Harum Scarum (23 page)

They needed to separate Stoppard from Emma’s parents. It was creepy, it was downright unhealthy the way they sat together like that, three little dickie birds sitting on a wall. What was it between them? And just what were the ties that seemed to be binding them so uncomfortably together?

Monty must have been thinking along similar lines. ‘Mr Stoppard,’ he said, ‘I’d like you to come up to Emma’s room with me now and we’ll go over again what you told Sergeant Hooper.’

Stoppard let out an impatient sigh, looked at his watch, and told them he had things to do.

Before they could leave, a uniformed constable approached Monty and whispered something in his ear. Monty listened for a moment then addressed Breightling. ‘You have a gun safe in your garage?’

Breightling slid off the barstool. ‘What of it?’

‘We’d like to have a look inside it. We need the key.’

‘I’ve nothing to hide,’ Christopher said, moving towards a tall pantry cupboard. ‘I would have told you if you’d asked that I’m the owner of a licensed hand gun and a couple of shotguns.’ He positioned a small kitchen ladder next to the pantry and stood on it to reach the highest shelf, taking a set of keys from a hook.

‘Nothing to be alarmed about, sir,’ Monty said. ‘My officer has already confirmed with the database that you have a number of registered firearms. We just need to check them out.’

Stevie and Monty followed Christopher through a kitchen door leading into a three-car garage. Bolted to the floor next to Breightling’s Mercedes SLX they saw a heavy steel gun cabinet as tall as a change room locker.

Monty asked Breightling to open the cabinet. His hands shook; he was clearly upset over his daughter’s disappearance. He made a couple of unsuccessful attempts at slotting the key into the lock before the door swung open, showing the body of the locker. He passed Monty two Purdy over-and-under shotguns in wooden cases, explaining that they once belonged to his father and he used them for clay pigeon shooting. While Monty examined the guns, Breightling continued to grope around in the cabinet, struggling to reach something on the top shelf.

Monty handed the shotguns to a watching constable. ‘Allow me.’ He gently pushed Breightling aside and removed the bundles.

‘My wife’s jewels,’ Christopher said as Monty handed the two velvet bags to Stevie. ‘The handgun must be further back.’

Monty stuck his hand in, his fingers clanging on the metal at the back of the cabinet and came out with nothing.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Christopher exclaimed. He felt blindly towards the back of the cabinet, his panic mounting. ‘I can’t believe it, it’s gone!’

He spun around wildly, as if expecting to see the gun lying around in the garage somewhere.

‘When did you last see it, sir?’ Stevie asked as she replaced the rings and necklaces she’d been examining into their respective velvet pouches.

A muscle in Breightling’s cheek twitched. He drew his hands over his face as if trying to wipe it away. ‘A few weeks ago?

Maybe a month; I haven’t had much time for the firing range recently.’

‘The data base has it listed as a Glock 22,’ Monty said.

‘That’s right. I’ve been meaning to get into some competition shooting.’

‘Your keys weren’t in a particularly safe place, it wouldn’t be very hard for someone to get to the gun,’ Stevie said.

‘Well, I could hardly keep them with me, could I? Miranda needs easy access to her jewellery. Besides, no one else knows where they’re kept.’ Breightling took a breath, rubbed his cheek again. ‘Actually, there’s something else you should know, something else that’s missing from the safe. Frankly, I find this loss more disturbing than the gun’s.’ He paused.

‘Go on,’ Stevie said.

‘A set of antique scalpels, my great-grandfather’s from the Boer War.’ He paused for thought. ‘Come to think of it, I think I remember seeing the gun in the safe when I last cleaned them about three weeks ago. The scalpels need cleaning every month, you see. They’re made of high-carbonised steel and would rust if not regularly maintained. They haven’t been used for years, but they’re still as sharp as razors. They have a lot of sentimental value to me as well as being worth a small fortune.’

Monty and Stevie exchanged glances. ‘Why would someone take a handgun and scalpels, but leave the jewels and the shotguns?’ Monty thought aloud. ‘Make sure the cabinet gets dusted for prints,’ he told the uniformed officer as he strode back to the kitchen. Out of the corner of his mouth he said softly to Stevie. ‘He may be a surgeon, but did you see his hands shake when he was opening the safe? I wouldn’t trust him cutting a cake.’

Monty spoke again when they were once more congregated in the family room. ‘Now, I need Mr Stoppard to go over last night’s events in Emma’s bedroom with me.’

‘Is that necessary Inspector? I’ve already been over it with Sergeant Hooper and I do have business in the city.’

‘I’ll let you know when you can leave, sir. Besides, I’m sure the Breightlings could use the support of an old family friend such as yourself.’

Stevie watched Miranda swivel on her stool, her gaze never leaving Stoppard as he climbed the stairs behind Monty. Breightling’s eyes dropped to the breakfast bar, engrossed it seemed with the sparkles in the granite, the twitch in his cheek now a fully realised facial tic. Not only had Emma been telling her the truth about Stoppard and Miranda being lovers, Stevie thought, but Christopher Breightling knew it too. Why the hell, then, did he put up with it?

Stevie had still not recovered from the shock of Emma’s disappearance; she stood numbly waiting for Stella to answer the door. There had to be something Stella could tell her about Emma Breightling, she thought, something that could lead them to the girl’s whereabouts. It was impossible to believe that Stella had been as ignorant about Bianca’s Internet activities as she’d maintained. The emails saved on the iPod had already revealed that Stella had withheld information about an abusive relationship. Stevie couldn’t help but wonder what else she was covering up.

She gave one last desperate thump at the heavy door and was turning to leave when Stella’s sister opened it.

‘Oh hi Gail. Sorry to disturb you. Could I have a word with Stella?’

‘Stella’s still asleep love, I’d hate to wake her just now, she’s that washed out. Would you like a cuppa?’ Gail waved her in, covering a yawn with her other hand.

Stevie declined the offer of tea, but accepted the invitation to pull up a chair at the kitchen table. ‘Has Stella said anything more to you about the man who was harassing her in the park?’ she asked as Gail moved around the kitchen area, preparing her breakfast.

Gail shrugged. ‘Not a peep.’

‘And you’ve never seen him hanging around the flats before?’

A shake of the head.

Without mentioning the contents of Bianca’s emails, Stevie asked if she had any knowledge of her sister being involved in an abusive relationship.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know much about her at all. Stella left home about fifteen years ago and since then none of us really heard from her, she wasn’t very close to the family. As horrible as it sounds, this terrible business has drawn us together again.’

‘Do you believe her about how she broke her arm?’

‘That she fell down the stairs? Well, those stairs are pretty dangerous, especially when rain gets down the stairwell.’ Gail’s toast popped and she spread it with margarine and Vegemite. Stevie hadn’t had time for breakfast and the savoury aroma made her stomach rumble.

Gail smiled and put the plate of toast on the table in front of her. ‘Go on, be a devil, with a figure like yours I bet you can eat what you want.’

‘Thanks.’ Stevie took a slice, asking between mouthfuls, ‘Has she received any strange phone calls since you’ve been here with her, had any men call around?’

‘No. Look, you may as well have a cuppa with that.’ Gail handed Stevie the tea she’d made for herself.

The bedroom door creaked open and Stella appeared in a rumpled nightie. The plaster cast had been removed since Stevie had last seen her and her left arm looked frail as a plucked chicken wing. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said as she leaned wearily against the doorframe.

‘She thinks you knew that man who bothered you in the park, that he’s been beating you up,’ Gail said to her sister.

Shit. Stevie nearly choked on her toast. This wasn’t the approach she’d had in mind. She climbed to her feet and put a calming hand out to Stella, ‘Why don’t you come and sit down?’

‘I’ve had just about enough of you!’ Stella cried, shaking Stevie’s hand off. ‘Just get the fuck out of here and leave me alone!’

‘Stella, another girl has gone missing. This is important, I think Bianca knew her from the Internet...’

Stella spun back into her bedroom and slammed the door in her face.

Stevie counted to ten in her head before turning to the stunned sister. ‘Well, that went well didn’t it?’

What a day. Later that afternoon at Central, the team sat around a table in one of the conference rooms to swap notes and brainstorm. The air conditioning had conked out for the third time that week, faces glowed and tempers flared.

Stevie kicked off her trainers and pulled at her short-sleeved top, trying to invoke a non-existent breeze. Monty’s face was as red as it had been at the beach, his tie hung at his neck like a noose, and his white shirt was patterned with threads of sweat. He looked at his watch and scowled.

The door flung open and Tash hurried in, the banging and crashing from the air conditioning mechanics in the corridor trailing in behind her.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she gasped and thumped into the chair next to Stevie.

Monty made a point of getting up and closing the door. ‘Stevie, a brief summary for Constable Hayward, please,’ he ground out. While Stevie filled Tash in on Emma Breightling’s disappearance, he struggled to open a window, cursing under his breath when he discovered that no amount of heaving and thumping could break the seal.

‘No ransom note, no telephone message?’ Tash asked when Stevie had finished her rundown.

Stevie was almost certain they were dealing with a runaway and told Tash so. After pleas for information were broadcast on the radio a woman had reported picking up a girl matching Emma’s description and dropping her off in Mundaring in the early hours of the morning.

Despite this lead, Monty suggested it was best to humour the parents for the time being and continue to pursue the investigation as a possible kidnap—the kid on the highway might not have been Emma. Better to err on the side of caution, he told the team, than find themselves with a pile of litigation in their laps. For now they just had to suck it and see, hoping their questions would be answered when Clarissa had finished the post mortem on Emma’s PC.

Stevie asked Tash if she’d got hold of the photographer.

‘Yeah, that’s why I was late.’ From under dark brows Tash shot Monty a withering look. ‘Mr Holdsworth is waiting in the interview room downstairs.’ To the rest of the team she said, ‘We suspect him of supplying a paedophile ring with the photos he took for the modelling agency.’

‘Good one, let’s keep him sweating, we can talk to him later.’ Stevie returned to the topic of Emma Breightling. ‘I’ve discovered some interesting connections between Emma Breightling and Bianca Webster. Not only was Bianca turned down by Miranda Breightling’s modelling agency, but both girls were members of the same Internet message board/fan site that seems to be about supporting abused kids.’

‘So you think Bianca and Emma knew each other?’ Wayne asked.

‘Internet pals, I think so, but I don’t know if they ever met. Miranda said she couldn’t remember any Bianca Webster, but when I showed her the pic we got from Kusak’s computer, she admitted that the child looked vaguely familiar. I went to see Stella this morning, but before I could ask her about it, the meeting went south, she practically threw me out of the flat. I’ll call around later when she’s calmed down.’

‘Would you like me to come too?’

She threw Monty an appreciative smile; there was a chance his presence might make Stella more cooperative. Over the years she’d learned never to underestimate the effect of a sympathetic, attractive member of the opposite sex on a distraught witness.

‘Wait one,’ Wayne raised a finger. ‘Are you suggesting Emma’s disappearance and Bianca’s murder are related?’

Stevie let out a heavy sigh. ‘I really don’t know.’

‘So now you’re telling us that Emma might also have been snatched by Lolita and the Dream Team?’ Barry’s flippant tone made the group sound like a fifties rock band. ‘But you just said she was a runaway.’

Stevie poked at the papers in front of her with her pen, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. And he’d wondered why his application for the Cyber Predator Team had been turned down.

‘If I hadn’t met Emma before, I’d say yes, it’s a possibility, but the girl I know seems too clever to allow herself to be trapped by someone like that. I think she’s run away because of abuse, most probably by “old family friend” Aidan Stoppard.’

‘Have you checked him out on the National Child Sex offender Register?’ Wayne asked.

‘Yes, and he’s not on it. I’ve made an appointment to see Emma’s school counsellor at her home this afternoon, she may be able to tell me something. The more I can find out about her, the more likely I can figure out what’s happened to her, why and where she might have gone.’

‘Angus, find out as much as you can about this Aidan Stoppard,’ Monty said.

Angus nodded and wrote himself a note. ‘How do you spell Aidan?’

Stevie reached into the pocket of her jeans and slid across the business card Stoppard had given her.

‘Thanks,’ Angus glanced at the scenic view on the front of the card and flipped to the business details on the back. ‘Importer of Mexican art with a hills showroom called Chateau-by-the-Lake, and an accountant too, with his own company and a St Georges Terrace office,’ he paraphrased. ‘Want me to check out Breightling as well, boss?’

Monty nodded.