Spiking the Girl (29 page)

She couldn’t wait to get the hot lycra suit off and was almost home when her mobile rang. ‘Angie?’ she started as she answered. But there was a long silence. ‘Hullo?’ she said again. She started to wonder if it was a prank call. Then felt a clutch of fear.

‘It’s Sandra Samuels,’ said the caller and Gemma relaxed. ‘I’ve thought about what you said.’ There was another long silence. ‘And I know that the time has come for me to do something about the men who raped me. Especially now.’

Gemma felt a surge of relief and gratitude. ‘Thank you so much for changing your mind. I’m not all that far away.’ In the excitement of having Sandra call, she forgot the tightness of the bike outfit. ‘I can be back at the refuge really quickly.’

‘No need,’ said Sandra. ‘I’ve got a part-time job at Coogee. I can call in at your place on the way. I’ve got your card here. See you in a little while?’

Finally, Gemma felt she was getting somewhere. She tried ringing Angie again but went through to voice mail. She didn’t leave another message; just rang off, praying that Claudia was safe.

•

The minute she was home, Gemma went online to the Australian Securities website and typed in the registered business name of Deliverance, copying the ACN from the card Kosta had given her. Soon she was hopelessly lost in a maze of subsidiary companies and offshoots.

She was still trying to trace her way through when she heard someone at the front door. Sandra Samuels.

Gemma ushered Sandra, now wearing a pretty summer suit, down the hall and into the living area. ‘Thank you so much for coming over,’ Gemma said, curious to know what Sandra had meant when she’d said, ‘Especially now’. But she didn’t want to push things too hard. Instead, she indicated a chair. ‘Coffee?’ she asked.

Sandra hesitated. ‘This sounds rude, but could I have something stronger? A scotch if you’ve got one?’

Gemma obliged, going to the crystal decanters on the tray and the four cut-glass tumblers standing in a row next to the little fence around the tray. She picked one up, poured in what she hoped was a decent measure and put the stopper back. ‘Ice or water?’

‘Water. I don’t usually do this. Not at this hour.’

‘You look like you could do with it,’ said Gemma. She poured a little cold water from the fridge into the glass and brought it out to Sandra.

‘Thanks. I was so angry at first,’ said Sandra, after a drink, ‘at the way you were dragging up the past again. I just wanted you to go away. Then after you’d gone, I couldn’t help thinking about that missing girl. I’m a youth worker, for God’s sake! I’ve devoted my life to kids in strife. This girl needs me.’ She paused. ‘If she’s still alive.’

Sandra took another swig of the scotch. ‘I need to talk about what happened to me,’ she continued. ‘It’s time for me to do it.’

‘You said that on the phone,’ said Gemma, studying the square-jawed face; the lines of anger and bitterness etched around her mouth. Sandra turned away, tears starting in her eyes.

‘Why don’t you go out to the deck and sit down and I’ll make us some coffee,’ said Gemma gently, leaving the woman alone to collect herself.

When Gemma came out with the tray, she noticed some colour had returned to Sandra’s face. Nothing like the sea to restore a woman, Gemma thought, deciding she’d go for a swim later, hoping it might relieve the discomfort in her belly.

‘You’re lucky to have this place,’ Sandra said, putting her empty glass down. ‘I feel safe here. It’s so quiet and out of the way.’

Gemma poured two coffees and pushed the milk jug towards Sandra, who sat with her back to the table, still staring out to sea. Gemma’s instincts were working overtime. Sandra’s breathing was audible and her struggle to contain an explosion of emotions was visible on her face.

‘I find it very hard to talk about,’ she said eventually. ‘To anyone. Especially a stranger. But if there’s any way I can help another girl .
 
.
 
.’

There was another long pause before she spoke again, her voice almost a whisper. ‘You can’t imagine what it’s like waiting at the hospital for the police to arrive, wearing one of those stupid, stupid hospital gowns that open down the back. They took all my clothes.’

Gemma put a hand out and touched Sandra’s fingers briefly, just a tiny pat. ‘Sandra,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I could hardly walk,’ Sandra continued. ‘I was all torn and swollen from the rapes. And I was filthy. I just wanted to get cleaned up. The cops talked to me and took down my statement. They wanted to photograph me, get the nurses to take swabs. I couldn’t stand the thought of any more pulling around. The policewoman there was worse than the guys.’ A tear rolled down her face, hanging from her jaw, catching the light behind it. ‘They photographed the bruises and the cuts. Because I’d gone willingly with John, and that wasn’t even his name, I got the feeling they thought I was really dumb and just asking for trouble.’

She paused, dashing the tear away as if angry that these events could cause her grief nearly a quarter of a century later. ‘I ran away from the hospital. I borrowed some clothing and some money from another girl in the ward and got the train home. I couldn’t tell Mum what had happened. I tried to put it behind me. Then after I left school, I went up to Queensland to live. I pretended it had never happened.’

‘When did it happen?’

‘The eighteenth of November, 1983. It was the night of the Picton Show. We walked through the stalls and he’d won a snake on a rubber band at one of those shooting galleries. I was wearing a new silk scarf. I was so proud of that scarf.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘I was just a kid of fifteen.’

‘I’ve seen the case notes, Sandra. I’ve read your statement. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Why I came round to the youth refuge.’ A case that had seemed impenetrably locked down started to creak in its bonds.

Sandra looked bewildered. ‘What do you mean? I didn’t
have
a case—that was the whole problem. I was betrayed by the man I thought of as my boyfriend. And I ran away.’ Tears continued to spill from her eyes. ‘It’s the most terrible thing that has ever happened to me.’

Gemma remembered the vicious details she’d read, the photographs of the seared young body. ‘He tied your hands with your own scarf. But you still managed to start the car. You even ran over one of them getting away.’

Sandra looked at Gemma with disbelief. ‘There’s a record of that somewhere?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ said Gemma. ‘You made a statement and I’ve read it. But there was no further contact with you because you left the hospital.’

Sandra’s face paled as she relived the fear and horror of the past.

‘They brought one of the rapists into the ward next to mine,’ she said. ‘I heard him—I saw him. It was the one I’d run over when I was escaping. I panicked and left. Nowhere was safe.’

No wonder, Gemma thought, that the young girl hadn’t left a forwarding address. She put out her hand and covered Sandra’s cold fingers again as the woman struggled to speak.

‘So you know the details of what happened to me?’ Sandra whispered eventually.

‘Yes,’ said Gemma. ‘I was desperate for a breakthrough in two murders and I was reading through old cases looking for some connection with them. I’ve only just read through the file that held your statement and a few case notes.’

‘I tried to make a new life,’ said Sandra. ‘I was terrified they’d come after me again. Especially as I’d injured one of them.

‘You asked me why now,’ she said eventually. ‘Why, after all these years, I want to talk about it. More than that—I want to get this man.’

‘It was a long time ago,’ said Gemma. ‘It’s not going to be easy.’

Sandra stood up and went to the rail, turning to face inside, her back against the bar. ‘It’s as easy as saying a name,’ she said. ‘Gemma, I know who John is. I’ve seen him on television. Just recently.’

Gemma held her breath.

‘I’ll never forget that face,’ Sandra continued. ‘That scar on his eyebrow and nose. Those eyes. The others’ faces are a blur now, because I couldn’t bear to look. I had my eyes closed most of the time. But I’ve never forgotten the one who called himself John. The one who pretended to be a gentleman.’

This could break the case right open, thought Gemma. Question this man, find out who his friends are, where they were, what they and he were doing when the girls went missing. Look in the right places for the necessary physical evidence.

‘I saw him on television a few weeks ago,’ Sandra repeated. ‘And I’ve had nightmares every night since. There he is, rich and famous, with people falling all over themselves wanting his autograph, his football jersey. Kids looking up to him. Now he’s just destroyed another woman who had the courage to come forward and name him as a rapist.’

‘Scott Brissett,’ Gemma said. ‘That’s who you’re talking about. Sandra, you’re the second woman to name him. Now that there are two women willing to tell their story, we’ve got a case. We can get in touch with the woman who’s withdrawn the accusation.’ Otherwise, it would just be oath against oath. ‘Once you tell your story,’ Gemma continued, ‘she’ll have to reconsider.’

Sandra looked at her. ‘Then you haven’t heard?’

‘Heard what?’

‘She suicided two days ago,’ said Sandra. ‘It was in the papers.’

Gemma felt it like a body blow. She remembered what Naomi had said.
He’ll get away with it
. She felt the fighter in her come up. Not if she could help it.

‘What about the man you ran over?’ Gemma asked. ‘We could work on him. There’ll be old hospital records with his name and details.’

This old case could shed light on the mystery of what had happened to two dead and one missing schoolgirls. It could lead straight to the thief-knot killer.

‘We can chase him up,’ Gemma continued. ‘Lean on him. Make a deal.’

Sandra shook her head. ‘The hospital closed down long ago. There are town houses built on the site. The old records ended up at the tip.’ She looked at Gemma. ‘So I haven’t really got anything except my memories. The car they’d used was a stolen one.’

Gemma recalled the unfinished brief. There’d been no certificates of analysis of physical evidence.

Twenty years ago, the police weren’t so conscious of collecting trace evidence. In those days, there was even more of a tendency to see an incident like the attack on Sandra as just another example of a silly girl who’d made a couple of bad choices one night.

‘For a long time I kept waiting for him to rape someone else,’ Sandra was saying. ‘And get caught. But he’s settled down. He’s got a wife and family.’ Her voice darkened with anger. ‘He’s the sort of man who gets Father of the Year awards now. His raping days are behind him. He’s Australia’s favourite sports legend now.’

Gemma went to the kitchen and brought out two forks and a perfect mango. She cut it into dainty squares, pressing them out onto a plate. Beyond the timber deck and the end of her scrubby garden, seagulls wheeled on a light southerly breeze.

After they’d eaten the fruit, Sandra stirred a lot of sugar into another strong black coffee.

‘What would you say to talking to a journalist I know?’ Gemma asked. ‘It’d make a great story and you can bet it’ll stir up some other victims. Maybe they’ll come forward.’

Sandra looked unsure. ‘I think I could do that.’

‘And you must ring my girlfriend, Angie McDonald,’ said Gemma passing Angie’s details over to Sandra, ‘and tell her everything you’ve told me. You must make this official. I’ll call her too.’

Sandra took the card, nodded, then glanced down at her watch. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I’ll be late for work.’ She stood up.

‘Where’s that?’ Gemma asked.

‘I’m working at a medical practice,’ Sandra said. ‘It’s only part-time, but it leaves me free for my refuge work.’

‘Have you got good references?’ Gemma asked.

‘The best. Why? Are you offering me a job?’

‘Actually, yes,’ said Gemma. ‘There’s a part-time receptionist’s job going at Newtown. With a firm of memorial merchants.’

She explained what she had in mind and the puzzled expression left Sandra’s face.

‘And I’d also pay you,’ said Gemma, after giving her more details about Forever Diamonds. ‘So you’d be earning extra if you could do a simple little job or two for me while you’re there.’

‘I’ll call them,’ Sandra said when Gemma finished talking. ‘At this stage, I’m willing to do as much work as possible. I don’t know what will become of my kids if we can’t raise next month’s rent.’

‘Let me know,’ Gemma said, ‘if you get the job.’

She rang Angie and briefed her on the conversation she’d just had with Sandra.

‘She’ll have to come in and make it official,’ said Angie. ‘I can’t do much until I hear from her.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ said Gemma. ‘She’s ready to move.’

‘I’ve never liked football much,’ said Angie, ringing off.

•

Later, Gemma made a couple of crackers with cheese and flicked on the early news broadcast. She watched the footage of a huge white pointer in its sea cradle lashed to the side of a Fisheries launch. Injured while tangled in fishing nets, the shark was on its way to the Sydney Aquarium for a full-scale physical check-up before being released. The next news story concerned Netherleigh Park Ladies’ College and the resignation of its principal. Gemma rang Miss de Berigny’s number but all she heard was the voice mail message.

She’d been avoiding the next step. She went to the pocket of the jacket she’d worn last night, now hanging in her wardrobe, and pulled out the envelope that Mrs Snellgrove had given her. For a few moments, she just looked at it, feeling like she was standing at a huge choice point. She could drop it in the recycle bin and that would be the end of it. Or she could open it. Once she read the information she guessed this envelope contained, it would be almost impossible to ignore. Huge invisible gears would shift, twisting her in a new direction, landing her in some new world. Would she regret it if she did open it? But, just as surely, wouldn’t she regret it if she didn’t?

Gemma ripped the envelope open and read the short note from her music teacher.

I’ve asked a few people who knew the Kingston family in the old days and I’ve found out that the family moved to the country not long after the baby was born. The baby was called Grace and I should imagine her surname was Kingston. Beverley or her daughter may have married of course, and that will make it difficult to find her. I hope this helps.