Chapter 11

Feeling starched from a day in the sun, we left Mitch and Bec on the beach to take a fifteen minute Uber to Robina.

As we cruised along Woodlands Drive, Sarah directed the driver to her house at number 26.

‘I thought we were going to the Evans house,’ I said.

‘We are. It’s just that…’ Sarah’s focus shifted to the driver watching us in the rear view mirror. She motioned for us to exit the vehicle. Once on the road side she continued. ‘I’ve told mum about what is happening to you and she wants to meet you.’ She bit down of her bottom lip. ‘I hope you don’t mind…’ She forced out a timid smile.

Why would I mind being paraded around like a side-show freak? But what I actually said was, ‘as long as she is not another one who thinks I’m Jayden Evans…’

‘No. She won’t. She understands what has been happening to you.’

Sarah led me down a long drive way to the rear of the single storey brick veneer house. An inviting light blue rectangular concrete pool, surrounded by glass fencing, occupied most of the back yard. We entered a large sunroom via a sliding patio door.

Two ceiling fans on high speed moved the warm air around the south facing room. Cane furniture with floral coverings positioned in front of a 190cm wall mounted TV, dominated the ceramic tiled floor space.

‘Through here…’ Sarah said, gesturing to a doorway. We entered a kitchen-meals area. ‘Do you want a drink?’ Sarah opened the door to one of the widest stainless steel fridges I have seen.

‘Sure…’

She grabbed two beers and handed me one. She cracked hers and took a swig. ‘I’ll just go and see if I can find mum…’

I watched her exit the kitchen into a hallway. While leaning back against the breakfast bar sipping on my beer, I took a typical first-time glance around the kitchen-meals area.

The updated kitchen boasted stone bench tops, stainless steel appliances and timber look cabinetry, too modern for the era of this house.

Checking out the framed photos on the side board in the meals area occupied some further wait time. Without trying, I had almost finished my beer and Sarah still hadn’t re-emerged. I checked my watch, followed by a stretch of my neck to glance down the hall.

I slid into a seat at the dining table. Presumably Sarah was briefing her mum on what to say and what not to say.

‘Sorry for the wait…’ Sarah said bursting through the door way. She gestured behind her. ‘This is my mum, Jackie…’ Her mum entered the room and smiled at me.

She was a slim figured woman in her early fifties with salon styled shoulder length light brown hair. She wore white ¾ length shorts and a hot pink singlet top that tightly hugged her breasts. Gold jewellery was her thing.

I stood from my chair as she approached. ‘Lovely to meet you, Kade…’ she said.

I accepted her hand shake. ‘Lovely to meet you… I now see where Sarah gets her looks from…’

Jackie waved a hand. ‘Oh aren’t you just the flatterer…’ Truth is, she lapped it up.

Casual chatting around the timber dining table occupied the next 30 minutes. It was refreshing because not once was any connection, or reference made to Jayden Evans.

I checked my watch then met Sarah’s gaze. ‘What time did you want to meet Mrs Evans..?’

Sarah’s focus shifted to her mum. ‘Um… we can go anytime you like.’

‘Sarah would’ve told you about a certain detective who thinks I am your missing neighbour, Jayden Evans…?’ I said as a question.

Jackie looked to Sarah, as if seeking permission to respond. She smiled, almost subserviently. ‘She did actually mention something about that…’ She said confession-like.

’So, what do you think…?’ I said directly. ’Do you think I’m Jayden Evans?’ Jackie dusted some small crumbs from the table. My question seemed to embarrass her. ‘Be honest. I won’t be offended. Everyone else around here speaks their mind.’

Jackie’s eyes flicked to Sarah. ‘I don’t know if you are Jayden or not. I can’t say.’

‘But you think I look like him, right…?’

‘I only knew him as a toddler…so…’ her voice tapered off.

‘But you can see a resemblance, right…?’ I jabbed a thumb at Sarah. ‘Sarah did. She picked me out from across a busy bar room.’

Jackie sat back in her chair and clasped her hands on her lap. She smiled and said, ‘do I think you are little Jayden, all grown up…?’ She shook her head. ’I doubt it. Do you look like the photos the police published…? You do a little. But Sarah told me you were born in WA and grew up there, so I have no reason to disbelieve that. And I think it is terrible what that police officer is doing to you.’

‘How well do you know the Evans family?’

‘We’ve been neighbours for over 30 years. So…’

I leaned my elbows on the table. ‘Did you have much to do with the family?’

Jackie pointed to my empty beer. ‘Get Kade a refill, Sez…’

I watched Sarah push herself from the table. ‘We knew Mandy & Graham quite well. We didn’t socialize with them, but we spoke often, usually in the street. We knew them well enough to be deeply saddened by Graham’s passing.’

Sarah placed a fresh beer on the table. ‘Cheers,’ I said to Sarah. ‘What work did they do?’ I asked Jackie.

‘Mandy was a lawyer, but she gave that up when Jayden was born, to raise him…Graham was a sports physiotherapist.’

‘And Jayden…did you see him much… or have much to do with him?’

Jackie shook her head. ‘Only from a distance…he played a lot in the front yard. Whenever I stopped outside Mandy’s for a chat on my way home, he was never far away.’ Jackie’s eyes lowered. ‘He was a nice boy. Very friendly. Very bubbly little fellow.’

‘What do you think happened to him twenty-five years ago?’

Jackie’s focus shifted to Sarah. Her mouth straightened. ‘That’s a difficult question. My heart hopes he is safe and well…’

‘But…’

She nodded once, conceding there is a ‘but’. ‘But…my head thinks he might have been taken…’ her shoulders slumped. She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to think about it, really.’

‘Reports I have read suggest the poor little fella may have been snatched by a… by a…’ I had to choose my words carefully. ‘By a sex offender,’ I said.

‘Sadly…that’s what we all think.’

‘Everyone except Detective Brent Dawes…’

‘Anyway,’ Sarah said with a timely interjection. ‘We best get going if we’re going to meet with Bec and Mitch for dinner afterwards.’

That was my cue to down what was left of my beer. We said our goodbyes to Jackie and left for a short stroll to the Evans residence, six doors up at number 14. While the afternoon light was fading, the temperature remained north of 30.

Chapter 12

Beyond the front picket fence at 14, a late model midnight blue BMW sat in the Evans’ drive, beside manicured lawns and neatly maintained gardens. Iceberg standard roses lined the fence and drive, under planted by low, square cut shrubs.

The front blinds of the white weatherboard home were open. Lights were on inside. Furnishings suggested a formal lounge room.

My pulse rate quickened as we strolled the drive to the front door. I wiped my perspiring hands down my board shorts, aware this could go one of two ways; well received or end in tears.

A security door separated us from the front door. Sarah rang the doorbell then stepped back beside me. After a brief wait, the front door opened exposing the silhouette of someone through the security door.

‘Can I help you?’ A female voice inquired.

‘Yes. Good afternoon, Mrs Evans…?’ Sarah said.

‘Yes…’

‘My name is Sarah Fox…’ She gestured to her right. ‘I live with my parents Jackie and Max down at 26…’

‘Ah, yes. Sarah. Of course. How are you? What can I do for you, dear?’ The security door remained closed.

Sarah nervously rubbed her hands together. ‘This is my friend Kade Miller. He’s over from WA on holiday…’

‘Right…’ I could feel her inquiring gaze through the screen.

‘This is a little awkward…’ Sarah began. ‘But, there are people…police actually… who believe Kade could be Jayden, which we know to be absurd…so we wanted to come and talk to you about it, to warn you…so you didn’t get hurt by it all.’ Mrs Evans didn’t respond. After an awkward pause Sarah continued. ‘Do you think you could spare us five minutes of your time?’

‘Why do people think that?’ The door remained closed.

‘Because they think Kade resembles the computer generated photos the police created for an older Jayden.’ Sarah’s questioning eyes flicked to me when there was no response.

The door lock clicked and the security door opened out towards us. Mrs Evans regarded me.

I recognized her from the funeral. In her late fifties, she was a petite lady; 5-3 in the old money. Short silver-blonde hair framed her tanned complexion. Her teal coloured designer-brand t-shirt and white pants suggested elegance, while her jewellery screamed affluence.

‘What was your name again?’ she asked.

‘Kade Miller…’ I said.

‘How old are you, Kade…?’ she said, all business-like.

‘Twenty-eight.’

She nodded as she repeated the up and down assessment. Her eyes narrowed slightly. It was difficult to get a read, but I suspect she was assessing any resemblance. ‘And you’re from…WA…?’ she said with an upward inflection, looking to Sarah for confirmation.

‘That’s right,’ Sarah said.

Mrs Evans nodded. She flicked me one last cautious gaze before stepping back from the doorway. ‘Come in, please,’ she said.

Once inside, we followed her across polished timber floorboards into a tastefully furnished lounge room. Tan leather two-seater lounges, separated by a timber coffee table, sat in front of an open fire place. A Persian style rug under foot complimented the décor.

In the corner near the kitchen, a white fat candle burned brightly on a small table in front of a large framed photo of three year old Jayden. I’d seen this photo during my internet research.

On the same shrine table was a smaller head shot photo of a smiling Graham Evans.

‘This is lovely…’ Sarah said while glancing around the room.

‘Thank you,’ Mrs Evans said. ‘Can I get you a drink…? Coffee, tea, water?’

Sarah looked to me, as if seeking guidance whether we were staying long enough for a drink. ‘Ah, a coffee would be great, thank you,’ I said.

‘That would lovely,’ Sarah added.

Mrs Evans gestured to the lounges. ‘Please… Take a seat. I won’t be long.’

As Mrs Evans left the room, Sarah took a seat while I checked out the many framed photos scattered around the room on anything flat.

Jayden must’ve been an only child, either that, or his siblings were too ugly to photograph. I was admiring the many photos on the fireplace mantel, particularly one of Mr Evans on a cabin cruiser, when Mrs Evans returned carrying a tray of coffees.

‘That was my husband’s pride and joy…’ she said. ‘He loved that boat.’ She placed a tray on the coffee table then glanced towards the small shrine. ‘I lost my husband and my best friend last week,’ she said behind welling tears.

I slid in beside Sarah. ‘I was aware of that. I’m sorry for your loss,’ I said. Mrs Evans moved to sit opposite. She forced a gratitude smile.

With our coffees in hand, Mrs Evan took control. She held a commanding presence as she fired off an interrogation style interview about my life, presumably to help her decide on whether or not she was talking to her missing son.

After 10 minutes, she finished her bombardment and said, ‘Now… Your turn. What can I do for you today?’

My head was still spinning, but that was my cue. It was my opportunity to mention Brent Dawes and his case of mistaken identity. It was my chance to reassure her that, contrary to other opinions, I am not her missing son. It was important to me that she was aware of that, to avoid Dawes creating a false high, followed by a crashing low.

My turn was over in less than five minutes. Mrs Evans returned her cup to the table. She regarded me in silence as several beats passed before saying, ‘OK… Firstly, I appreciate you thinking of my wellbeing and coming here today. Given we have never met, that is very thoughtful of you. Now… Do I think you are my Jay…? I can see a slight resemblance… But from what I have learned here today, I have my doubts. Tell me this… Do you have any birth marks, Kade?’

The question caught me off guard. ‘No, I don’t, actually.’

‘OK… Well, Jayden did. He had this cute little heart shaped birthmark on his right rib cage…about here,’ she gestured to an area on her ribs, below her right breast.

I lifted my t-shirt to expose my ribs. No birthmark.

‘Well…’ she extended open hands. ‘There’s your proof right there…’ Mrs Evans said after examining my ribs. ‘You can’t possibly be my Jay, can you…?’ she asked rhetorically.

Sarah and I exchanged a relieved smile. The tension left my shoulders. It was so pleasing to hear her declare I was not her missing son. She, of all people should know. To finally be free of being accused of someone I’m not, was liberating. ‘Do you mind if I tell Detective Dawes about our meeting today…?’

‘Of course not. And if I ever meet him, I’ll also tell him, if that will help you.’

I caught Sarah’s eye, then stood from my seat. ‘We’ve taken up enough of your time here…’ Mrs Evans also stood. ‘I appreciate you speaking to us…I really hope we haven’t upset you by coming here and dredging up the past…’

Mrs Evans waved a hand. ‘In my mind, my Jay is living a happy life with another family somewhere… a family who loves him… a family who are giving him a good life.’ She smiled as her eyes fell heavily. ‘That way I smile when I think about him. When I wonder what he looks like now. What type of man he’s grown into…’ Her focus remained on the floor while several beats passed, before lifting to meet our gaze. ‘So, don’t be silly… Meeting you today took me to my happy place with my Jay… more than you probably realize.’

Twenty minutes after nervously strolling up Mrs Evans’ drive, wondering if I was doing the right thing, she was waving to us from her front door as we left.

I floated down Woodlands Drive as we returned to Sarah’s, ahead of meeting up with Mitch & Bec. In my mind, I was fist pumping. I am Kade Miller. Shots on me.

Chapter 13

The majority of our last day in Queensland was spent comatose from last night’s bender. After meeting Mrs Evans, I had cause to celebrate and celebrate I did.

We hit bars, pubs and too many clubs to remember. Like celebrating a grand final triumph, I went out hard and kept going strong until they kicked us out at sunrise. I’m not sure which took the bigger hit, my liver, or my wallet.

I woke lying on top of the covers, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling fan on full speed. I wasn’t in any hurry to move but the pressure on my bladder was my motivation.

The kitchen clock showed 3.10pm when I shuffled in with a foggy head and a mouth drier than Ghandi’s thongs.

I filled a glass from the kitchen sink and dispatched it in one gulp. The first two glasses didn’t touch the sides. While contemplating a 3rd, Mitch staggered in. His eyes looked like the proverbial two piss holes in the snow.

‘You look as bad as I feel, bro,’ I said, filling my glass.

Mitch coughed as he scratched his head through his matted hair. ‘Any coffee…?’ he grunted.

‘Kettle’s on…’ I said, then emptied my 3rd glass.

We took our coffees out on the balcony gazing out to the ocean through glassy stares. Conversation was light, to say the least. We reclined with our feet up on the hand rail waiting for the fresh air and caffeine to do its work on our foggy heads.

‘What happened to the girls last night…?’ I asked.

‘Dunno. I don’t even remember gettin’ home.’

‘You and me both, bro.’

We’d already pencilled in today as a recovery day, ahead of our 11am flight home tomorrow. So all we had to do was wait for our heads to clear to an acceptable level of cognitive awareness.

It wasn’t until my foot slipped off the handrail that I realized I’d nodded off. Seventy-five minutes passed in a blink. I glanced across at Mitch. He too was out. His chin was buried into his chest.

The water, coffee and the three Panadols were starting to help, but the three glasses in my bladder could no longer be ignored. I dropped my feet to the floor, just as my phone rang. I recognized the number.

‘Detective Dawes…’ I answered. My tone was intentionally disinterested.

‘Whoa… I hope you look better than you sound…?’

‘Big night last night. Bit of a celebration…’

‘Do you have a couple of minutes to chat…?’

‘If you don’t mind the sound of running water,’ I said as I continued to the toilet.

‘I’m aware you head home tomorrow, so I was hoping to catch up tonight, before you leave.’

‘No point. I’m not your guy.’

‘We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.’

’No, we don’t. I’m not your guy. I met with Mrs Evans yesterday and even she agreed with me. I’m not Jayden.’

‘You met with Mandy Evans…?’

‘I did.’

‘Why?’

‘To clear this shit up. To prove once and for all I am not her missing kid.’

‘And she told you she didn’t think you are Jayden…?’

‘She did.’ Several beats of silence passed. I checked the connection.

‘How was she so certain you aren’t Jayden?’

I flushed the toilet. ‘Apart from the fact she believed me when I said I was born and raised in WA, unlike you… There’s also the birthmark.’ I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder to wash my hands.

‘Birthmark…?’

‘Yep. Jayden has a small birthmark on his right rib cage. I don’t. Therefore… I’m not him. Can’t possibly be him.’

I could hear the sound of pages turning. I returned to the balcony while I waited. Mitch was awake, or at least, his bleary eyes were open. I think I even saw him move.

‘I don’t have any record of a birthmark on any reports…’ Dawes said.

‘So…?’

‘Well, wouldn’t you think that would be an important feature to include in a missing person report…?’

‘Not really…He’s a three your old boy with one of the most recognisable faces in the country. I don’t think you need a birth mark to confirm his identity.’

‘Mandy would have mentioned a birth mark to me, if he had one.’

‘Her kid was snatched. The last thing on her mind was a small birth mark. Anyway… if you don’t believe me, speak to her yourself, OK.’

‘I think I will. Can you do me a favour when you get home…?’

‘Depends…’

‘Ask your mum for evidence of your birth. Photos of you as a newborn. Baby photos as you grew. Birth certificate, saved mementos, anything to prove you were born in WA.’

‘And then you’ll leave me alone…?’

‘It would certainly help.’

‘No. That’s not good enough. I’ll do what you ask on one condition… If I get these things for you…you will accept who I am and leave me alone.’ The phone went silent. ‘Do we have a deal?’

‘We do…’

‘OK… I gotta go. Last night an’ all.’ I ended the call and dropped the phone onto the table.

‘Dawes…?’ Mitch grunted.

‘Aha…’

Mitch shook a disapproving head.

I showered up, my first for the day, dragged on my tidy gear then we strolled to Surfer’s in search of our last holiday dinner on the Gold Coast.

---

The next morning we checked out of our accommodation, dropped the hire car off at the airport and boarded our flight as scheduled, ahead of our 11am departure.

After entering our plane via the front door, a friendly, older female flight attendant checked our boarding passes then directed us to our seats in row 22. ‘On the right,’ she indicated.

We dumped our carry-on overhead and folded ourselves into our narrow seats. I had to feel sorry for the guy sitting in front of Mitch’s 195cms. He will have to cope with two knee caps pushing firmly into in his back for the entire flight.

Take off was smooth. I watched the Gold Coast drop away beneath us, leaving blue sky and clouds. I slipped in my earphones and cranked up some tunes from my phone.

The reason I took this holiday with Mitch was to relax and to extract me from my dark place, after recent events. It did that. We met some cool people and probably consumed more alcohol than our bodies can manage.

My only regret is crossing paths with an old-school Detective with a hard-on for finding a little boy lost. In the end, I wasted way too much of our limited holiday time convincing myself and others that I am who I am.

After levelling off, the First Officer announced our flight time was 4 hours and 30 minutes and he expected to have us disembarking in Perth at 1.30pm Perth time, which is two hours behind the east coast. It’s going to be a long flight.

Chapter 14

Mitch and I shared a cab for the twenty-five minute ride from Perth airport to Nedlands, a suburb south-west of Perth, where he still lives with his parents; something I never let him forget. Of course, whenever I do, he always reminds me that his parents didn’t buy him a house.

From Mitch’s, the cab continued to mine in Cottesloe, 10 minutes further, towards the coast. My house is located in the north end of Cottesloe, near the golf course.

At my age, I am quite fortunate to be able to purchase my own place, let alone one in such a prestigious suburb. Ordinarily, this house would’ve been way out of my reach, financially. But I was lucky to firstly have a well-paid career, and from the bank’s viewpoint, parents with adequate resources to help me out.

I have no comeback to Mitch. He is correct. Two years ago, with their financial assistance and guidance, I bought a comfortable and spacious 1990 built home in a leafy street. With three bedrooms, two bathrooms, two large living areas, high ceilings and a nice pool, dad said it was a “great buy”.

By current standards, the 1990 decor was tiring a little, so I am slowly renovating her. It was something dad and I did together, so it may be a little while before I find the motivation to continue the renos.

After unlocking the front door I dumped my case in the bedroom, opened all the blinds and slid open the rear patio door to let in some fresh air. My year yard faces west so it wasn’t long before the afternoon sun warmed up the chilly family room.

First things first. Following a quick check of my fridge I made a list and headed to the supermarket, hoping to beat the school pick up mums calling in for supplies on their way home.

---

Fortunately, the supermarket was quiet. In and out in no time. While strolling through the car park with three bags of groceries in hand, my phone rang.

‘Hi mum… How you doing? Is everything OK?’

‘Hi dear. I was just calling to check you arrived home safely.’

‘Yep. All’s good. Just grabbing something from the supermarket for tonight’s dinner.’

‘That’s why I called, actually. I was hoping you’d join me for dinner tonight. I haven’t seen you for two weeks. I’d love to hear about your holiday.’

‘That’d be great. I’d love to… I’ll just drop these things off at home and I’ll come on down.’ We said our goodbyes and I ended the call.

Mum lives seven to eight minute drive south of me, right on the beach. Her home — my family home growing up — is a luxurious two-storey overlooking the beach. It has five bedrooms, each with its own en-suite and walk in robe.

There are three living areas, a massive media room that resembles a small cinema and a large kitchen with adjoining butler’s pantry, larger than the average bedroom. The family room opens out on to a spacious alfresco deck. Beyond that a fifteen metre Roman shaped pool sits among landscaped gardens.

The mining industry has been good to us. Dad earned a seven-figure executive salary that afforded our family a very comfortable lifestyle and me, my private-school education.

Despite their considerable affluence however, mum and dad remained grounded. They were humble and treated everybody with respect.

After dad passed, mum considered selling her home. She had it valued – 5.8 million dollars. They paid two million around fifteen years ago when we moved there from Karratha. A decision on the sale is still pending.

Mum greeted me at the front door in a way that only a loving mum can. Her cheek kiss and warm embrace was comforting.

‘Something smells great… Is it a roast?’

Mum smiled. She knows her roast is one of my favourite meals. ‘It is. Roast beef.’

She took my hand and led me through to the family room where we sat and chatted over a red wine.

Once I had learned how mum was coping with everything, and I was satisfied she was in a good place, I talked about my holiday, at least the parts I could share with my mum.

I shared things like the views from our 12th floor accommodation, the pristine beaches, the magnificent weather, the friendly people and the pumping night life.

Up until this stage my unfortunate encounter with Detective Dawes had intentionally been left out of my holiday review. But it was a subject I had to broach, sooner or later, if I was do what he asked of me.

I topped up mum’s glass then returned the bottle. I thought I would ease into discussing what Dawes put me through. ‘Have you ever heard of the name Jayden Evans…?’

Mum eyed me from over her glass as she sipped her red. She lowered her glass and shook her head. ‘No. That name doesn’t ring a bell. Should it…?’

‘What about Mandy and Graham Evans…? Have you heard of them? They live in Robina on the Gold Coast.’

‘Can’t say I do. Why do you ask?’

‘Their son, Jayden Evans was three years old when he was taken from the front yard of their home twenty-five years ago.’

Mum’s eyes lifted upwards. ‘I think I remember that…Wasn’t it all over the news…?’ She didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. ‘Did they ever find the poor boy?’

‘Not officially. Although some thought they did over the last ten days, or so…’ I said cryptically.

Mum understandably frowned her confusion at me.

‘It’s a long story. There’s a cop on the Gold Coast… A Detective who’s been investigating the disappearance of Jayden Evans since 1994.’

Mum reclined back and crossed her legs. She sipped her wine as I continued.

‘I happened to bump into this cop in a bar on the first night we were in the Gold Coast. He tried to tell me I was Jayden Evans, all grown up.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘Why on earth would he say that?’

‘He has this computer generated photo of Jayden predicting what he would look like as an adult. According to this cop, I look like this photo.’

‘You and thousands of other people across the country. Did you tell him you were born in WA…?’

‘Of course, but he didn’t want to believe it. As far as he is concerned…I am that missing kid.’

Mum waved a dismissive hand. ‘That’s just ridiculous…’ she repeated, shaking her head. ‘I would’ve told him to get lost.’

‘I sort of did. But he is relentless. Anyway…’ I took a sip to keep my throat hydrated. ‘I did one better. I met up with the missing kid’s mother, Mandy Evans, to explain to her I was not her son.’

Mum’s face tightened. She sat forward in her chair. ’You visited the mother of that missing boy…?’

‘I did.’

‘Why would you do that, Kade…?’ she said firmly. ‘That poor woman would’ve been through a lifetime of hell. The last thing she needed was for you to re-hash all those horrible memories.’

’That’s what I thought, at first. But this cop would’ve told her about me sooner or later and I didn’t want her to get her hopes up, when I am not her kid.’

Mum reclined back in her chair. ‘What did she say when you visited her…? Did she get upset?’

‘No. She agreed I was not her son. She mention-’

‘Of course she would. How could you be? One thing is certain… A mother knows her own son.’

‘She mentioned that her boy has a small birthmark on his ribs about here somewhere,’ I said tapping my ribs. ‘And I don’t…so,’ I said, holding out my hands.

Mum nodded slowly as she silently held my gaze. She held out a hand. ‘There you go… Not that you needed a birthmark to tell you that.’

Chapter 15

‘The cop asked me to locate evidence of my birth… Things such as my birth certificate, baby photos anything like that to prove I was born in WA.’

Mum placed her wine on the coffee table then stood from her seat. She adjusted her dress. ‘That’s easy…’ she said before disappearing into the hall towards the stairs.

I finished my red and was topping up our glasses when mum eventually returned carrying a small box with a lid. She dumped it on the coffee table and removed the lid.

Mum lifted a blue photo album and slid in beside me. She flipped over the pages as we took a trip down memory lane with mum providing a narrative to most photographs.

The album was over flowing with typical proud new parent photos. There were various photos of dad and of mum each holding me as a newborn, wrapped tightly in a blanket.

There were photos of me in a little cot. Photos of me tucked up in a pram. Photos of me naked on a sheepskin rug. I particularly remember that one from my 21st. After a while, as the page turning continued, even I started to get bored.

Mum returned to the box and removed a handful of loose photos. She handed them to me one-by-one, each one accompanied by a short narrative.

These loose ones were all photos of me around my early teens. There were photos of dad and I playing cricket; dad and I fishing; dad and I playing footy. There were photos of me in my college uniform on the first day of year seven at St Xavier’s. They just kept coming.

When the photos ran out, mum returned the loose photos and the album to the box. She removed a white A4 envelope and handed it to me. I slid out the single page document. It was my birth certificate.

‘I’ve got a copy of this somewhere,’ I said as I examined the record. ‘Kade Ross Miller born 16 January 1991. Place of birth…’ I read, lifting my questioning eyes to mum. ‘This records my place of birth as our Karratha address…’

‘That’s correct. You were a home birth, but not by choice. You remember we used to live in that small remote mining town…’

I nodded my recall. ‘Yeah, I do. It was incredibly hot…’

‘That’s right. Well that little town was probably five hours from the nearest hospital, so there was a medical centre and a nurse in the town. Unfortunately you decided you didn’t want to wait for me to go to hospital… you came early. The town nurse had to deliver you.’

As expected…It records mum and dad as my parents and it has a 1991 registration number at the top. Not sure how much more he needs as proof of birth…

I slid the birth certificate back into its envelope; that was until something caught my eye. I slipped it back out. I felt my eyes widen as I locked onto the section near the bottom of the certificate titled “PARENTS’ MARRIAGE”.

‘It says here that you and dad were married in Mudgeeraba, Queensland…’

‘That’s right…’ mum replied, matter of fact.

‘That’s on the Gold Coast, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right…’

‘Is Mudgeeraba near Robina…?’

‘It’s about… five or six kilometres away. Why?’

My first thoughts were, if detective Dawes finds this information, he will have a field day, birth mark or no birth mark. Given what I’d just been through in Queensland and given what Dawes was pushing, this was not good. This plays right in to his hands.

He will notice that not only do I resemble this lost kid, in his mind at least, but now there is evidence that my parents lived in a suburb near where the kid went missing. He already believes my parents are the kidnappers.

‘Why the concerned look, Kade?’ mum asked.

‘This cop worries me. If he finds out you lived in Mudgeeraba, he’ll be back on my trail again.’

‘We didn’t live in Mudgeeraba… We got married in a church in Mudgeeraba.’

I exhaled heavily. Part of me was relieved to hear that. ‘So you lived somewhere else…?’

‘We did. We owned a lovely water front home in Varsity Lakes.’

‘Varsity Lakes. Sounds flash.’ I booted up Google Maps on my phone as mum continued boasting about their previous home.

‘It was. We lived in a gated community. We had a beautiful property built on the canal. The back yard had a large infinity pool and led down to a private jetty.’

I stopped listening when Google Maps loaded. ‘That’s even worse…’ I blurted. ‘Varsity Lakes is closer to Robina than Mudgeeraba.’

‘I don’t see the problem, Kade. I don’t understand how any of this matters, when you were born over here in WA.’

‘You don’t know Detective Dawes.’

‘By the sounds of it… that’s a good thing.’

‘Why Varsity Lakes…? I thought dad was an engineer in the mines.’

‘He was. He worked as a FIFO… two weeks on, one week off. He did that for years until he was head-hunted for an executive position in the Pilbara. It was too good to pass up. Your father was a very clever man. He was remunerated very well for what he did.’

‘So, you moved from Varsity Lakes to Karratha…?’ I asked, making sure there were no other surprises placing them even closer to Robina.

’We did… We sold the house somewhere around late ’89, I think it was.’

’And I was born January ’91,’ I said crunching the numbers out loud. ‘In Karratha after you moved…’

‘That’s right.’

That’s good enough for me. I snapped some photos of my birth certificate and some of the more relevant photos taken around my birth. I dispatched these to Dawes, via text, while mum packed everything back into the box.

With all the birth information Dawes requested out of the way, we sat down to enjoy mum’s roast.

Chapter 16

It has been three days since my return from Queensland and mum’s delicious roast dinner. By now, I should’ve been settling back into my work routine, after the holidays. Should’ve been.

For the 3rd night in a row now I find myself waking around 2am staring at the ceiling for hours. I have no idea why. Something is triggering my conscious brain to waken.

I’d experienced similar bouts of prolonged insomnia in the weeks after we lost dad, which I put down to my grieving preventing me from any restful sleep, but this is different.

While watching the rotations of the ceiling fan, recollections of my encounters with Dawes flashed into my mind. Comments he made still continue to resonate.

There were times during my holiday that Dawes had me questioning my roots. There is no doubt my resemblance to the computer image of Jayden was remarkably close, not that I would ever let Dawes know my thoughts on that. But more telling for me was my resemblance to the photos I saw of Jayden’s father, Graham Evans.

Part of me wondered if this experienced cop was a better bloodhound than I gave him credit for and I was too closed minded to embrace the evidence and the coincidences.

It certainly doesn’t help the naysayers to now learn that mum and dad lived in a suburb next to Robina. But my negative thoughts are quickly smothered by reassurances of things like the birthmark I don’t have and my Birth Certificate proving I was born in WA.

Then there are all those photos of me as a newborn. If I was Jayden and taken at three years of age, how could mum and dad have photos of me when I was a baby?

Then it hit me. The photos. I sat bolt upright in bed. The photos are what keep plaguing my mind. There was something about the photos of me as a baby, but I just can’t put my finger on it. A re-visit to mum’s was required to check those photos again.

---

A hectic return-to-work schedule prevented me from re-visiting mum’s place until Thursday, which I did on my way home from work.

Mum wasn’t home when I arrived, so I let myself in. She mentioned during a phone call that she kept the box of photos in the wardrobe of my old bedroom.

I grabbed the box and dumped it on my old bed. The plethora of loose photos were the first to be sorted through as I searched for something that triggered my nocturnal recall.

Like sorting through a deck of cards, I examined the top photo before dumping it on the discard pack, repeating until all photos were checked.

The photo album was next to face my scrutiny. Sitting on the side of the bed with the album on my knees, I turned through the pages.

‘Hi darling…’ Mum’s voice resonated from downstairs.

‘Up here, mum…’

Mum appeared in the doorway. ‘Having any luck?’

‘Slowly getting through them…’

‘I’ll just finish putting my groceries away and give you a hand.’

During my previous telephone calls with mum, of which I usually try to do every three or four days, I mentioned that the cop in Queensland asked me to provide more photos from the period closer to my birth date, through to toddler age

It was of course a little white lie told to protect mum while I searched for answers to my insomnia.

Mum returned and sat beside me on the bed. She watched on as I turned through the album pages.

None of the album photos were jumping out at me. None triggered a memory that was keeping me awake. I soldiered on, occasionally asking mum about a random photo here and there.

Mum was in full reminiscing mode explaining a photograph, as I turned a page. My eyes locked on to a photo on the top-right. That’s what I was looking for. The photo leapt out from the page. That’s the photo that has been troubling my sleep.

‘Look how small I am in this photo…’ I said doing my best to disguise my interest. The photo depicted dad standing and holding me. My tiny pink face is all that is visible from the tightly wrapped blanket. I tapped the photo. ‘Where was this photo taken…?’

Mum leaned over and examined the photo. ‘I think that was taken in our home in Karratha.’

The photo album was the old-school type from the nineties, where an adhesive sheet of clear plastic secures the 75mm x 75mm developed photos in place; usually four photos to a page.

I peeled open the plastic adhesive sheet and lifted the photo to check for any notations on the back.

‘I don’t remember us having a fireplace in Karratha. Would you even need a fire place in Karratha?’

‘The evenings can get very cold up there…’ Mum said as she took the photo and examined it, front and back, while I monitored her reaction. ‘That’s you and your father not long after you were born…’ she said, holding her gaze on the picture. ‘He was so proud of you…’ A smile emerged. ‘We both were,’ she said as she placed a reassuring hand on my knee. She handed me the photo back. ‘I’m not sure now…you’ve got me thinking, but I thought that was our living room in Karratha.’

‘That’s OK. This’ll do to keep the cop happy.’ I accepted the photograph and snapped it with my phone, then returned it the photo to the album.

Mum waited while I returned everything to its box. ‘Do you want a coffee, or something to eat?’

‘A coffee would be great, thanks…’

The box was returned to the wardrobe shelf as mum disappeared downstairs. Following a quick check to confirm she was gone, I checked the photo in my phone.

The colour of the walls are a different shade in the photo, but the mantel piece over the fire place resembles the mantel piece I saw at Mandy Evans’ place. Could this be a coincidence? Maybe all fireplace mantles were the same back then?

I dragged the box back down and quickly sorted through the loose photos. The photos of me at the same age as Jayden Evans will show I am not him. When the last loose photo hit the discard pile, I checked inside the box. Empty.

All the loose photos are of me around eleven years of age through to about fifteen. The photo album contains all my baby photos. So where are the photos of me as a toddler?

I snapped some more of the photos with my phone then returned everything to the wardrobe.

Mum was sitting at the kitchen bench sipping on her coffee when I arrived. She smiled welcomely at me as I slid onto a stool at the bench. She gently nudged a plate of chocolate chip cookies towards me. ‘I just bought these today,’ she said.

She knows me too well. Choc chip cookies are my fave when I’m enjoying a coffee.

Dad’s passing hit us all incredibly hard, but none more than mum. She was understandably devastated to lose her soul mate. So since his passing, I regularly check in with her, either by phone, or by a visit and a coffee, to check she is doing OK.

Mum is an incredibly strong woman, but she would also hide from me any emotions, or any issues she is having, to keep me from worrying about her.

Our coffee was an ideal time since the roast dinner to monitor how she is coping.

As we were chowing down on cookies and enjoying our coffees, mum asked about Dawes. ‘Is that detective in Queensland still bothering you…?’ she asked, resting on her elbows, holding her cup in both hands.

‘On and off.’

‘What sort of person is he…? Is he an aggressive cop…?’

‘No, he’s not. He’s actually quite a gentle and friendly type. Not what you’d expect from a cop.’

‘What do you have to do, so he’ll leave you alone?’

‘I would’ve thought I’d already done enough for that…’

‘Apparently not,’ she said then took a sip.

‘Hopefully these last lot of photos I send him will do the trick…’

‘Hopefully…’

I decided to ask about the photo taken in front of the mantel piece that looks familiar to me. Was it a coincidence? Was it a common piece of joinery for fire places from back then? I had to ask. I had to know. I had to put this to bed.

‘That photo we looked at…’ I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder. ‘The one with the fireplace in it…’

‘What about it…?’

‘I feel I’ve seen that fireplace before somewhere.’

‘You probably remember it from Karratha.’

‘You may be right. But I was thinking more recently…’ Mum frowned her confusion as I continued. ’I feel like I’ve seen this same fireplace recently.’

Mum shrugged as her eyes fell to the bench. ‘Unless you’ve been back to Karratha… I don’t see how.’

‘Do you remember I told you that I visited Mandy Evans, the mother of that missing kid, when I was in Queensland…?’

‘I do. What about her?’

‘We met with her in her lounge room and the mantel piece in that photo we just looked at…’ I jabbed a thumb. ‘Looks similar to the mantel piece over the fireplace in her lounge room.’

Mum sipped her coffee as she processed my comments. ‘I suspect our fire place mantel wasn’t unique, darling. The houses we lived in at that mining village in Karratha weren’t quality builds… maybe they were stock standard back then…I don’t know.’

‘During the time you lived on the Gold Coast, you never met Mandy and Graham Evans. Never been to their home in Robina…?’

‘No. Sorry darling. With your father’s FIFO work we had very few friends in Queensland.’

‘That’s OK… Well, hopefully when this cop receives this last lot of photos, he will leave me alone.’

‘Let’s hope,’ mum said with a warming smile. ‘Do you want to stay for dinner? I bought some lovely chicken breasts.’

‘You know what… That sounds great mum… But I won’t tonight, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a few things I need to do.’

When we finished our coffees, I rinsed the cups and loaded them into the dishwasher, ignoring mum’s directions to leave them because she’ll do that.

Following a kiss and a warm hug from mum, she waved goodbye from her front door as I headed off for home.

Chapter 17

For the entire drive home, the picture of that mantel piece troubled me. On the face of it, mum said she did not know Mandy Evans and therefore, has never been to her house. Logically, that should be enough to suggest the mantel pieces are simply alike.

Problem is, I have delved as deep as I can into my recall and I cannot remember us having a fireplace in Karratha. And that troubles me a little.

Dawes has clearly got inside my head. He is causing me to question known facts. He is causing me to seek further confirmation, just to verify who I am.

Am I doing this to prove Dawes wrong, or is there an element of doubt creeping in to my mind? I really don’t know anymore.

After returning home from mum’s, I broke from my usual Friday night tradition of making a bee-line for the fridge and ripping the cap of a cold beer.

Instead, I printed out copies of a number of photos I have on my phone.

Once printed, the photos were placed in a row on my kitchen bench, where I leaned on my hands passing my eyes over the photos and a copy of my birth certificate. The longer I looked, the more I disliked what I was looking at.

The first photo on the bench was of dad. Lying next to that was a selfie I took. Beside my selfie was a photo of mum. When I compared the images, there was a lack of genetic similarities in our features. Is that normal? I don’t know. Shouldn’t there be some resemblance?

I moved my photo along, to position it between a photo of Graham Evans and the computer generated image of an older Jayden Evans that I downloaded from the internet.

There is definitely a slight resemblance to me and the Graham Evans photo; more than my connection to dad’s photo, which under the circumstances is very strange.

‘Yo. Kado…’ Mitch’s voice yelling from the front door broke my contemplations.

‘In the kitchen, bro…’ I yelled over my shoulder as I scanned the images.

Mitch strolled in with a six pack under his arm. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Your front door was unlocked. so…’ His voice tapered off. Clearly the rest of his sentence didn’t require articulating.

I waved a hand. ‘All good, mate…’

Mitch ripped off a stubbie and handed it to me. ‘Friday night drinks, bro…’

‘You’re a lifesaver, mate. Cheers.’

‘You eaten yet…?’

‘Not yet. Been too busy,’ I said. I flicked a hand at the kitchen bench.

‘Pizza it is then…’ Mitch approached the bench. He scanned the photos. ‘What’s all this?’

‘Just a photo comparison thing I’m trying…’

Mitch ran his eyes across all photos. ‘It’s a little bit like a pick-the-correct-parent game…’ Mitch said, with a hint of flippancy.

‘Exactly.’

Mitch continued to scan the photos. He eventually shook his head. ‘I’ve said it before bro…and I’m still saying it now…’ he tapped the photo of Graham Evans. ‘If I didn’t know your family…that’s who I’d pick out of these photos as being your old man.’

‘Yet you’d be wrong…’ I said without conviction.

‘I know, right? Crazy isn’t it…?’ Mitch said. I could feel him glaring at me, as I scanned the images. ‘Don’t tell me you’re starting to question things now bro…?’ When I didn’t respond Mitch continued. ‘I can’t believe it… Dawes has got inside your head, hasn’t he…?’

My comparing glances flicked between the photo of Graham Evans and the photo of me, several times. Truth is, I don’t know what to think any more.

‘What about this…?’ Mitch lifted the copy of my birth certificate. ‘It says here…’ he read the document. ‘Kade Ross Miller born 16 January 1991 in Karratha WA.’ He read, then firmly glared at me for emphasis.

‘I thought that too… Then I saw where mum and dad were married…’ I lifted my chin to the document in his hand. Mitch re-read the certificate.

‘Where’s… Mudgeeraba?’

‘Gold Coast…But they only got married there…they actually lived in Varsity Lakes…which is a neighbouring suburb to Robina. Robina’s the suburb from where this kid went missing…’

Mitch’s face tightened at the connection. ‘Did they live there around the same time this kid went missing…?’ he asked. He had caution in his voice.

‘They apparently moved to Karratha a year, or so before…’

Mitch waved a hand. ‘Then it’s nothing more than an annoying coincidence…’ he said. He tapped the top of the page. ‘This is a WA birth registration number dated back in 1991, bro. This is a legal document. What more do you need?’

‘As long as it isn’t a forgery…’

Mitch scanned the document in his hand, as if trying to detect any obvious tells to indicate it was a fake. ‘Can you forge these records…?’ he asked.

‘You can forge just about anything, bro…’ I said while Mitch continued to scan the document. ‘Do I think it’s a forgery…? No I don’t. That’s not my mum and dad. They wouldn’t do that.’

‘Well, there’s your answer, bro…’ Mitch said. He held the birth certificate out to me. ’Get a copy of your actual birth certificate from the registry at Births, Deaths and Marriages…

‘And if it’s the same as this one… Case closed,’ he said, punctuating his comment by dropping the certificate onto the bench. ‘If they match…’ he waved a hand.

‘Then all these other coincidences you’re worried about amount to nothing…They’re just that…coincidences.’

It turns out all the worry and micro analysis of everything caused me to overlook the glaringly obvious, as pointed out by Mitch. If my birth certificate — a legal WA birth registration document — is legitimate, how can I be anyone else?

If they match, Dawes can carry on all he likes. It’ll be printed in black and white on a legal record. I am Kade Miller. Case closed.

‘Looks like I’m visiting B, D and M next week…’ I said.

‘And finally put this shit to bed, bro…’ Mitch said. ‘Now…’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Let’s order that pizza.’

Chapter 18

During one of my many Monday morning work site visits, I took a slight detour to visit the Births, Deaths and Marriages Registry in the city.

A copy of my birth certificate sourced direct from the government registry of births should be enough to end this Dawes witch hunt.

Their website provided the address and also listed the proof of ID documents required.

I parked my work Ute on street level and took a fast elevator ride to the 10th floor.

The friendly guard at the front door directed me to the computer kiosk, located just inside the door.

After selecting my level of inquiry as being “Births” the machine spat out a number with a “B” prefix on a small receipt. A screen message told me to take a seat until my number is called.

A row of bank teller style windows numbered one to five, lined the front of the office. Three rows of moulded plastic seats, already occupied by a dozen or so people, stretched across the front of the counter windows.

In the corner, a TV screen displayed the last number called for each prefix of B, D and M. The TV screen showed B16 was currently being served. My receipt was number B24.

Thirty-five minutes later and several impatient glances at my watch, a computer generated female voice announced, “now serving B24 at window two”. Finally.

The middle-aged female public servant at window two was all business. She took my completed application form and copied my ID documents. After relieving me of $50, she said the copy birth certificate will take around 10 business days to arrive via post.

It left somewhat of an empty feeling leaving the office with nothing to show for my time there, but at least the wheels are in motion.

Five weeks passed without so much as a squeak out of Dawes. Part of me felt reassured, while the other part of me knows how the crossing of our paths in Queensland only served to reignite an internal pilot light in him that had all but flickered out.

I know first-hand not to under estimate the relentless hunger Dawes has to find answers to this missing kid’s whereabouts.

It is no surprise, to me at least, that the copy of the birth certificate I received via post from the Births Registry is an exact match to the copy mum has. It is a genuine record.

Hopefully Dawes will use the same initiative and source a copy for himself. Maybe he already did and that is why we haven’t heard from him for so long.

Either way, I have reached the stage where every day I don’t hear from Dawes, is a day where the weight he dumped on me all those weeks ago, gets that little bit lighter.

The way I manage Dawes and what he has done to me is to immerse myself in my work. A large part of what I do involves project management of commercial constructions, so it occupies most of my thoughts and time.

Once I complete an engineering design job, I oversee the build to ensure strict compliance to my engineering specs.

My work is challenging through the design phase, but also rewarding to witness the final build come together, as per my engineering designs.

Unfortunately, the builder, the developer engages, rarely shares the same ownership of a job, as I do. Consequently corners get cut, or laziness and ineptitude often result in the builders missing fundamental measurements, or technical requirements in the build.

Any failure in the structural integrity of a build comes back to bite me, not the builder, even if the calculations of my designs were accurate.

So to control the quality and progress of the build, I need to regularly have feet on the ground at each job, from mark out stage to preparation of footings and foundations, through to the framing and cladding stages. Only then can I confidently tick off on the build compliance.

Thursday morning was no different. I swapped my suit jacket for a high-viz vest and hard hat to visit one of my job sites on the outskirts of Perth.

We stood in the bright morning sunshine with my engineering plans opened across the bonnet of my D-Max, while the site foreman updated me on the progress of the build.

It is common in almost all my meetings to be disturbed by an incoming call on my electronic leash – my mobile.

My other jobs sites have numerous questions at all times of the day and often the sites cannot progress until these questions have been addressed. Therefore, I have no choice but to break mobile phone etiquette and leave my phone on during meetings, to ensure I am contactable at all times.

This morning’s meeting with the site foreman was no exception. The calls kept coming. We were close to wrapping up when a fifth call came in. I checked the display. This one was more important than any of the other calls I have received today. I excused myself to take the call.

‘Hi Mum… Is everything alright…?’ I asked while stepping away from the Ute.

‘Sorry to bother you, darling… I know you are busy but…That detective from Queensland who has been bothering you…Is his name Dawes…?’

‘It is… Brent Dawes. Why?’

‘He just called me. He’s here in Perth at the moment and wants to visit me this morning…He said he wants to discuss that missing young boy.’

‘Are you kidding me…?’ My jaw tightened. The blood throbbed in my ears. I found myself pacing aimlessly. ‘What is it with this guy…? Why can’t he leave us alone?’ My voice unintentionally raised to a yell. The site foreman shot me a concerned gaze.

‘I was hoping you could be here when he gets here… I don’t feel comfortable talking to him on my own.’

I checked my watch. ‘When’s he coming…?’

‘Well… now. He called to check I was home and he said he is on his way.’

‘OK. I’ll be there as soon as I can…’ I ended the call.

After quickly wrapping up the meeting with the site foreman, I headed off to mum’s.

Chapter 19

On my way to mum’s, I called in to mine to pick up the birth certificate. If Dawes doesn’t have a recent copy, I will gladly shove this one under his nose.

My heart rate quickened when I noticed a Hertz hire car parked in the street outside mum’s address. The bastard was already here. I parked in the driveway and quickly made my way inside.

Mum and Dawes were sitting at the table when I burst into the kitchen. My baby photo album and the other loose photos were on the table. There were no coffees in front of them.

Mum is one of the most gracious hosts I know. She always offers visitors a beverage. The fact they do not have coffees in front of them speaks volumes to the contempt mum has towards Dawes.

I glared at the unwelcome visitor, as mum stood from her chair and hugged me. My stabbing glare never left Dawes.

Dawes stood from his seat and extended his hand. ‘Good to see you again, Kade…’ he said devoid of sincerity.

My eyes fell to his extended hand. Every ounce of my being told me to ignore the gesture. ‘Evil Kade’ screamed at me to knock his hand away. But I couldn’t. I’m better than that, so I reluctantly accepted his handshake in silence.

After mum and Dawes returned to their sets, I slipped into a seat beside mum. I placed a reassuring hand over her hand.

‘What’s all this about…?’ I asked. My tone was intentionally direct. I did not want him to feel comfortable, or in any way welcome here. ‘Haven’t you bothered us enough?’

‘I was just saying to your mother before you arrived…’ he began. ‘I am over here following some leads on the disappearance of Jayden Evans.’

No shit Einstein. ‘What kind of leads?’ Is what I actually said.

‘Well, for example, I obtained a copy of old electoral rolls for the Gold Coast area and imagine my surprise when I found out that your parents lived in Varsity Lakes on the Coast, which is right next to Robina…’ His smile was smug, like he’d just uncovered a smoking gun lead and solved his case.

‘Well, if you had done your homework, you will see that my parents left that area around two years before Jayden was born…’ Dawes fired me a look of surprise. ‘You’re not the only one around here who is making inquiries detective.’

‘See… I find that very interesting. Why are you making inquiries?’ He didn’t wait for my response. ‘Is it because you are starting to believe that you may very well be Jayden Evans?’

’On the contrary. I made the inquiries to prove I am not Jayden and to get you off my back, once and for all… Have you spoken with Mrs Evans, yet…?’ This time it was me who didn’t wait for a response. ‘As you know, I have… and she agrees that I am not her son.’

‘She wasn’t so certain when we spoke.’

I shook a firm head. ‘I don’t believe that, detective. She was certain when I met her… then there was the birth mark Jayden has and I don’t.’

‘Ah yes, the birth mark…the one she forgot to tell me about when she reported her son missing…’ He said oozing with cynicism.

‘What can I tell you, detective… It is, what it is…’

‘While you and your husband lived in Varsity Lakes did you ever meet Graham and Mandy Evans?’

‘No,’ mum said.

‘You never, at any time, met them…?’

‘Asked and answered, detective,’ I said feeling like a boss lawyer defending his client.

‘What would you say if I told you that Mrs Evans told me that she had met you and your husband on numerous occasions on the Gold Coast.’

‘I’d say either you, or she is lying…’ mum said firmly, with conviction. ‘Where are we supposed to have met them?’

‘I was hoping you’d confirm that for me…’

‘I can’t confirm what never happened.’

Dawes was fishing. It was an old interviewing technique. He clearly made that shit up about Mrs Evans saying she met mum and dad on numerous occasions, hoping mum would admit the same. Kudos to mum. She didn’t let him intimidate her.

‘I also wanted to discuss the photos you sent me…’ he said addressing me.

‘What about them?’

‘In all of the photos you sent me of you as a baby… there weren’t any of you around the age of three…’

I glared at Dawes while several beats passed. ‘You asked for photos of me around the time of my birth. That’s what I sent you…’

‘Well, what I was really hoping to get from you were some photos of you around the same age as what Jayden was when he went missing… around three years old… But I didn’t receive any. There were only baby photos…I just thought that was odd’

‘How is that odd…? I sent you what you asked for…’

‘A photo of you at three years old would be able to show whether you are, or are not Jayden, wouldn’t you say…?’ Dawes didn’t wait for a response. ‘The fact that these photos of you at three years old were not supplied, is very suspicious to me.’

‘I don’t care — ’

‘There are no photos of Kade around three years old because we don’t have any….’ mum interjected. ‘In fact, there aren’t any from ages two to about four or five.’

‘OK. Why’s that?’

Mum gestured to the loose photos on the table. ‘You’ll notice that I rarely appear in any of those photos. Most are of Kade on his own and Kade and his dad…’

‘OK,’ Dawes said, in tone of, I’m unsure where this is going.

‘That’s because I was the one who took the photos. If it was left up to Kade’s father to take photos, there wouldn’t be any memories.’

‘So what happened? Why was there a break in photos…?’

Mum’s mouth straightened. Her eyes fell heavily to the table. ‘When Kade was born there were some… complications, which were compounded by me giving birth to him in a remote location…’

‘So Kade was born naturally then. Not by caesarean…?’

Mum glared at Dawes. She frowned heavily. ‘You’re very personal with your questions, aren’t you…? Next you’ll ask to see my episiotomy scar to prove it…’

Dawes had no response. He extended a hand to mum. ‘There were complications… please continue.’

‘For the next couple of years I was in and out of hospital. But over time… things weren’t improving.’ Dawes made some notes. Mum continued.

‘I was unwell for years… probably from when Kade was one year old through to when he was four or five. Then I had the… operation. So there was a period there where I wasn’t overly mobile and I never took many photos of him…and neither did his dad.’ She looked at me. ‘I’m sorry about that, darling.’

‘You don’t have to apologize, mum.’

Mum continued. ‘Back then, we never had the digital cameras and memory cards like they have today. We used film rolls of 24 or 36 shots that had to be taken to a Chemist in town… in Karratha, to be sent off for developing.’

‘What… so you had to drive five hours, just to develop photos…?’ I asked.

Mum shrugged. ‘Well… Yes. But what we would do was accumulate the film rolls until we were next travelling to Karratha and develop them all at once.’

‘Makes sense,’ I said. Dawes made notes.

‘On one of dad’s trips to town, he took the films to be developed. We had accumulated a few years’ worth by then because with it being so far away… We didn’t visit Karratha often and developing the photos wasn’t a high priority, you see…’ I nodded my understanding.

‘When dad was in town this time… our car was stolen. It was located in the outback all burnt out. The car could be replaced, but the photos…’ mum shook a slow head. ‘All gone. We lost all those photos of you for those early years.’

I glared at Dawes. ‘Satisfied…?’

‘Did you husband report the car stolen at the time?’ Dawes asked.

‘He did.’

‘Do you remember what type of vehicle it was and the registration number?’

Mum scoffed. ‘I don’t even know my own car’s registration.’

‘What year would this have been… When the car was stolen?’

Mum looked at me while she contemplated. ’You were born in ’91… So… It was few years later… I’d guess it was around 1994 or 1995…’ mum said. ‘But I don’t really know.’

Dawes made some notes then removed his phone. After several minutes tapping and sliding fingers across his screen he excused himself from the table to make a call.

From what I could glean he called a Police station, most probably Karratha. He introduced himself and asked to be put through to the records office.

I continued to listen in to his conversation as he stood with his back to us.

‘I don’t have a vehicle or registration, so are you able to search your records by incident and surname?’

’Great. Miller. Ross Miller. Theft & recovery of motor vehicle around ’94 or ‘95. Recovered burnt out.’

‘I’ll wait…’ Dawes turned to us. He lifted a finger. ‘I won’t be long…’

I checked my watch. Mum and I exchanged a frustrated glance.

Chapter 20

Several minutes passed. I clasped my hand over mum’s hand. ‘You OK…?’ I asked quietly.

Mum nodded and forced out a smile. ‘I’m good. Thanks.’

‘But you just want him gone, right…?’ I asked knowingly.

Mum nodded quickly.

‘How much longer, detective…? We both have our own lives to get on with.’

‘It shouldn’t be much—’ Dawes held up a finger. ’Yep I’m here… Aha… OK. And it was recovered burnt out…?’ Dawes’ nose twitched as scribbled notes. ‘Is there a list of property that was in the vehicle when it was stolen…? OK good. Any rolls of undeveloped film recorded in this property?’ Dawes’ eyebrows arched. ‘There was…? About seven or eight rolls….’ Dawes’ eyes flicked to mum as the realization hit home she was telling the truth. ‘OK. What date was that again…?’ Dawes scribbled some notes.

He ended the call shortly after and returned to his seat at the table. ‘Well it appears you were telling the truth about losing the photos…’ Dawes said.

‘You’ve got a lot of nerve coming into my mum’s home and accusing her of lying… I’ve just about had enou—’

‘I never accused her of anything, Kade. All I did was verify the information she provided…That’s what investigators do…’

‘So… Are we done here…?’

‘Just a couple of more questions,’ he said as he referred to his notes. ‘I note Kade does not have any siblings…’ he asked knowingly.

‘I told you…I had complications after Kade was born. Things got so messed up inside me that I had no choice, health wise…I had to have a hysterectomy.’ Mum’s eyes welled up as she looked at me. ‘So that’s why you don’t have any brothers or sisters…’ She forced out a smile.

This was uneasy to hear. I placed a comforting hand over mum’s hand. ‘I had no idea…’ I said. I glared at Dawes. ‘Happy now…?’

Mum smiled at me. ‘They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger… And I’m still here…’ she said, trying to sound upbeat.

‘Would you be prepared to give me permission to access your medical records?’

‘Are you for real…?’ I blurted.

‘That’s OK, Kade,’ mum said, extending a hand in front of me in a tone of, ‘I got this’. She stood from her chair and untucked her button-up shirt, to expose a well-healed surgical scar that extended east-west across the breadth of her lower abdomen. ‘That is what they did to me, after they removed my uterus, detective.’

Dawes turned his eyes away. He held up a hand. ‘Please. Mrs Miller… That’s not necessary…’ he said. ‘Your medical records will confirm your procedures.’

‘I am not giving you unfettered access to my private medical records, detective,’ mum said, tucking in her shirt. ‘How dare you for even asking…’ She slid back into her seat.

‘What about this…?’ I pushed the envelope containing my birth certificate across the table to Dawes.

Dawes lifted the envelope and slid out around 1/3 of the page. He passed a cursory glance at it, then slid it back into the envelope. ‘I have a copy of that already…’

‘Well. Doesn’t that prove who my parents are?’

‘Not really. Those records can easily be forged.’

‘You’re not serious…’ I said. ‘You’re suggesting that someone from B, D and M has, for some reason, created a false birth certificate for me…’ I punctuated my comments with a disapproving head shake. ‘Are you really that desperate to suggest something as ludicrous as that?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything… What I am saying is… those records cannot be relied on solely… They need to be corroborated with other evidence.’

I was stunned at his revelations about the commonwealth government agency. ‘Look…’ I began. ‘Mum has been cooperative… far more than I would’ve been under the circumstances. She has given you the reason why there are no photos of me at age three… She has given you the reason why I am an only child… As far as I am concerned, detective… your questions have been asked and honestly answered. So if there is nothing else… we are finished here.’

‘There is just one more thing…’ Dawes said. He opened his folder and slid out a document. ‘I hoped it wouldn’t get to this, but…’ He pushed the single page across the table to mum. I leaned in to read it with her. ‘That is a warrant issued by the Southport Magistrate Court…It is a court order that compels you to provide me with a sample of your DNA.’

Mum and I read the warrant. When mum finished reading her eyes were filled with sadness as they met mine. ‘Is mum being charged with something, detective…?’

‘No. Not at his stage…’

’Not at this stage… Are you kidding me…? So, mum isn’t being charged with anything… She’s not under arrest… You’re not arresting her, are you…?

‘No.’

‘Yet, according to this,’ I flicked a finger at the warrant. ‘She has no choice in this matter… She has no rights because this Magistrate says she has to give you a DNA sample… Like a common criminal…?’

‘Correct. It’s what is referred to as a “non-intimate” procedure. What this means is, your mum will attend at a police station and they will take a simple mouth swab and send it off for testing…that’s it.’

‘What happens to the sample after that?’ I asked.

‘If the samples proves you and your mother are related and you — ’

’When a sample proves we are related…’ I interjected.

‘…wish the sample to be destroyed, either your mother or her legal representative needs to make a request in writing to the Commissioner of Police here in WA to have it destroyed…’

Dawes closed his folder and stood from his seat. He gestured to the warrant in mum’s hand. ‘You have 7 days to comply with that warrant…’ he said. ‘If you fail to comply, that order allows for a sample to be forcibly taken…and you don’t want it to get to that stage…’

I stood from my chair and gestured towards the front door. ‘We are finished here. You can leave.’

‘I don’t understand your reluctance to provide a sample, Mrs Miller…. If Kade is your son, as you suggest…wouldn’t your DNA prove that, once and for all…?’

‘I would’ve thought we have more than satisfied that question, detective…’ mum said. I was so impressed at how calm she appeared. I was ready to erupt.

I approached Dawes. ‘Please don’t make me ask you again, detective,’ I said firmly.

Dawes regarded me up and down, like he was sizing me up. It was the first time I’d seen the protruding vein in his forehead. ‘Thank you for your time Mrs Miller…’ he said. He began moving to the front door. As he passed me he again regarded me in what I felt was a disrespectful up and down glower.

I slammed the door behind Dawes as he stepped from the threshold. No good byes. No thanks for coming; just a silent door slam, sending a clear message to him to ‘piss off’.

When I returned to the kitchen mum was reading the warrant. It angered me that she looked so sad because of Dawes. He came after me in Queensland, now he is coming after mum.

‘Don’t worry about that, Mum,’ I said easing the warrant from her hand. ‘We’ll get some legal advice on this before we give anybody your DNA.’

When Dawes left I made us a coffee. Mum was visibly upset by his visit, so I wanted to stick around, to make sure she was OK, before I returned to work.

Most of the time was spent trying to reassure mum that she had nothing to worry about. Dawes was on a fishing expedition. He has nothing and never will. The sooner he accepts this, the better off we will all be.

With dad no longer with us, mum is forced to endure this harassment and bombardment of allegations on her own. And that is not fair. It is time for this to stop.