She bobbed her head, swallowing. “Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?”
“I can get something later.”
“I made pancakes. Would you like some?”
It would make her feel better if I ate. “Sure, that’d be great. Thank you.”
She went to the kitchen and I opened the web browser before typing in Cameron Thwaite. Opening another tab, I typed in things to do in Rockhampton, just in case Mum came back. I stared through the screen, thinking of what I could search rather than reading about the town I’d grown up in. Things to do in Rockhampton—go to Yeppoon.
Waiting until she’d put the plate next to me and left the room, I switched tabs. Cameron Thwaite. He had a profile on Facebook. I clicked on it. His face appeared. I clicked in the about section. He was fifty-four. In a relationship with Leona Barrett. Works as a manager at Bulldust Bar ‘n’ Grill. Jesus, it was scary what you could find out about a person online.
I absently picked up a pancake and stuffed it in my mouth. Mm. Damn, I was starving. Flicking through his photos, I stopped at one with him, Leona, and Jess. He sat between them, with his arms around their shoulders. Leona and Cameron were smiling. Jess looked as though her cheeks were made from plasticine. Had the police even treated him as a possible suspect? So what if his alibi was solid? Maybe he had someone working for him and they’d grabbed Jess, holding her until Cameron could do whatever evil he’d planned while Leona slept.
I dropped the rest of the pancake on the plate, the masticated food in my mouth travelling down my oesophagus at the speed of a traffic jam. I screwed up my nose and waited for the discomfort to ease.
Abandoning the idea of food, I clicked through a photo album until I found one of him with another young girl. They had their temples together, locked in a side-hug.
Who is she?
He hadn’t tagged her, but there were several more photos of them together. I stopped when I found one with a comment.
‘Happy birthday to the love of my life, Bella. I still remember the day you were born.’
He had a daughter.
“Please tell me she’s alive and well,” I mumbled to myself.
I searched for a Bella Thwaite, but came up blank.
“Hey, Mum?” I closed Facebook and went back to my search on Rockhampton.
She came rushing into the room. “Yes, honey. What is it?”
Guilt had me slumping in the chair. She looked so eager to please, I hated using her like this, but she wouldn’t agree with what I was doing. “Can we go to Bulldust Bar ‘n’ Grill for dinner? I feel like a steak.”
“Oh, that would be lovely. I’ll call Peter and tell him.”
And I’ll pack a notebook in my handbag. I was going to need it.
_____
Rockhampton, Australia
2nd of July, 2006, 6:39 p.m.
Bulldust Bar ‘n’ Grill had a prime position overlooking the Fitzroy River and plenty of glass windows to take advantage of the view. I wouldn’t call it classy. It was comfortable and neat. Jeans and an Akubra weren’t out of place at all. Neither was a longneck beer, judging by the patrons lined up at the bar.
“I’m going to grab us some more water.” I stood and was gone before they could tell me the water bottle was already full. So it was full. I didn’t care.
I sidled up to one end of the bar where a young woman was putting away glasses. “Hi. Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“How can I help?”
“My name’s Andy. I’m thinking of applying for a job here and was just wondering what the manager is like.”
“Cam? He’s great.”
“Really?”
Really?
“Yes. He gives me all the public holidays and lets me have a Friday night off once a month so I can have a life. Know what I’m sayin’?” Her grin was cheeky.
No, I’m fourteen. I spend Friday nights on the couch.
“So he’s okay with young women? You know how creepy some bosses can be.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that with Cam. He’s like an old woman—very protective of his staff.”
“Right.”
“Would you like an application?”
“No, I’ll think about it some more. Thanks for your help.”
“No worries. Enjoy your meal.”
“I will.” Not.
I passed the water station and swiped a fresh bottle before making my way back to the table. Sitting in my seat was none other than the man himself. I waited just behind him as he recounted how distraught Leona was and how her mother was staying with her to help her through this difficult time. My senses didn’t prick. The hair didn’t rise on my arms. I didn’t get a pain shooting down my neck.
It wasn’t him. He didn’t do it.
I was both relieved and stricken at the same time, the conflicting feeling warring in my stomach.
Thank God it wasn’t him. How would Leona ever forgive herself for bringing a monster into her daughter’s life, if that had been the case? But now I was at a dead end. Literally.
Who the hell had killed Jessica Barrett?
_____
Call me John Doe
Rockhampton, Australia
24th of June, 2006, 6:16 p.m.
I drove along the quiet suburban streets, the window cracked just enough to invite the smell of cut grass. I hated the smell of freshly mowed lawn. It was a Saturday staple, just like the sound of a football siren during the season, or the growl of a motor boat on the Fitzroy River. Fucking straight-laced suburbia. What about the squealing of tyres as
