‘But the ambulance...’ Stevie hesitated.

‘Go,’ Monty urged. ‘I’m all right.’ He gave her a smile that made her throat ache. Fighting back tears she kissed him, squeezed Wayne’s arm and left the room.

29

EXCERPT FROM CHAT TRANSCRIPT 210107

HARUM SCARUM: I know some1 who does gross things 2

BETTYBO: do u want 2 kill him 2?

HARUM SCARUM: oh yeah that would b sooooo sweet

Emma Breightling no longer heard the frogs croaking in the lake or the night-time warbling of the magpies in the trees. To her, the only sound was the gravel crackling under the Porsche’s tyres and her own heart thumping in her ears. She held her breath as she stood behind the Chateau door, peeping through the crack. The purr of the engine ceased and the car door slammed.

A key turned in its lock and the Judas door creaked open. She heard the slap of footsteps on the front path, the whistle of a jaunty tune.

When he came into her line of vision, the whistling stopped. He shot a smile in her direction, as if he had X-ray vision, as if he could see her jammed there behind the front door. Oh God, he knew she was there! She wanted him to think that she was waiting for him, but she hadn’t planned on getting herself trapped here behind the door— stupid, Emma, stupid!

Before she could even attempt an escape, his foot hit the door with a crash, slamming her into the wall. He ducked from the falling pot as it shattered to the floor sending a shower of muddy water splashing across the quarry tiles. By the time he’d grabbed her arm and spun her around he was laughing out loud.

‘You silly little girl! Did you really think I’d fall for that? We read the story together, don’t you remember—the Famous Five wasn’t it?’

Emma tried to yank her arm from his grasp but his fingers sank deeper into her flesh. She screamed, ‘Let me go! The police will be here soon—they know all about you!’

‘They know nothing about me, darlin’, nothing at all; they didn’t even see your post card. A little cryptic for a simple plod I’d have thought. I guess you wanted me to think you’d changed your mind, that a little tumble in the hay with good old Uncle Aidan wasn’t quite as bad as you’d first thought.’

He chucked her under the chin and studied her face. ‘You really are an intriguing little thing, so different from your mother.’ He burrowed his face in her hair. ‘The lovely smell of a brand new dolly, straight from the box...’

She tried to recoil but he held on to her tight, pushing her against the wall with one hand as his other worked its way down her body until he reached the packet of scalpels and removed them from her pocket.

‘Well well, what do we have here—looks like daddy’s missing heirlooms.’ He examined the felt-wrapped packet and laughed. ‘Oh I see now. The idea was to lure me here, overpower me and carve me up with these.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘And your parents think you’re so bright. Well it seems you’re not so bright about everything, eh Emma? Underneath it all you’re just a silly little brat with an over-active imagination.’

She braced herself as he pinned her arms to her sides and pulled her against his body. Pressing his open lips to hers, he rammed his tongue into her mouth. She gagged as she attempted to tear her mouth away, struggling at the same time to drive her knee into his groin.

When he finally drew back he smiled and said, ‘Oh yeah, and a fighter too. We are certainly going to have fun with you.’

Her lips stung. She choked down a sob and wiped her mouth on the shoulder of her T-shirt and forced herself to look at him. What was he talking about—we?

She noticed a ripe bruise on his cheek. Maybe the pot had nicked him after all; she hoped it had. Maybe the wallop on the head she’d given him last night would finally take effect. Maybe any minute now he’d keel over and drop dead at her feet.

‘Your father,’ he put his finger to the bruise. ‘It seems the great ice man, your precious, talented, silver-spoon-in-the-mouth father is starting to melt.’

‘He’ll tell the police. He’ll tell them what you’re really like!’

‘But he doesn’t know what I’m really like, darlin’. As far as he knows, I’m just the guy who screws his wife and screws him out of his money. He doesn’t know I’m going for the trifecta—his little girl too. And even if he did, he wouldn’t dare. Your father is a coward. He won’t be helping you, even if he could.’

Emma swallowed and filled her voice with false bravado. ‘But I know about all the gross things you do up here, and it’s not just the things you try and do with me. I’ve already told the police. They know everything. I told you, they’re coming.’

Stoppard paled, squeezing her arm so hard now she thought it would break. She shouldn’t have said that. Oh God, he really was going to kill her now, he was. Stupid stupid stupid. He stared at her so hard she could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain.

One side of his lip curled and finally he spoke. ‘You little bitch, true or not, you’ll live just long enough to regret this.’

Taking her hand, he yanked her down the front passageway of the Chateau, kicking at the broken shards of pottery and negotiating his way around the puddles of water. ‘Don’t slip,’ he said, ‘there’s a good girl. My mates don’t do damaged goods.’

‘So, just what were these clues that Emma was supposed to have left for us in her bedroom?’ Tash asked as they sped towards the blue haze of the hills, lights flashing and siren wailing.

‘I can only think it was the postcard of Stoppard’s chateau. The Mexican throw rug might have been a clue too I suppose, the guy imports Mexican art. But if it hadn’t been for the appearance of that story on the web page, I don’t think I’d have put two and two together.’

‘Has Stoppard been picked up yet?’

‘No, he left the Breightlings at midday, said he was going to his office in the city, but he wasn’t there when the uniforms went to fetch him. He wasn’t at his Terrace apartment either.’

‘Do you think he’s out there already?’

Stevie shook her head and shrugged. If he was, she didn’t know who was in the greater danger, Stoppard or Emma.

Tash creased her brows as she thought. ‘Is she really capable of murder you think?’

Damn! It was uncanny how they’d share a line of thinking. It took a moment for Stevie to answer. She was thinking about the long dark hair found in Kusak’s car. When at last she did speak, she had trouble finding her voice, as if her own ears did not wish to hear the truth. ‘Yeah, y’know, I think she might be. She’s not your average kid.’

They drove a short way in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Stevie tried to remind herself not to make preemptive judgements until they’d gathered more facts; the presence of one hair did not make Emma a murderer.

She had Tash ring around until she came up with an after hours number for Donna French, the counsellor at Emma’s school. It was a frustrating conversation, the psychologist reluctant to tell Stevie anything about Emma’s history other than what she already knew: that she was a gifted child and kept down for a year at school because of poor hearing at an early age.

‘Shit, Donna,’ Stevie found herself losing patience. ‘This kid could be in real danger. Isn’t there anything else you can tell me?’

‘If she’s in danger, then you need to find her. You don’t need her psychological profile. Patient confidentiality, Stevie.’

‘Then give me a generic run-down of a gifted child,’ she snapped.

She heard Donna sigh. ‘Okay, but this isn’t necessarily Emma Breightling, right?’

‘Go on.’

‘You’d be amazed at how many gifted children get misdiagnosed because often their behaviour is thought to be ADHD.’