her. We need you to go through with us again what you remember – no
matter how trivial.” He paused. “I know how hard this must be for you, but it
really is important.”

Megan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

DSC Eric Friar handed her the bundle of newspapers as she took a
step back, letting the two men pass. She followed them through, watching their
faces as their eyes took in the pile of newspapers stacked at the far end of
the table, the clipped newspaper articles with sections marked in bright pink
highlighter and the screeds of handwritten notes almost covering every square centimeter
of the massive oak table. The two police officers glanced sideways at each
other, but said nothing.

Megan felt her face reddening and hurried them through to the living
area. Dave Abrahams made himself at home in the overstuffed tan and green
tapestry armchair close to the balcony door, while Eric Friar opted for its
mate opposite. She had no other option but to take the sofa.

“Before we start, you should know there’s a press release scheduled
for later this morning.” DS Dave Abrahams flipped open his notebook and read,
“The Minister for Police has approved a reward of $100,000 for information that
leads to the apprehension and conviction of the person or persons responsible
for the murders of…” Skipping the victims’ names, he continued. “In addition, an
appropriate indemnity from prosecution will be recommended for any accomplice,
not being the person who actually committed the crime, who first gives such
information.”

Megan gnawed at her bottom lip. “Accomplice? Do you think this is
the work of more than one person?”

“Not necessarily an actual accomplice to the crime, but someone who
might’ve found out afterwards and has been hesitant to come forward for fear of
being prosecuted.”

She nodded in understanding. But how could anyone possibly live with
themselves keeping something like that secret?

“Tell me why Lawson Green was arrested if you don’t think he killed
all these women?”

Eric Friar stepped in. “The investigation is still very active and
we’re in the process of following up leads. At this stage, until we can
eliminate them, we have to consider everyone a suspect.”

“Can you at least tell me what leads you’re working on to find
Brenda? Something? Anything?”

“I’m going to be honest with you. We need your help. As I’m sure
you’re aware, we – the police – hold grave concerns for Brenda’s safety and
welfare. We’ve been monitoring her bank account and mobile phone, but there’s
been no activity on either since her disappearance. With your help, we need to
retrace Brenda’s movements in the weeks before she disappeared.”

How did he do that? Amazed at the way her question had been turned
on her, Megan nodded dumbly and slid back in her seat. Plainly, the detectives
were asking the questions. Her role was to answer them.

While DSC Friar acted as secretary, transcribing everything she
said, DS Abrahams led her hour-by-hour, and in some instances minute-by-minute,
through the time leading up to Brenda’s disappearance. He wanted to know
everything, probing for the most trivial of details. Megan couldn’t see how everyday
chit-chat could be relevant to the investigation, but dutifully recounted the
conversations she’d had with Brenda as best she could.

By the end of it, she felt physically and mentally drained. What
good it had done she didn’t know, but if somewhere amongst all that detail was
one small fragment that could help in the investigation then it’d been worth
it.

DS Abrahams stood up and extended a hand. “Thank you for your time.”

Megan’s fingers gripped the proffered hand. “Is it true you’ve
called off the search in the national park?”

The detective didn’t attempt to retract his hand. “The police search
covered almost a square kilometer of the park, but you have to understand that
the Yarra Ranges National Park covers 76,000 hectares. It would be physically
impossible to cover the whole area even if the resources were available.”

Megan released his hand. “So that’s it then. You’re giving up?”

The detective lifted his hand to her shoulder and gave it a gentle
squeeze. “Not at all. There’s no letting up. The team of police officers
assigned to this case have many years of training and experience to draw on. I
can assure you they won’t be ‘giving up’, as you put it.” He dropped his hand
to his side. “Megan, if there is anything – anything at all – that you remember,
please call me.” He handed her a business card.

As soon as the detectives left, she called Greg, but ended up
talking to his answering service instead. Two seconds after she hung up, her
phone rang.

“That was quick.”

“Pardon,” said a male voice that wasn’t Greg’s.

“Sorry, I was expecting someone else.”

“Obviously. Is this Megan?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Nick Poulus. Sorry to call you out of the blue like this, but I was
wondering if there’d been any word on Brenda.”

Megan slumped into the nearest chair. “Not yet,” she said, fighting
to keep the despair from her voice.

“Do the police have any leads?”

“None that I’m privy to. But they’ve called off the national park
search…”

“Interesting. Good news, really.”

“How?”

“It means they don’t think Brenda’s disappearance and the murders of
those women are connected.”

Hope flickered. “Do you really think so?”

“Definitely,” he said. “What other explanation is there?”

“Lack of resources?”

Nick gave what sounded like a cross between a cough and a laugh. “I
can’t see the police giving up that easily unless they were satisfied that it
was a dead end. No matter how under-resourced they are.”

“I hope to God you’re right.” She swallowed the lump blocking her throat.
“I have to go. Thanks for calling. I appreciate your concern. Bye.”

For a long moment, she remained motionless in the chair, the effort
to move too much. Good news, he’d said. Good for whom? What if Brenda was out
there somewhere? What if she was never found?

Megan hauled herself to her feet. The bundle of jumbled newspapers
on the kitchen countertop where she’d dumped them earlier beckoned. She picked
up
The Australian
newspaper, straightening its pages and discarding the
classifieds and sports sections before turning her attention to the next paper
in the heap.

“FOREST OF HORRORS” screamed the headline. She may have become
immune to the media’s shocking headings, but nothing prepared her for what she
saw when she folded the newspaper out flat. From the middle of the page, just
beneath the fold mark, Brenda’s face stared out at her. Megan’s gaze continued
down the newsprint. Across the bottom of the page was a series of photos, all
of women. The first two photos were new to her, but the next two of Linda
Nichols and Samantha Jenkins had become etched on her retinas long ago.
However, it was the fifth head shot that had her legs threatening to give way
under her.

Brenda’s photo had been cropped, resized and grayed out. Stamping
Brenda’s forehead with a question mark, the newspaper had put into print
everything Megan had been fighting so hard not to believe. Was Brenda De Luca
the Cable Tie Strangler’s fifth victim?

Dragging her gaze from the bottom of the page, she read the article
from start to finish. Two more families had finally been put out of their
misery. Even though the tiny flicker of hope each had kept burning over the
years had been extinguished, they no longer had to wonder what had happened to
their daughter, their sister, their kin. Tears welled in Megan’s eyes as she
began to imagine the release of emotions each of their families must be
experiencing.

Tina Barrett, the first skeleton recovered from the Yarra Ranges
National Park, had been only nineteen years old when she’d disappeared two
years ago, the last sighting of the student in the TAFE campus car park late
one Friday afternoon. A week after that, her blue Holden Barina turned up
abandoned with the keys still in the ignition in a back street less than a kilometer
from her home. Police appealed to the public at the time, but the information
had not been forthcoming. All leads amounted to nothing.

Melanie Armstrong, the woman whose skull had prompted the police to
expand their search, disappeared in similar circumstances eight weeks before
Tina. A colleague at the restaurant where the waitress had worked remembered
seeing Melanie getting into her car after a particularly late and busy shift.
She wasn’t missed until the following day when she failed to turn up for work.
Her car, too, was later found unlocked and abandoned with the keys still in the
ignition. The case along with that of the missing TAFE student had remained
dormant until now.

Megan went on to read about the strangulation murder of Linda
Nichols, coming across information that until then she hadn’t been aware of.
According to the article, toxicology analysis of Linda’s blood had tested
positive for Rohypnol, an illicit, powerful sedative drug frequently seen in
date-rape cases. Rohypnol could only be detected in the body for a relatively
short time after ingestion, so to surmise that the other victims had also been
drugged would be sheer conjecture.

The next few paragraphs touched on the abduction and murder of
Samantha Jenkins, but added nothing new to what had previously been published.

It wasn’t until she read the following section where the reporter
had drawn parallels between Brenda and Sam’s disappearances that the shock
really set in. The saliva in her mouth dried. She swallowed, a strong metallic
taste filling her mouth. Confronted in print by the similarities that she
herself had seen and then shied away from, only made it harder. She swallowed
again. One thing for sure, it was not the sort of publicity Pauline Meyer
needed for her business.

A dull ache had set up behind her eyes. She refolded the newspaper,
leaving it sitting on the countertop, while she went in search of a couple of
Panadol tablets.

By the time she returned to the kitchen for a glass of water, the
pain had intensified, extending over the top of her head and down her neck. She
gagged at the tablets’ bitter taste as they touched the back of her tongue.

After refilling the glass, she carried it through to the living
area, setting it on a coaster on the side table before flopping down in the
armchair nearest the balcony. The light’s glare forced her to swap seats.

While she used both hands to massage the tension from her neck, she
contemplated how she was going to persuade Greg to join her on a bushwalk.

If necessary, she’d go alone.

The rich, organic
sweetness of decaying leaf litter intermingled with the rain-fresh scent of
eucalyptus. Greg crouched, tightening the lace on his right boot. “Tell me
again how you convinced me to join you on this so-called bushwalk in the middle
of nowhere.”

When there was no reply, he stopped what he was doing and glanced
up. Megan stood near the Nissan Pulsar’s open back door, hands on hips and
eyebrows raised, looking straight at him.

“You didn’t have to come.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “But
since you’re here, call it helping a damsel in distress.”

Greg finished tying his laces and stood up. “I was kidding. You
don’t honestly think I would let you waltz around in the bush by yourself, do
you?”

Last night, when Megan had confided her intention to tramp through
the bush surrounding what had been the official search site, he’d done his best
to convince her otherwise. But nothing he’d said had swayed the headstrong
woman from her ludicrous and potentially dangerous plan. It’d come down to the
old adage, if you can’t beat them, join them.

Who knew what or who was lurking out there. At least he didn’t have
to worry about snakes. They’d be safely tucked away in semi-hibernation
somewhere. He hoped.

The ground though damp was firm underfoot. Following Megan down a
well-trodden track, Greg pondered on the futility of what they were doing.
Megan hadn’t actually come out and said it in so many words, but Greg knew they
were there to look for Brenda, or more to the point, Brenda’s body. But the
Yarra Ranges National Park was vast. It would be like looking for the
proverbial needle in the haystack, if indeed the needle did exist.