Donna Blasko’s sitting room was a pokey space dominated by a puffed-up sofa and a wide-screen TV. A six-year-old girl sprawled on the floor, stretching tiny, rubbery dresses and pants over the unresponsive plastic limbs of Polly Pocket dolls, alternately humming and talking to them. A cat twitched its tail on the carpet under a chunky coffee table. And, as Scobie had said, there was also a man, Donna Blasko’s de facto, Justin Pedder. Ellen wasn’t the least bit surprised to see that he was stocky, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, with a shaven head to complete the picture. If you’re a blue-collar male aged between twenty and forty in Australia, that’s how you cloned yourself. You had no imagination at all. Nor did your parents, who named you Justin, Darren or Brad.
God I’m in a sour mood today, Ellen thought.
Donna sat beside Pedder, saying gracelessly, ‘This is Justin.’
Ellen nodded. She’d be running his name through the databases as soon as she got back to the station. As if he saw that in her eyes and wanted to deflect her, he scowled. ‘You should be out there looking for Katie instead of questioning us again.’
He might have been expected to say that. It was in the script. Ellen stared at a yellow lava lamp on an empty shelf and said, ‘I have constables doorknocking the area at this very moment. Now, according to Constable Sutton, you were both up in the city yesterday afternoon, correct?’
‘Spring carnival,’ said Pedder.
Horse racing. ‘Back any winners?’
Pedder gave her a humourless smile. ‘You want to see our betting slips, right? To prove we were there?’
Ellen went on. ‘Katie has her own key?’
‘We work, except for Thursdays,’ Pedder said. ‘Katie always lets herself in.’
‘She makes herself a snack,’ said Donna, ‘does her homework and watches TV until we get home. The TV goes off then. She’s not allowed to watch it after dinner. She’s a good girl.’
And we’re good parents, thought Ellen. ‘And last night?’
‘Me and Donna like to do stuff together on Thursdays,’ said Pedder. ‘Shopping up at Southland. A movie. The races. If we’re going to be late, we arrange for Katie to stay at a friend’s house. It’s like her second home.’
Gets more love there than here, thought Ellen. She referred to her notes. ‘The friend’s name is Sarah Benton?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that’s what you’d arranged for last night?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What time did you get home from the races?’
‘About seven.’
‘Seven in the evening. And you didn’t call to see that she was all right?’
They shrugged as if to say: Why would we?
‘But you did call this morning?’
‘Yes,’ said Donna, suddenly wailing, her face damp and ravaged. ‘Sarah’s mum said Katie wasn’t there and hadn’t been there and she didn’t know anything about it.’
‘But I thought you’d arranged it?’
Donna squirmed. ‘Katie was supposed to ask Sarah if she could stay. She must of forgot to.’
Ellen liked to change tack swiftly. ‘Do you live here, Mr Pedder?’
‘Me?’
Ellen gazed about the room for other Mr Pedders. ‘Yes.’
‘Sure.’
‘But this is Donna’s house?’
He gazed at her bleakly. ‘I get where you’re coming from. Yeah, I’ve got a place of my own that no one knows about and I took Katie there and did her in.’
‘Justin!’ wailed Donna.
‘Aw, sorry, love, but it’s so fucking typical. Blame the bloke.’
‘We wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t examine every avenue, Mr Pedder.’
‘I know, I know, sorry I said what I said. Look, I was renting a flat until I met Donna.’
‘You always spend your nights here?’
‘You interested in my sex life now?’
‘Answer the question, Mr Pedder.’
‘He lives here,’ asserted Donna. ‘He’s here every night.’
Ellen turned her gaze to Donna. ‘Did that bother Katie?’
‘No. Why should it? Justin’s good to Katie, aren’t you, Jus? Never hits her or anything. No funny business, if that’s what you’re on about.’
They were both staring at her hotly now. ‘We have to ask these questions,’ Ellen said.
According to Scobie Sutton’s brief preliminary investigation, the neighbours considered Donna to be a reasonably good mother, but there had been a few boyfriends over the years. The police had been called to noisy parties a couple of times. Sarah Benton’s mother claimed there was no point in trying to phone the Blasko household after about seven in the evening, for Donna and Justin were probably getting quietly stoned and never answered the phone. You’d leave messages but they’d never be returned. It was a common picture, in Ellen’s experience. No real cruelty, just ignorance and benign neglect- and mothers putting their partners first, ahead of their children, afraid of being single again.
‘Maybe Katie’s little sister knows something?’
‘Shelly?’ said Donna, amazed. ‘Shelly was next door, weren’t you, love?’
The child continued to play. Ellen said, ‘Next door?’
‘Mrs Lucas. She likes to baby-sit Shell, but Katie can’t stand her.’
Ellen was watching Pedder. Apparently struck by the cuteness of the child playing on the floor, he reached out a flash running shoe and poked her tiny waist. The child battered his foot away absently. No fear or submission, Ellen noted. The child hadn’t been introduced to her. Ellen had always introduced her own daughter, even when she was a toddler. It was good manners. Had she been taught good manners by her own parents? She couldn’t recall. Then again, good manners were a matter of commonsense, surely.
I am sour today. She said pointedly, ‘When you realised that Katie hadn’t slept at Sarah’s last night, what did you do?’
‘Made a couple of calls.’
‘Who did you call?’
‘My mum,’ said Donna. ‘She lives up in Frankston.’
‘You thought Katie was there? Why?’
Pedder exchanged a glance with Donna. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘she sometimes runs away, all right?’
‘Ah.’
‘She always comes back.’
‘She runs away from you?’ Ellen demanded.
‘No,’ said Pedder stiffly.
‘We usually track her down to me mum’s or another of her friend’s, but this time no one’s seen her,’ said Donna, tearing up swiftly and dabbing her eyes with a damp, crumpled tissue. There was a box of them beside her, a cheap, yellow, no-name brand from the supermarket.
‘And so you called the police?’
‘Yeah,’ Pedder said.
‘How many times has Katie run away before?’
‘Not many. A few.’
‘Do you fight with her? Argue? Smack her when she’s naughty?’
‘We’ve never smacked her.’
‘Fights? Arguments?’
‘No more than any other family.’
‘How about Wednesday night, Thursday morning?’
‘Nothing happened.’
‘Does she ever spend time on the Internet?’
‘When she’s got a school project and that,’ said Donna.
Pedder was quicker. ‘Are you asking did she spend time in chat rooms? You think she met a paedo, a paedo’s got her?’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘I’m asking you.’
‘We’ll need to look at any computers you have,’ Ellen said. ‘We’ll give you a receipt.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Donna.
‘We’ll also need a list of all Katie’s friends and acquaintances.’
Donna was sobbing now. ‘You think she met some pervert on the Internet, don’t you?’
‘Very unlikely,’ said Ellen soothingly. ‘Has she ever wandered off before?’
‘We already told you she does.’
‘I don’t mean running away; I mean is she a dreamer? Maybe she likes to explore creeks, the beach, farmland, deserted houses.’
‘Not really.’
‘Not the beach? I know I did when I was a kid.’
She hadn’t done anything of the kind. She’d grown up in the hills. She meant that her own daughter had liked to explore the beach, back when she was little, back when Ellen and her husband and Larrayne had been a happy family.
‘Maybe with her friends of a weekend, but she has to ask permission first,’ said Donna, the responsible mother.