‘They’ve got Nick?’ Stella sounded incredulous. ‘They believed you?’
‘Yeah, they arrested him last night. I think what you told the cops really helped too. They’re going to get him for all those things he did to you and Bianca, and for killing Miro Kusak.’
Stella let out a long sigh. ‘They’ll probably want to talk to me again.’
‘It’ll all work out, don’t worry about it. You had your arm in a cast, remember—how could you possibly kill a man when you had a broken arm?’
‘It was my left arm, love, I’m right-handed and I drive an automatic car.’
‘They won’t get past the broken arm Stella, honestly, they think you’re incapable and pathetic.’
There was silence from the other end of the phone; Emma wondered if she’d overdone it.
‘Maybe I am,’ Stella said softly.
‘We’re weak on our own, but together we can do anything.’ That was something she had written as Katy Enigma; it was funny, but sometimes she felt as if Katy Enigma was actually living inside her body, talking to her.
Emma could sense that Stella was sinking further into apathy and searched for something to buck her up again. ‘They found that piece of shirt I put on the bush, the one you tore when you and Nick had that fight. There’s no way he can get out of it. And he has no alibi. And Thursday was just so the right night to do it—Nick was always home then, watching his favourite crap reality show. The police just have to charge him.’
Stella made little a whimpering sound down the phone. ‘Bianca and me always knew we were safe on Thursday nights.’ Her voice sounded even weaker than usual, and distant, as if she was talking from overseas.
‘Where are you?’ Emma asked.
‘I’m in the car, halfway to Geraldton, just going for a short break. I couldn’t bear it in Perth any longer. I hate the idea of you facing all this alone, but I promise I’ll call when I get back. Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, well, they’ve been giving me the third degree; lot’s of counselling and stuff. I think everyone just feels sorry for me. There’s not much they can do. You see I’m too young to understand the seriousness of my offence.’ Emma smiled so wide she could feel the pressure of her braces against her lips.
But her satisfaction was short lived. Someone was thumping on the front door. ‘Hang on Stella, someone’s here, I’d better check. It’s probably just the police come to collect some of Dad’s things,’ she said as she walked down the hall to the door with the phone still clamped to her ear.
Through the phone, Stella heard the door creak open followed by the menacing rumble of an angry voice. Her heart almost stopped beating. It was Nick’s voice.
‘You bitch, you and Stella, bitches, the pair of you—YOU SET ME UP!’
Stella heard the smashing of glass then the crunch of the phone falling to the floor.
And then the screaming started.
Stella’s frantic call came through on Stevie’s mobile when she and Tash were in the operations room, bemoaning how Nick had slipped through the system.
Stevie ran with galloping heart to the car park, the phone clamped to her ear and Tash hurrying at her heels. Stella Webster was hysterical, her story garbled and confused. But there was no confusion about her description of what she’d heard going on in the Breightling house over the phone. The screams of Emma being mutilated and murdered by Nick Bennett. Stevie reassured Stella as best she could and told her to pull over on the roadside and wait for assistance. Then she hung up.
‘How the hell did Bennett find Emma?’ Tash asked, jumping into the Commodore.
‘You and Barry questioned him, you tell me.’
Tash thought for a moment. ‘Oh shit.’
‘You mentioned her name, didn’t you? All he needed to do was check the phone book.’
‘We had to ask him if he knew her, didn’t we? How were we to know he was going to be let out on a stupid technicality?’
There was no point in pursuing this further, what was done was done. Bickering between themselves was not going to get them any faster to Emma. Tash phoned for an ambulance and police back up to meet them at the Breightling house, then called the Geraldton police to meet up with Stella.
‘We’re never going to make it,’ she said as Stevie ran a red light on Guildford Road.
The magnetic light on the car roof flashed, the siren wailed. Stevie’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. ‘Never say never Tash, Emma’s a resourceful kid.’
They screamed to a halt outside the house. Stevie took the front and Tash dashed around the back. The lacquer door hung open and Stevie stepped into the hallway, broken glass crunching under her feet. A picture had been pulled from the wall and used as a weapon it seemed, its frame smashed and dangling from the torn canvas. She followed a trail of blood to the family area, where she found yet more blood, sprayed across the kitchen bench tops and dripping down the walls.
The broken balustrade lay in a jumbled heap at the bottom of the stairs. Dust from the debris was still rising like smoke and wafted in the shafts of light from the skylight. Stevie saw Tash cautiously making her way through the French doors, leaving them open behind her. The smell of damp soil, and the sound of gurgling water, brought some much-needed freshness to the room.
Suddenly Tash stopped dead in her tracks; her hand flew to her mouth. Stevie edged closer and saw him too, heard the deep sucking sounds coming from the man’s body. Nick Bennett gave one last writhe and went slack, becoming one with the hideous objet d’art on which he was impaled.
Stevie was the first to recover her senses. ‘Tash, hurry that ambulance up,’ she ordered, stepping over the tangle of balustrades to where Emma lay curled like an embryo with hands over her ears. Her eyes were wide and staring and she emitted a low-pitched keening when she saw Stevie.
‘Emma, are you hurt?’ Stevie gently patted the child down. Finding no sign of injury she eased her to her feet and guided her to the front lounge room, as far away from the carnage as she could get.
Emma shook her head as if coming out of a trance. Finding her voice she said, ‘I hit him over the head with the picture when he came at me and then he chased me up the stairs. The banister, he fell through the banister when he was trying to catch me. Stevie, I was scared...’
Emma curled into her as far as she could go. Stevie held her tight and tried to calm the child’s violent shivering.
She stroked her hair and patted her back as tears soaked through her shirt. My God, Emma, she thought, what on earth is going to become of you?
37
Some days later
Monty’s flight was finally called: QF 71 to London, boarding now. Sitting around a table in the airport cafe, none of them made an effort to move. Izzy sat on her father’s knee, burrowing into him. In her hand she clutched a box she’d made from ice cream sticks and decorated with shells; her present to her Scottish Grandma.
Stevie sat with her arm linked through Monty’s, trying to absorb as much of him as she could, while she could.
‘The queue’s so long, there’s no point joining it just yet,’ he said.
Stevie watched a young couple kissing and hugging. A moment later the woman was sucked through the departure door. Stevie’s eyes filled and she looked away.
‘Boarding pass, passport, money, medication, nicotine gum?’ she asked, battling to keep her voice steady.
He nodded. ‘You got yours too?’