Davis had arranged to meet the victim and her mother in an office in the outpatients' department of the hospital. She, Jill and Scotty were perched on classroom-style chairs in the sterile, windowless room. The space was small, and Scotty had had to search the department to scavenge another two chairs for Martha McKenzie and her daughter Madeline. Madeline, the eleven-year-old abduction victim, was having her eyes checked by a nurse in a room nearby.
To distract herself from the airlessness of the room and the fist of dread that had been groping at her stomach since she'd heard the details of this case, Jill focused on the features of her companions. She found that if she used all of her senses to absorb herself in her environment, she could stay out of the basement that was always waiting in her mind.
She started with Charmaine Davis. Mid-heeled black leather ankle boots. Straight-leg navy pants, cut higher than was fashionable last year – a look her cousin Alyssa would say was 'so right now'. A thin black belt looped through her pants and contrasted with the tailored white shirt, casually open just below the neck. Her dark brown hair fell below her collarbone and feathered around her face. Her cheekbones were high; her make-up shiny and see-through. The distraction exercise, taught to her by Dr Merris, was supposed to move on to the other senses next, describing things she could hear, smell and feel in the room, but a cough from the doorway interrupted her.
Jill hadn't figured on Madeline being so very small. She felt a flare of anger towards a mother who could let a child so young go to a shopping centre alone; then she mentally chastised herself. People had criticised her parents for not being at the swimming carnival from which she had been abducted. The blame should only be directed at the offenders. The men who spent their lives devising methods to exploit any chink in the armour parents tried to build around their kids.
Martha McKenzie, petite and in her mid-thirties, wore a summer skirt, sandals and a well-cut blouse. She looked puffy-eyed and pale. Crying too much and no sleep, thought Jill, remembering her mum's eyes looking that way for a year after she got home. She stared at them in the small room and waited just beyond the doorway, clearly reluctant to enter. Only a sliver of the little girl was visible, as she stood close behind her mother in the entrance. Dark glasses protected Madeline's eyes.
'Hi, Martha. Hi, Maddie. Thanks so much for coming. Please come in.' Charmaine stood, a warm smile lighting up her face, her hands extended, palms up. She touched Martha's shoulder in welcome, then stepped backwards to give the mother and daughter room, and to introduce Jill and Scotty to them. Jill stood, but Scotty, aware of his size in this room, remained seated. He edged his chair as far back against the wall as he could. He tucked his endless legs behind Jill's chair, and scrunched down in his own.
'How'd the eye check-up go, Martha?' Charmaine asked after she'd presented Scotty and Jill.
Martha took a seat, with Madeline perching on the edge of her chair like a little bird, closest to the door, head down, her foot touching her mother's.
Martha sniffed and Charmaine reached for a tissue box from a sideboard in the room, and placed it close by. 'God only knows,' Martha answered, her tone angry. 'It's hard to find one bloody doctor in here who speaks English.'
Charmaine looked troubled and offered, 'Would you like me to arrange for a nurse to come in and explain things better, Martha?'
'No, don't bother. Apparently her eyesight will be okay. The nurse said she doesn't really need the glasses now, but…' She looked down at her daughter, face still pointing at the floor. 'Anyway, maybe tomorrow we'll take them off.'
Madeline said nothing, a sheet of blonde hair hiding even her glasses. She was skinny and brown-limbed, baby hair still on her legs, pink socks, white sneakers. Jill shook her head to shut out the image of an adult male pawing at her drugged body.
'Maddie, have you been back to school yet?' Charmaine asked the little girl, who shook her head.
'The school's been bloody hopeless too,' answered her mother. 'I've asked for someone to drop around some of her work, but they won't do it. They reckon it's best for her to get back there as soon as she can.' She raised a trembling hand to her eyes. 'Don't they know how stressed out I am? They'll be lucky if I let her go back next year. I'm too scared to even leave the house. What if the perverts who took her are watching us?'
Madeline gave a tiny mew and raised her face to stare at her mother. Martha McKenzie groped around for her bag. 'Are we going to be much longer? I've got to have a smoke. My nerves are bloody shot to pieces.'
'I know you don't want to be here, Martha, but I've got one thing I have to ask Maddie to do today.' Charmaine leaned towards the little girl, her voice warm and reassuring. 'Maddie, I know I said we wouldn't have to talk for a while, so I've brought you a present for breaking our deal.'
The dark glasses peeked up. Charmaine held out a small gift bag.
Madeline looked towards her mum, who was still rummaging in her bag. She looked up briefly, 'Come on then, Maddie. What do you say?'
'Thank you.' A whisper.
Earlier, while waiting for Madeline and her mother, Charmaine had shown Jill and Scotty the Polly Pocket toy she had bought for the child. These were tiny little dolls with accessories that Maddie had previously told Charmaine she collected.
No wonder she's so great at getting important details from victims, thought Jill admiringly.
Madeline took a surreptitious look inside the bag. A tiny smile flashed white teeth for just a moment.
'We have a photo we want you to have a look at, honey. I just want you to see if you know this person,' said Charmaine. 'That's the yucky thing I need you to do today, okay?'
Martha McKenzie's hand went to her throat at Charmaine's words. When the detective pulled an A4 envelope from her briefcase, the woman covered her mouth as if to stop herself screaming.
'Is that him?' Martha's hand shook. She reached out for the envelope, and then pulled back as if it might burn her.
'This is a photograph of a man, and we need to know whether Madeline recognises him from anywhere.' Charmaine's voice was still warm, but also firm.
A violent red flush had spread up Martha's throat and into her cheeks. She stared at the envelope as Charmaine withdrew a large glossy photograph.
Jill and Scotty had checked out the photo while waiting. It was of a fifty-year-old, balding white male, in a cheap suit and tie. He was standing on the steps of the Federal Court, a cigarette in his podgy hand. Police had taken the photo during his last court appearance.
Jill felt uncomfortable when she found herself thinking that she preferred the image of the only other time she'd seen this man, when his head was broken open like a ripe rock-melon on the sand at the beach.
Slowly, Madeline stood. Her face pale, her mouth a thin line, she moved hesitantly towards Charmaine. Her mother reached out towards her, then dropped her arms in her lap, her hands compulsively grasping one another as though to stop them grabbing Madeline and running with her from the room.
Madeline stood before the desk on which Charmaine had placed the photograph face down.
'Now, Maddie, I need to let you know something before I turn this page over.' Charmaine was seated and her head was on the same level as the little girl's. 'The man in this photograph is now dead.' She paused at the sharp intake of breath that sounded like a sob from Mrs McKenzie. 'So if you recognise this person, you need to know that you will never, ever have to see him again, okay?'
A barely perceptible nod from Madeline.
The little girl reached up and removed the dark glasses. Blinking, she placed them carefully on the table. They made the softest of sounds in the tiny room.
'Good girl. I'm going to turn over the photo now,' said Charmaine.
Jill held her breath.
Charmaine turned the photograph over. Carter's face stared up from the table. For a moment the scene was frozen. When Madeline cried out and dived across the room into her mother's lap, Jill jumped to her feet. Martha enveloped her daughter and the two rocked together as one, as if they were alone in the room, distress emanating from their single silhouette.