Lost Girls (4 page)

They looked out
over the water again. Of this huge crocodile there was no more
sign. But now two other large sets of eyes and noses had taken its
place, slowly cruising up and down in the middle of the billabong,
separate and yet linked through some commonality.

Anne wondered
if these were the other two crocodiles which had participated in
the human feast on that fateful day. Their size matched Susan’s
description and their joint purposeful of patrol seemed to connect
them. However, these were just crocodiles; large and dangerous, but
without the mind-numbing power of the other.

Now they all
started talking as they ate their sandwiches. The ordinariness of
the day returned. They talked of other things, each unwilling to
try and put words around what they had seen.

But this place
would never feel the same for Anne; she knew there was something
here, like a spirit of this place. It was seeking and calling for a
kindred spirit. She thought of Susan and of her crocodile spirit
dreams and a chill washed over her. She did not think she was
superstitious, but this was something that no ordinary words could
fit around.

Anne felt a
strange and unfathomable anxiety for Susan-Emily. It was as if this
creature was telling her there was unfinished business, and it
would never release the hold over what it owned.

Anne’s mind
told her that Emily had created a separate life from the Susan of
that day. But her emotions told her that the link was not so easily
broken. The spirit of the creature of this place would keep calling
to Susan, like a restless soul it would not let her find peace. She
shivered and tried to dispel her morbid imagination, the idea that
this crocodile could summon its own.

Alan and Sandy
delivered the box to Police Forensic Section before they returned
to work in the mid afternoon. They were told that Forensics would
first check the external surfaces for fingerprints and other
residue and would open it about 4 pm. They were invited them to
witness the opening and see what the box’s contents were. They
shared a cup of coffee as they waited and chatted about their day,
deciding they would have time for an hour in bed together before
they joined Anne and David for an agreed two couple dinner.

They returned
at the due time and watched as a forensic technician carefully
examined a thin layer of clear sticky tape which sealed the lid to
the base of the box. At first he tried to lift it off as a single
piece, the way Susan had described to Anne, but this proved
impossible, the months in the ground had caused it to deteriorate.
So he sliced through the join with a very fine scalpel, separating
the lid from the base and lifting it off. Inside the only contents
were two envelopes, each about an inch thick.

He lifted out
the first envelope, lifted the flap and disgorged four packages,
each a series of identity documents fronted by a driver’s license,
two from the Northern Territory, one from Queensland and one from
Western Australia. With each license was a range of other
documents, the sort required for an identity check, an electricity
bill, a rates notice, a credit card and a couple other variable
items.

Each group was
held together by a rubber band and each was an MB name in the way
that Susan had described through Anne. Mark Butler came first, with
a Katherine address and seemed to be the most used. Mark Bennet
came next and seemed to also be well used, then, little used,
appeared to be the identities of Mark Brown and Mark Brooks.

There was
nothing remarkable about any of this though it would give many days
of work for the various state police forces running to ground all
these aliases, checking bank accounts, license and address details
and any connections which flowed from them. Alan had an officer
reporting to him who was responsible for this part. This person now
clicked a digital image of each document bundle and then of each
document as it was separated.

Then they came
to the second envelope. Alan had a sinking feeling in the pit of
his stomach, mixed with anticipation. He knew that once he had
these identities of the girls, assuming it was as told by Susan, he
would need to contact the police forces of their home countries,
seek assistance and soon he would be having agonising conversations
with their next of kin. At one level he would be giving them new
information which may resolve long uncertainty. At the same time he
would be dealing a hammer blow to whatever fragile threads of hope
they still held.

As expected
this envelope held four passports. He watched as they fell onto the
table. First came one from Sweden, followed by a French one, both
with the EU insignia, then came one from the USA and finally one
bearing the distinctive United Kingdom insignia. As each hit the
table it felt like a blow, an unknown identity of a person, once
vibrant and alive, now likely dead and buried in some distant
corner of this country.

He watched with
morbid fascination as the technician opened each passport and held
it carefully by its edges as the photographer clicked away, page by
page. The first, the Swedish woman named Elin Tordquist, looking to
be in her mid twenties, strikingly beautiful with golden Nordic
hair in dense tresses and a face with a striking intensity; words
like elfin, and Viking Queen would have been the first words that
tripped of his tongue if he was asked to describe her. The
assurance in her eyes was no childlike girl but a woman used to
being decisive, organising, taking risks but keeping control. He
wondered about her story, where was gone.

Then came a
girl with long black hair, Mediterranean but softer, she too looked
self-contained; more understated beauty than the classic form.
There was a soft femininity to her face but also an edge of
mischief and a sharp appraising intelligence. Her name was Isabelle
followed by what looked like a typical French surname that he would
have to ask Sandy how to pronounce, she had studied French at
school.

Then came the
American girl, she must be the Amanda of the text message that
Susan had sent to Anne, she was pretty in a conventional way, the
typical post high school girl image of one of those innumerable
American TV soaps.

Last came the
UK girl, with a Scottish place of birth in Inverness. She had
similar long black hair and looks to the French girl though a bit
more groomed and poised looking, as if had she spent time getting
her hair done and her face made up before her photo.

There was
something tugging at the edge of Alan consciousness, a resemblance
that he could not quite place, it was part the face, but most
strongly a look, she really reminded him of someone else, he
compared her photo again to the French girl. Despite some
differences the similarity was striking. He wondered if it was
this, the strong resemblance between the faces and the look of
these two girls which ran a bell in his brain. No he knew it was
more than that.

It came to him
like an outside image projected into his eyes, he realised what it
was. If one superimposed the images of the two girls and blended a
few of the differences what one was left with was an almost exact
replica of the face of Susan Emily MacDonald. But even more it was
the look, as if Susan was looking directly at him from a merging of
these two photos. It was so clear it gave him goosebumps.

He looked at
Sandy, she had seen it too. She said, “They look so like Susan it
is scary, there is something strikingly similar and compelling in
the faces of those girls, these could be the same person’s picture,
taken in different times and places with different hair styling and
makeup. But, most of all, they have the same look; it is the way
they look out at the world; it must have caught Mark’s attention,
like a re-meeting sequence.

After a first
night of loving Emily and Vic settled into a comfortable and almost
entirely private existence. They both went out with their groups of
friends and family, sometimes alone, sometimes together, but the
rest of the time, apart from storytelling with Anne, it was just
them and they desired no one else.

Vic’s mother
and sister had come up from Alice Springs to welcome his return. He
introduced Emily, they had all had a meal together and she liked
them both. Now, at times when she went off with her family and
friends, Vic too would go off with his.

But these hours
of separateness were minor interludes in a private world that
contained only them. Each evening, as dusk fell, they would walk on
the beach and partake of a brief meal with others, but it never
lasted long. They both most desired to be in a place of solitude
with just the other. So they would return together to Alan’s
apartment and begin by linking their bodies and holding the other
close. Then they would talk, tell of memories and stories as the
night hours went by. Sometimes they shared a drink together, a beer
or a pot of tea, sometimes they snacked on food with which Vic
stocked the fridge on the afternoons when Emily was with Anne;
occasionally they watched something on TV together. But mostly they
shared of themselves with each other.

The flat was
ideal, private and secluded on an upper floor with a view of sky
and distant sea to the north, and with no sense of neighbours. They
would talk until sleep overcame them and they would sleep with
their arms around each other. Sometimes they would wake and make
love again, but mostly it was the companionship they most
treasured.

Emily told Vic
of her days and nights in the empty cell, with only the crocodile
spirit as her company, and how she had ached for a man’s arms to
hold her. Then she had thought that any man would do; now she knew
this man was the one she really wanted.

Vic told her of
the solitary place in his mind when he walked, mile after mile, day
after day, counting his steps to measure progress. As he walked
what he most wanted was to see her face and bathe in her smile. Now
he had all that and more and was utterly content. Then they moved
to telling each other stories from their lives before.

Vic told of his
childhood in an Alice Springs town camp, his love of football and
of the determination of his mother and sister that he become
something more than a town camp bum or even a champion footballer;
something that would give him success that would carry through to
his full years, even something he could pass on to his family.

So he had a
dream, an aerial work business, both the flying and the machine
maintenance, with helicopters at its centre but possibly expanding
into fixed wing aircraft as time went by. His first helicopter had
been a start; he had almost paid off the loan and was starting to
earn his own money now. But first he had to recover from the
setback of losing a machine. He hoped the insurance would give him
money for something newer without too much debt.

Emily told of
her life in England, her riding and studies, her desire to learn
about animal behaviour and early human history, to visit the famous
archaeological sites of Africa and Australia, and to learn about
other cultures from around the world. She also told him about her
former loves and boyfriends including Edward and David, but
skirting around Mark. So their days passed together, wrapped in
their own private world.

One day, as
they were talking, she could see that Vic had a story to tell her
which was on the tip of his tongue but he was stalling over it. She
asked him what it was about. He said that there was a story about
Mark he was going to tell her, but then he had hesitated, wondering
if it was a no go area.

Emily took a
deep breath, trying to think what she should say. Mark’s name had
only been mentioned between them on the first day, something about
him helping Vic escape through a crocodile, a half told tale which
came out as part of the tangle of facts when they first met again.
It had not been returned too.

She herself, no
longer Susan but Emily, tried to keep separate from the Mark
memories. But Mark had been a part of her life too; Vic would not
be here without him. She needed to find a way to allow Vic to keep
alive the good memories of his friend and for her to also find a
way to think about him without it threatening her fragile peace of
mind.

So she said. “I
am not ready for you tell me stories about Mark yet. I know he was
your friend and he was much more than that for Susan.

But I must keep
myself in another place from that time, a place with only you, and
not him. There is a danger for me in even thinking about him so I
think it is better if I do not think or talk about him, perhaps one
day I will be able to do so with affection and nothing more.”

Vic nodded; it
was true, this story told of danger in his friend, a spirit which
neither he nor others could control. He wished he had not spoken
lest this man had the power to harm Emily still.

On the first
day together, the day after the trial, Emily had made Vic show her
his leg. She had examined it, doctor like, feeling the lump in the
bone where the healing was happening. She looked at the bend where
the bones joined.

She said, in
her best no nonsense manner, “Vic, tomorrow you must go to the
hospital and make arrangements for that to be reset straight. Talk
to Sandy, she knows the people there and will ensure you get
someone good to fix it.”

She could see
Vic wanting to procrastinate. “I will, I just don’t want to stop
being with you any time soon. Surely it can wait for a couple
weeks.”

Emily shook her
head, “No, the healing of the bone is well advanced. Each day it
gets stronger and will do more damage to reset. It needs to happen
next week, sooner is better. You are too important to me to be left
with a crippled leg. Please do it for me if you won’t do it for
yourself.”