Chapter Eleven

Max rested his head on a hand while he scrolled through the photos of Lance Edwards on his computer screen. The crime scene officer who sent them to him via email, also included morgue photos taken after transport.

The advance decomp hindered his visual assessment of the extent of any injuries. From what he could discern from the images, Lance had been stabbed multiple times, front and back. An autopsy would ultimately determine the cause of death.

Max lifted his eyes to the two photos on his whiteboard with the branding, “LOCATED DECEASED” above each one. With these two being located, the elephant in the room needed addressing. Was Emily Davis really a psychic medium who spoke to dead people, or a murderer?

His heart said the former, his experienced police investigator brain said the latter.

He rolled his eyes when he saw his boss marching over to his desk. ‘Here we go…’ he mumbled to himself.

Jeff approached the whiteboard and stood with his hands on hips, while he regarded the photo display. ‘Two out of seven located,’ he said. He moved to rest himself on the edge of Max’s desk. ’Now do you agree it’s time to bring her in…?’ Jeff said.

Max fell back in his chair and locked his fingers behind his head. ‘You’re probably right,’ Max said. ‘But I’m wondering if we should try one more name on Emily’s list, first.’

’And then what…? You’d have located three, all because she told you where the bodies were. It wouldn’t matter if you checked five, or the whole goddamn list…’ Jeff said. ‘You would still be back here at the same spot you are now, realising you have to bring her in for questioning.’

He couldn’t argue with his boss’ logic. He just didn’t share his boss’ beliefs that this was a fait accompli.

‘If I bring her in…’ Max began. ‘She will just stick to the same story…’ he said. ‘The ghosts of these people visited her and told her where their bodies were located.’

‘Good.’ Jeff pushed himself away from the desk. ‘Good,’ he repeated. ‘That’s what we want her to say. Then we’ll say, prove it…and when she can’t, she’s stuffed. Put a fork in her, mate, she’s done.’

The criminal investigation unit’s admin officer approached Max’s desk. She mouthed the words, “excuse me” to Max, then dropped some mail onto his desk and walked away.

Max nudged the letters to spread them. He lifted the letter with the Victorian Coroner’s Court branding. He read the front, flipped it over and tore it open. ‘Ah, Sarah Moon’s autopsy report,’ he said to Jeff. Max reclined in his chair as he read the report.

‘Multiple stab wounds to the back. Ah…three in total, with a twenty centimetre, one-sided blade, and one to the chest,’ he announced as he read. ‘COD was from the knife rupturing her heart.’ Max turned the page. ‘No defensive wounds, or any other injuries or markings. Suggests a blitz attack, probably from behind, given the frontal strike appeared to be the one that killed her,’ Max said.

Jeff accepted the report from Max and read it.

‘Three in the back and one through the heart in a blitz attack…’ Max said. ’I’m not so sure that’s something the Emily Davis I met, could do. It seems fairly cold… fairly brutal.

‘Then she had to transport the body to Winchelsea, weigh it down with car batteries and toss it far enough into the centre of the dam, so it remained below the surface, should the water levels drop.’ Max shook a disbelieving head. ‘I’m not so sure, Boss.’

‘Clearly she had a male accomplice, or a strong female. Never can tell these days,’ Jeff said. ‘Regardless, you’ve gotta bring her in. Let her tell you what she did.’

‘I told you my thoughts. I know exactly what she will say. She will say she had nothing to do with the murder. She’ll say these friggin’ ghosts told her where the bodies were located. She’ll stick to that story. Then what? We have no evidence linking her to the murders.’

Jeff waved the back of hand at Max. ‘Charge her anyway…’

Max fell back in his chair, defeated. He slowly shook his head.

‘Excuse me, Higgo. You got a minute?’ A uniform senior constable approached Max’s desk. Max was too invested in his argument with his boss to notice the cop’s approach.

Max lifted his chin to the cop. ‘Yeah, mate. What’s up?’ Max watched his boss step away and return to his office.

‘We recovered a red Mazda 626 on a property at Maude, under thick trees and growth,’ the uniform cop said. ‘When we did a check for the owner, there was a notation on the VicRoads data base to contact you. So, here we are.’

‘Who was the owner?’

The cop read from his notes. ‘The registered owner is a Malcolm Denyer.’

Max’s eyes instinctively flicked to the photo of Malcolm on his whiteboard. The cop’s gaze followed. The cop approached the whiteboard and read from Malcolm’s photo. ‘Is that him there…?’ The cop asked. ‘He’s a missing person…?’ He said as a question.

‘Sure is…’

‘Ah, I see,’ the cop said. He held out an iPhone to Max. ‘This was on the front passenger seat of the Mazda,’ the cop said. ‘You’ll probably be interested in it.’

The cop held the phone in a disposable glove, loosely sitting in his hand. ‘But it’s not the phone that I thought you would be interested in. Look at this.’ The cop activated the phone. ‘It was unlocked and these were open on the display.’

Max accepted the loose glove and phone and viewed the photos open on the screen. He frowned at the uniform cop. ‘What the hell is this?’

‘There’s about sixty more of them in a hidden folder. The dates go back as far as three months,’ the cop said. ‘Just watch the battery. It’s pretty low…about 5%.’

Max checked the model of iPhone. He heaved open a drawer and removed his phone charger and connected the iPhone to a power socket. ‘Same phone as mine,’ he mumbled.

He rummaged through his top drawer and removed a pencil with an eraser on the end. He used the eraser to slide through the naked photos. ‘These look like they were taken through a bedroom window…’ Max said. He shook a disapproving head. ‘This guy was a primary school principal…’

‘Looks like your missing school teacher was a sex offender…’ the cop said. ‘D’ya reckon it could have something to do with why he went missing…? Someone caught him…?’

‘Who knows. Anything is possible, at this stage,’ Max said. ‘So, this was on the front, passenger seat and it was unlocked…?’ Max said. He rubbed a contemplative had across his mouth.

‘Yep. I checked the settings and the phone lock was disabled.’

This anomaly was not lost on Max. A pervert who stored naked photos of his victim on his phone would not disable his phone lock. It was the combination to his safe and he would protect it, and his reputation.

‘Someone unlocked this phone and left it to be found…’ Max said. ‘Which suggests they knew about the photos…’

‘How do you figure?’

Max ignored the question. ‘Where in Maude was the car located?’ Max booted up Google Maps satellite image on his computer.

‘Under heavy foliage just off Steiglitz Road… About fifty metres south of Ingot Road,’ the cop said.

Max followed the directions on his computer screen. ‘Around these trees here?’ Max asked. He gestured to his monitor.’

The cop checked the screen. ‘That’s exactly it… It’s parked under this group of trees, there.’

‘OK. Great. Get the crime scene team out there to photograph and process the vehicle. When they’re done, arrange for it to be towed back to our holding garage.’

‘Will do,’ the uniform cop said, then departed the office.

Max lifted the iPhone in the loose glove and examined it. He expected it to be clean, but he would still have to arrange for it to be dusted—no stone left unturned.

---

‘OK. So what have you got for me…?’ Jeff asked as he approached Max’s desk. He stood with arms crossed. It was fair to assume from his body language, Jeff expected he was in for an argument about the timing of when to bring in Emily Davis.

Max’s years of experience as an investigator of serious crime had taught him that in any investigation, it was important to gather all evidence necessary to obtain a conviction. Only then do you arrest the offender for interview. Roll the dice too early and the offender could walk.

Jeff’s eyes fell to the desk. He frowned. ‘What the hell are those…?’ He said. He lifted the pile of ten-by-eight colour photos of a naked woman. He flipped through them. ‘Are these all of the same naked woman?’ Jeff said.

Max couldn’t tell if the tone in Jeff’s voice was disappointment from the lack of variety in the photos, or simply realization.

‘These were taken on the 23rd… The 24th… The 25th… and the 26th…’ Jeff said, as he continued to flip through the photos. ‘Again on the 30th… 1st… 2nd…and the 3rd… They keep going, virtually all in successive dates. What are all these about…?’

’They’re part of what I wanted to talk to you about…’ Max said.

After Max accepted Malcolm Denyer’s iPhone from the uniform boys, he got to thinking how the phone’s technology could assist him. He took it to the experts at the police IT Technical department.

The IT techs accessed a file in the phone that stored the phone’s latitude and longitude coordinates, along with a timestamp. They compared this to the signal strength between the phone and the nearest mobile towers, and with triangulation, they were able to approximate Denyer’s movements.

To Max, this was telling and he wanted to discuss it with his boss. He wanted to use this information to delay bringing in Emily Davis while they searched for the three bodies at Steiglitz.

‘Our Tech guys printed those photos you have there from Malcolm Denyer’s mobile phone, after it was recovered in his vehicle. Each photo displays a date and time stamp.’

‘I saw that. So this Denyer was a sex offender…?’

‘Appears so. But that is not what I wanted to discuss with you,’ Max said. Jeff dropped the photos onto the desk as Max continued.

Max opened his case file and removed some pages. ‘These here are latitude and longitude co-ordinates the techs were able to access from Denyer’s phone.’ He handed them to Jeff. ‘They show Denyer’s last movements. More particular, they provide an approximate location in Steiglitz where his body could be located.’

Jeff frowned as he read all the numbers listed vertically down the page. ‘What, all these numbers tell us that?’

‘I’ll show you. Hand me that top page there.’ Max accepted a page and accessed a website. He entered the co-ordinates. A map appeared on the screen with a blue pin indicating a location in Steiglitz.

He turned his monitor to Jeff. ’See that. Those co-ordinates indicated Denyer’s phone was at that location at 11.18pm during the night of the 18th. I’m guessing he is buried somewhere in the area of that pin.’

‘How reliable is that technology?’

‘It’s accurate. It won’t pin point his location exactly, but it gives us an area to search.’

’And you want to search this area before you bring in Emily Davis?’ Max asked knowingly.

‘Look here…’ Max said. He read from Emily’s list. ‘This list records that Denyer is supposed to be in a deep hole in Steiglitz with Jenny Cox and Brian Taylor.’

Max flicked open his case file folder. His fingers walked through the pages, searching. He lifted a page and placed it to the side. His fingers kept searching. He lifted a second page and closed the folder.

He handed the stolen vehicle recovery reports to Jeff, as he continued. ‘Brian Taylor’s burnt out car was located near the quarry on Maude-She Oaks Road.’ Max pointed to the report in Jeff’s left hand. ‘That’s around six kilometres from Steiglitz,’ Max said. ‘Jenny Cox’s car was located in a dam in Anakie.’ He pointed to the other report. ‘That’s around seven kilometres from Steiglitz. And Malcolm Denyer’s car was located in Maude. Three and a half kay’s from Steiglitz. The information on Emily’s list could be correct. All three could be in a hole in Steiglitz.’

‘Aren’t there a heap of disused mine shafts around Steiglitz?’ Jeff said.

‘Exactly. And I’m hoping there is one near those co-ordinates,’ Max said. He gestured to the map on his computer monitor.

‘If you do this… Regardless of whether you find bodies in a mine shaft, or not… you bring her in. No more delaying the inevitable. Are we clear?’

‘Crystal.’

Jeff dropped the pages on the desk. ‘Get it done.’

Chapter Twelve

When Max and his search team arrived in Steiglitz, tailed by the inquisitive television networks, the town’s population increased by fifty percent. The last time the country town experienced this many people at any one time, was during the height of the 1860s gold rush.

The orange jumpsuits of the state emergency service and the dark blue overalls of Victoria police fanned out in long search lines across the bush land.

Prior to allocating search grids to each team, Max stood out front and addressed the gathering, like a footy coach delivering a final message before his team took to the field.

‘This area we are standing on was heavily mined for gold up until the last gold mine closed in 1941,’ Max said. ’What remains today are several deep and dangerous mine shafts, scattered across the landscape.

’Now… In the past… mullock heaps, which are mounds of waste rock and dirt, gave away the location of each mine shaft. But over time, the elements have eroded these away. Wild, long grasses now conceal what is left of the mullock heaps and the mine shaft openings. There are no Work Safe safety signs out here people. These things are out there and they’re dangerous. Check every step before you take it.

‘Our priority is to firstly locate a mine shaft, then we have to determine if there are any bodies in the shaft.’

Following his pre-game briefing, lines of searchers prodded the ground with long sticks as they edged through the bush.

While standing in the pop up command centre, under the shade of the portable camp-style pergola, Max uncapped his water bottle and took a long drink. The dusty bush environment played havoc with his eyes and dried out his throat.

He scanned the searchers trudging amongst the overgrowth and trees, hoping someone found something. There were a lot of resources deployed here and it would be embarrassing if no bodies were found.

The command portable radio crackled to life. Max moved to the radio and lifted the handset. ‘Last caller, repeat,’ he said.

A voice crackled over the radio. ‘Search team four to command… We have located a mine shaft,’

Max’s searching eyes scanned the bush land. ‘What is your location, search team four…?’ Max said.

‘South-west corner of grid seven…’

Max moved to the large map on an easel. His finger traced the grids, stopping at grid seven.

‘Can you tell if there is anything in the hole,’ Max asked.

‘Affirmative. There appears to be something at the bottom. Difficult to tell what. The mine is approximately fifteen to twenty metres deep.’

The search and rescue body recovery team was deployed to the mine site.

A cop trussed up in a harness, attached to a portable, motorised pulley, was slowly lowered down into the mine shaft. A colleague guided the cable into the hole. Search team four encircled the vicinity of the hole, watching on.

Max inched his way to the edge of the mine shaft and slowly peered down on the cop disappearing into the darkness. After a few short minutes Max had his answer, for this hole at least.

‘False alarm,’ blurted across Max’s portable radio. ‘Bring me up…’

The search and rescue cop guiding the cable signalled to the pulley operator to bring him up. The pulley hummed as the cable rewound onto the large spool.

When the cop emerged from the hole, he shook his head. ‘Just a large, decomposing roo at the bottom…Nothing else.’

Max circled a disappointed hand in the air. ‘OK. Back to it, people,’ he said, then returned to the shade of the command centre.

Fifteen minutes later his radio again crackled to life. ‘Search team one… command. We have located a mine opening in grid two.’

Max lifted the radio handset. ‘Command received. Stand by. The body recovery team are on their way to you.’

Within minutes the search and rescue cop slowly descended from view into the mine shaft. A second team member guided the cable into the hole.

Five minutes later, Max’s radio crackled to life. ‘Search and Rescue one, to command… I have three human remains. Repeat. Three human remains.’

The body recovery team leapt into action. A harness stretcher was lowered into the hole and one-by-one, the bodies were removed. First out was Malcom Denyer, then Jenny Cox and last out was Brian Taylor.

Max inspected his three missing person victims laid out in a row on the ground, each one in a different stage of decomposition and insect infestation. The gaping wound to Denyer’s neck caught his eye. He checked the other two bodies and noted that they too had wounds to their necks.

Forensic crime scene cops moved in and photographed the remains and their respective injuries and body markings.

As Max watched on he wondered, could Emily Davis slash a person’s throat? He wasn’t so sure. These were the actions of a cold-hearted, psychopathic killer, and Emily Davis did not fit that profile.

Regardless, Emily’s List had now provided the whereabouts to five of his seven missing persons. Each victim had been brutally murdered and their bodies dumped. It was time to bring her in. If she could not prove her psychic medium defence, she would be in a great deal of trouble.

---

Emily’s Wednesday started out like any other—9am mid-week meeting with her manager, then she attended to her files, all the while time-watching until her morning coffee break.

At 10.15 Naomi appeared at Emily’s cubicle. ‘Ready, Em…?’

Emily checked the time on her computer screen. Naomi was right on time for their morning stroll for their coffee. Emily opened the bottom drawer and removed her purse.

’Hey, Em… Isn’t that the cop who came ‘round to your place to speak to you about your night time visitors?’ Naomi gestured towards the office front door.

Emily glanced to the front of the office. Detective Sergeant Max Higgins was talking to Emily’s manager. A female uniform cop stood with them. The manager gestured towards Emily and Naomi.

Emily frowned. ‘I think it is… Wonder what he wants.’

‘I think you’re about to find out, Em. They’re coming this way…’

Emily watched Max and her manager approach. They moved through the open office, heading straight for her. ‘Maybe he has some good news, Nomes…’ Emily said.

‘Could you excuse us please, Naomi,’ the manager said, directly and without emotion.

Naomi nodded. ‘I’ll see you at the café, Em,’ Naomi said then moved to the office exit door.

Emily’s manager’s expression was forlorn when she spoke to Emily. ‘The police are here to speak to you, Emily. Can you please log out of the system…’

Max nodded to the manager. ‘Thanks Amanda,’ Max said. He stepped forward.

‘OK…’ Emily said. ‘What’s this about, Detective…?’

‘Emily, I am here to arrest you for the murders of Brian Taylor, Jenny Cox, Lance Edwards, Sarah Moon and Malcolm Denyer.’

Emily’s jaw fell open. The colour drained from her face as the police woman who accompanied the detective approached Emily and secured handcuffs to her wrists. As she did so, she informed Emily of her right to remain silent.

‘I don’t understand. I didn’t murder anyone… You know I didn’t murder those people,’ Emily said. She pleaded with Max.’ Her eyes welled up. ‘Can I call my husband?’ She said. Her voice tremored.

‘You can, but you can call him from the police station,’ Max said.

Max and the police woman took an arm each. Every set of inquisitive eyes in the office watched their colleague in tears, being escorted through the office, like a common criminal.

As they approached the front door, Emily’s manager chased after them with Emily’s hand bag. She handed it to Max and they were gone.

---

Their first stop was Emily’s home address in Belmont, where several plain clothes cops descended on her modest brick veneer house.

The inquisitive neighbours looking on watched cops carrying out a computer hard drive and other items in large plastic bags.

Due to the considerable period of time that had passed since those named on Emily’s list went missing, Max was limited to the available evidence he expected to find during the search warrant.

Maybe Emily’s clothing contained residual blood. Maybe her internet search history hid some vital evidence, or maybe the deleted emails they recovered would provide that smoking gun, although he remained doubtful.

After arriving at the police station, Max placed Emily into a small interview room. One table and two chairs were the only furniture in a room, devoid of windows and personality. Clearly, the least comfortable a crook felt, the better.

Tears flowed as she glanced around the small room confining her. The unknown scared her. She had never been on the wrong side of the law before. And today was no different. She had done nothing wrong. She just had to get the police to understand that.

The hinges on the door squeaked when Max entered the room carrying a desk phone. He plugged it into a wall socket and turned the phone to face Emily. ‘Dial zero to get an outside line, then dial your number,’ Max said.

Max recognised the fear in Emily’s eyes when she looked up at him. He’d seen it numerous times before. It was present in the many first-time offenders he’d charged. It was a fear of the unknown and an intimidation over what came next.

To Max though, Emily was different. The bodies he recovered had all been brutally murdered, each with a large bladed knife, and more than likely, by the same killer.

Max knows murderers, he knows psychopaths. He had looked all of them in the eyes before. Emily did not fit any of those profiles. A large part of him hoped she could prove her psychic abilities and make this all go away. He hoped, but he wasn’t hopeful.

‘Do I call my husband…?’ Emily said.

‘You can call whomever you want,’ Max said. ‘Do you want a lawyer?’

‘Do I need one?’ Emily’s bottom lip quivered.

‘I would strongly suggest you seek legal representation,’

Max’s words frightened her. Emily could no longer hold back the torrent of tears. She broke down crying as the gravity of her predicament sunk in.

Max left the room. When he returned he placed a box of tissues in front of Emily. He didn’t say any words. He didn’t have to. These weren’t tears of regret from being caught. These were tears of a frightened woman, quite possibly unjustly brought in to answer to something she had no knowledge of.

Emily dragged out a tissue. She sniffed as she wiped her reddened eyes. She looked up at Max standing opposite. ‘I don’t understand why you are doing this. I haven’t done anything wrong.’ Her tone pleaded her innocence. She again wiped her eyes. ‘What’s going to happen to me?’

Max slid into a chair. He leaned on his elbows as he regarded Emily. ‘We recovered the bodies of five people whose names were on the list you gave to police… They were recovered in, or around the locations you provided. Each one had been murdered…’ Max said.

Emily’s head shot up. Her eyes flared. ‘Murdered… Oh how horrible.’ She wiped her nose with the tissue. ‘None of them told me they had been murdered,’ she said. ‘But I thought I was helping you find them when I gave you that list…’

‘You did,’ Max said. ’And that is when your trouble started. You told us where to find these people whose bodies had been hidden. Only the offender knew where they were. And you led us straight to them. We haven’t located the last two yet, but I’m confident we will.’

‘This is insane,’ Emily said. ‘I told you… These people came to me. They told me where they were. I didn’t kill anyone.’ Frustration was now evident in her tone.

‘I hope for your sake you can prove that, Emily. I really do,’ Max said. He flicked a finger at the telephone. ‘I’ll let you make your call.’ He pushed himself up from his chair.

’How do I prove it to you?

Max stopped at the door. ‘It isn’t me you have to prove it to, Emily…’ he said, then wrenched open the door and left the room.

---

By the time Emily’s lawyer arrived with Boyd, Emily was beside herself with fear. The large knot in her stomach churned. Mascara tracks ran down her cheeks. Dark smears formed on her navy skirt from nervously rubbing her perspiring hands downs her thighs.

Following his discussion with Emily in the interview room, the lawyer left the room to talk to Max. ‘I’ve spoken to my client, Detective. She mentioned something about being charged with five murders. I find that astonishing. Can you possibly enlighten me further,’ the lawyer said.

‘At this stage, I intend to interview your client as a principle offender in relation to five cold case murders…’

‘At this stage? Are you suggesting there are more?’

‘Quite probably.’

‘She is devastated by these allegations, Sergeant.’

‘I’m aware of that, Mr Jervis.’

‘Do you have any physical evidence linking my client to any of these murders…?’

‘We have sufficient evidence to interview her, Mr. Jervis. We’re about to start . Have you finished with your client?’

‘I have. We will be denying these allegations.’

Max nodded to the lawyer. He wouldn’t have expected anything less.

Chapter Thirteen

The video recorded interview of Emily went exactly how Max expected. He put the allegations to her and she vehemently denied them. Unfortunately for Emily, due to the passage of time that had passed since each person disappeared, she was unable to provide any alibi.

Her emotive tears and repeated claims of innocence were convincing. She maintained her defence that she was a psychic medium and these people she was accused of murdering visited her, seeking her assistance. She provided that assistance by preparing a list of names and locations and gave that to the police.

With the interview drew to a close, Max had a couple of more questions he wanted to ask before he wound it up.

‘Have you been visited by any other dead people since these seven dead people on your list visited you?’ Max asked Emily.

‘No.’

‘So, let me see if I have understood this correctly…’ Max said. ‘You believe that you have the ability to communicate with dead people… but apart from these seven people we have discussed, you have not spoken to any other dead people…that is before, or since. Have I understood that correctly?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, you mentioned earlier that this psychic ability you have only came to you suddenly, around the time when these people started visiting you?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘Then your ability seemed to have stopped since the last of the seven people, Mr Malcolm Denyer visited you…’ Max said as a question.

‘I never said I lost my ability to communicate with those who had passed on…’ Emily said. ‘I just haven’t had anyone else visit me since Mr. Denyer’s visits.’

‘Are you able to prove that you have these psychic abilities that you say you have…?’

‘Exactly how do I do that?’

‘That’s not for me to decide,’ Max said.

‘I don’t just sit there and summons these people to me like some sort of séance… They just appear when they want my help.’

’I see. So they contact you…and no-one has needed your help since. Would that be correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you mind if I ask please, Detective… As a point of interest… Have you had any other missing persons reported since the last one…’ The lawyer paused as he checked his notes. ‘Since Mr. Denyer was reported missing…?’ The lawyer asked.

Max’s face tightened. He glanced at his notes while he contemplated his response. He was hesitant to inform the lawyer that there had not been any missing persons reported since Mr. Denyer. But the interview was being recorded so he was obligated to ensure he spoke the truth.

‘Ah… I’d have to check my records… But I don’t think there has been any missing persons that have been reported missing since Mr. Denyer.’

The lawyer extended an open palm to the detective in an expression of ‘there you go, then…’ Implying that was why Emily had not been visited by anyone since Mr. Denyer. This was not lost on Max.

Max wrapped up the two-hour interview. He informed Emily of her charges and cautioned her against saying anything further.

Once the camera stopped recording, and while he gathered up his paperwork, Max informed Emily and her lawyer that, given the nature of the charges, he would be seeking to remand Emily in custody.

Emily’s jaw dropped. Her eyes flared when she heard the news. Her pleading eyes flicked to her lawyer. They screamed at him to not allow the police to lock her up. The thought of being put in a jail cell for something she didn’t do, terrified her.

It was however out of her lawyer’s hands. He could try and argue at the remand hearing for Emily to be released on bail, but given the charges were capital offences, bail would be an unlikely option.

Max checked his watch. The court day was drawing to a close, so he had to move fast. Following some phone calls to the neighbouring court, Max was fortunate to locate a magistrate who had not finished for the day. The magistrate did however bluntly inform Max, if his offender was not before the court in fifteen minutes, he would not hear the remand.

Emily’s remand hearing was expectedly brief, as most are. Firstly, because it was a straight forward procedural remand hearing for multiple charges of murder. And secondly, the magistrate had a highly anticipated glass of red waiting for him at the end of his day.

Once Max presented his evidence to the magistrate in support of his application for remand, it was Emily’s lawyer’s turn.

‘Yes, Mr. Jervis,’ the Magistrate said in a tone devoid of any interest.

The lawyer stood. ’Thank you, Your Honour. My client is before the court today facing a number of very serious charges that we will be vigorously defending, sir. She has never been in trouble with the police before today and the police have not presented any evidence that they hold concerns that my client will be a flight risk, if bail is granted.

‘The police case is solely based on circumstantial evidence and we believe that we have a strong defence to these charges. So I ask the court to consider applying bail with strict conditions attached.’

The magistrate adjusted his glasses. ‘I see here, Mr. Jervis, your client says she has the ability to communicate with people who have passed on.’ The magistrate removed his glasses. ’Will that be the basis of your “strong defence” at trial…?’

‘It will be, Your Honour… My client is a psychic medium, sir. She is one of the very few people who possess this unique ability.’

‘I see,’ the magistrate mumbled. ‘I read here that your client provided the whereabouts of five murder victims to police… And she learned about their locations when the spirit of each victim communicated with your client.’

‘That’s the gist of it, sir.’

The magistrate lifted cynical eyebrows. ‘I hope for your client’s sake, Mr. Jervis, she can prove that defence at trial. Until then, I am remanding the accused in custody ahead of a hearing at a date to be fixed.’

Following a scribble of his signature, the magistrate ambled down the steps from his bench and out a nearby door to his waiting glass of red, while the clerk finalised the paperwork.

Emily stood from her seat. She scanned the court room for Boyd, sitting in the public seating area. When their eyes met, Emily broke down sobbing. Boyd rushed to the front of the court to comfort his wife.

Max held up a hand. ‘That’s close enough, Mr. Davis,’ he said firmly.

Boyd stopped. His pained eyes met Emily’s. ‘Don’t worry, Hun. We’re doing everything we can to get you out… Stay strong.’

‘I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry for doing this to you,’ Emily said through her sobbing. All she wanted was to hug her husband.

‘You haven’t done anything…’ Boyd said. He glared at Max. ’You are innocent, and they know it.’

Once the paperwork was completed, Max gestured towards the door beside the magistrate’s bench. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

When Max opened the door, Emily turned back to Boyd. He hadn’t moved. Watching the hurt she caused her husband cut deep. She again broke down crying, partly for the pained expression on his face, and partly from the fear of the unknown of what lay ahead.

Max gently guided Emily through the doorway leading into the secure passage between the police station and the court complex. She tried for one last over the shoulder glance at her husband, but the closing door deprived her of that last liberty. She was now all alone.

---

As they moved through the tunnel towards the police station, Max released his light hold on Emily’s arm. He flicked a sideways glance at his prisoner. Her head was lowered and her shoulders were rounded. Her blank eyes watched the ground as they strolled.

‘You OK?’ Max asked.

‘No… I’ve just been remanded for something I didn’t do… So, No. I’m not OK,’ Emily said in a tone filled with a mix of rage and frustration. ‘I just want to go home,’ Emily said. She broke down in tears. ‘I just want to see my husband,’ she sobbed.

None of this was pleasant for Max. Typically, the hardened cop would experience a sense of achievement on the walk back to the cells, having just remanded one of his crooks. Emily’s collar however was different. There was no satisfaction during this walk. There was no confidence he had the right offender. There was only a strong sense of pity and maybe a little sympathy.

At the police station, Emily stood at a counter watching an austere male cop record all her possession onto a form. When he was finished, he dropped the pen and rotated the page. He tapped the foot of the page. ‘Sign,’ he grunted. His tone was curt.

Tears welled as she scribbled her signature. She was no longer worthy of respect, or common courtesy afforded the average member of society. To this cop at least, she was clearly a lowlife crook. And that hurt. She dropped the pen onto the form.

‘This way,’ Max said. He flicked a finger to their left. Another uniform cop, carrying a ring of keys joined them.

As she strolled to the unknown, Emily dragged a finger under each eye to catch escaping tears. ‘Will I be able to get a change of clothes? These are my work clothes…’

‘I’ll arrange for your husband to bring something in for you. Any preferences?’ Max said.

‘He’ll know what to bring in. Will I be able to see him when he brings my clothing in?’ Emily asked with the first sign of hope in her voice.

‘Unfortunately, no.’

Emily’s shoulders slumped.

They arrived at a steel cell door. The uniform cop unlocked the door and entered. Max gestured to Emily to follow the cop. She stepped into a brightly lit, large open area of concrete enclosed by four walls. Four women lounged around the perimeter. Each one glared at the unannounced intruder.

Three cell doors opened onto this yard. ‘This is the exercise yard,’ Max said. ‘You’re over here.’ He gestured to the cop waiting in the open doorway of a cell.

Emily took a shaky step into the cell, stopping inside the doorway. She glanced over a shoulder to see her police escorts moving away. She was now on her own. She took a typical first time glance around the small confines. There were two single beds, each with a thin grey vinyl covered mattress over the cold concrete base.

A heavily tattooed, waif woman with dark rings under her glazed eyes, sat cross legged on one of the beds. Her scruffy bottle-blonde hair with prominent dark roots had not seen a brush in recent times.

Emily’s eyes fell to the folded blankets and a heavily stained pillow on what was now her bed. She slowly edged her way to her bed, while keeping an eye on her frightening cell mate. Emily’s eyes locked onto her pillow. Her face screwed up. What are those yellow and brown stains?

Her gaze lifted to the stainless steel toilet over in the corner; no seat and no privacy. Her lip curled.

Emily slid onto her bed and leaned back against a wall. She glanced at her cell mate; same vacant stare into nothing. She decided to try conversation. ‘I’m Emily…’

‘Tell someone who cares, bitch…’ the woman snapped. Her blank expression remained unchanged.

Emily was taken aback. OK. So that’s how it’s going to be…

The thought of being locked up in here at night with that woman was scary. She doubted she would be able to sleep.

---

With all the time to sit and dwell, regret started to surface and the ‘what ifs’ dominated her thoughts. If only she didn’t go to the cops, she wouldn’t be here now. She would be home with Boyd.

A police woman entered the cell carrying a tray.

‘Get us a smoke, will ya,’ Emily’s cell mate blurted.

The cop placed a plate of food on the bed beside the other woman. She moved to Emily’s bed and did the same.

‘I said, get us a smoke? Don’t ignore me, pig.’

Emily’s jaw dropped at the arrogance of this other woman.

The police woman glared at Emily’s cell mate. ‘And you wonder why you’re not getting any smokes…’

As the cop moved to exit the cell, the woman used her foot to shove the metal plate of food onto the floor. Emily startled at the sound of metal on concrete echoing inside the small space. Food splattered across the floor.

The cop glared at the woman. ‘Looks like you’ll be hungry tonight…’

‘Get me a fucken’ smoke, bitch,’ she snapped.

Emily held an open mouth stare at the blatant disrespect shown towards this police woman. This cop was being friendly enough. Emily regarded this scary woman. Everything about her intimidated Emily.

The cop looked to Emily. ‘You good?’

Emily nodded. ‘Oh. What time is it, please?’

The cop checked her watch. ‘5pm.’

‘Do you know what will be happening to me?’ Emily asked as her intimidated eyes flicked to her scary cell mate, hoping for a reprieve of some sort.

‘Not sure. The last bus has gone, so you’ll be staying here tonight. Then you’ll probably be transported tomorrow, some time.’

The bus she referred to was the department of corrections prisoner transport van.

‘Transported where?’

‘Probably the DPFC…’

‘What’s that?’

‘A fucken’ shit ‘ole,’ Emily’s cell mate blurted.

The cop shook a disapproving head. ‘The Dame Phyllis Frost Centre. It’s in Deer Park. That is usually where women on remand are sent. OK?’

The cop glared one more time at the other woman, then left the cell.

The DPFC sounded more like a rehab centre than a jail. Emily inspected her plate of food. One greasy sausage, one mince hamburger, peas, beans and mashed potato. Under any other circumstances this meal would be unappetizing. But this was her first meal since breakfast and she was starving.

Emily paused before every mouthful to regard her cell mate, to check she wasn’t coming over like a school yard bully to steal her meal.

The other woman didn’t move. In fact, she never changed her expression the entire time Emily dined.

Emily had never experienced someone like this woman. She often read about the effects illicit drug use had on a person. Now she had witnessed it first-hand, and it was sad; a wasted life.

Chapter Fourteen

A female cop collected the dinner dishes while a male cop cleaned and mopped up the spilt dinner. Emily’s cell mate remained unmoved throughout. She sat holding a blank stare on the ground in front of her.

While the clean-up was on, a second male cop entered the cell carrying a large plastic rubbish bag. ‘Your husband bought in a change of clothes for you.’

‘Is my husband still out there..?’ Emily said with renewed hope in her voice.

‘No. He dropped it off and left.’ Emily’s disappointed shoulders dropped.

The cop placed the bag on the foot of Emily’s bed. ‘When you’re changed, place what you’re wearing back in there.’

‘Thank you so much,’ Emily said.

She inspected the bag contents while waiting for the male cop to finish cleaning up the floor and leave the cell. In her world, privacy, not just from males, but also other females, was not only a common right, it was an expectation.

She was never comfortable stripping naked in front of other women, not even in the change room at the local swimming pool. But that world she grew to know so well, had gone. The CCTV camera in the corner was testament to how things were going to be from now on.

After carefully changing into her more comfortable street clothes, keeping her back to the prying camera, the same male cop appeared and collected the bag. When he left, the cop closed the cell door, followed by the sound of the heavy lock securing the door and keys dangling.

A sense of claustrophobia washed over Emily. She was trapped like a mongrel dog in a pound. Everything seemed surreal. She expected to wake up and it would be all gone. Emily’s wandering gaze shifted to her cell mate, still sitting crossed legged, staring blankly at the floor.

Without warning, the cell’s lights went out. Emily gasped. The darkened walls suddenly felt like they were closing in on her. After a few minutes, her eyes adjusted. The room was not totally dark. A small security light remained lit.

Emily made up her bed and climbed under the blankets. It took several minutes of lying with her hands supporting her head before she succumbed and allowed her head to come in contact with that pillow.

While lying staring at the darkened ceiling, Emily’s thoughts were of her husband. How was he coping? When would she see him again? Her eyes welled up. Her nose ran. She sniffed as sadness engulfed her.

‘If I hear one fucken’ sooky tear come out of you, bitch, I’ll come over there and smother ya fucken’ head with that pillow. Ya hear me?’

Emily’s eyes flared. Her mouth fell open. She dragged the covers up under her chin. She had never been exposed to aggression or violence, not even through her school years, so this was particularly intimidating. ‘Yes. I hear you.’

The knot in her stomach just quadrupled. She was too frightened to close her eyes. She shared a cell with the real-life boogey woman.

For several hours Emily lay awake with the covers up under her chin and her eyes fixed firmly on her sleeping cell mate. Emily’s heart rate raced every time the other woman moved in her bed. In the end, fatigue eventually won out and Emily slept.

---

The following morning Emily woke when the cell lights flickered on. She quickly glanced at her cell mate opposite. Still asleep. Emily sighed her relief.

She threw her legs onto the floor and stood. She stretched into a long yawn. Her eyes locked onto the cold, uninviting steel toilet bowl. She needed her morning pee, but that toilet was right up there with public toilets, and Emily didn’t do public toilets.

In the end, she had no choice. She either used that toilet, or peed her pants. Emily moved over and inspected the toilet. Her face distorted. Being a self-confessed ‘germaphobe’, she felt dirty just looking at it. She tried not to think of the type of people who had used it before her.

Her eyes lifted to the ceiling mounted CCTV camera in the opposite corner. The short nib wall beside the toilet offered a modicum of privacy from the prying eye of the camera, but only just. The wall however did not offer any privacy from her cell mate. It was like having no door on a public toilet cubicle.

Emily squatted over the toilet. There was no way she was touching that steel bowl. When she was done she sat back on her bed. Her eyes scanned the cold concrete walls of her cell. I wonder what the time is…

She didn’t have to wait long to find out. The sound of keys and a metal door latch drew her attention the cell door. The door opened. Light from the exercise yard bled in through the door. A female cop carrying a tray entered the cell.

‘Good Morning,’ Emily said, as though she was receiving room service at a hotel.

‘Morning.’ The cop’s reply was perfunctory. The cop placed a plate of food and a tin mug containing a milky coffee on the bed beside Emily. Emily inspected the breakfast. She was surprised to see scrambled eggs on toast.

‘Could you tell me the time, please,’ Emily said.

The cop placed the other meal on the floor beside the other woman’s bed. She checked her watch. ‘8am,’ she said.

‘Thank you so much,’ Emily said.

‘Walters…’ the cop said, firmly. The other woman failed to move. ‘Walters…’ The cop repeated, this time with more feeling.

‘I’m awake,’ a voice blurted from under the covers.

‘Breakfast,’ the cop said then exited the cell, leaving the door open.

Breakfast was surprisingly edible. The exception was the tin cup of cold, instant coffee. It left a bitter after taste and was a far cry from the barista served coffee she enjoyed daily with Naomi at morning tea break.

After breakfast, Emily moved to the cell door. She paused to glance outside. Two other women sat against a wall. Emily took her first steps into prison life. The women briefly glanced at Emily then returned to their in-depth discussion.

Emily moved to the opposite end of the yard and sat back against a cold concrete wall.

---

Throughout the long, boring day some more prisoners arrived and some prisoners left, but Emily remained. She people-watched to help pass the time. One thing was constant, she was nothing like any of the other women in there with her. Each one of them was rough and unrefined. They all swore worse than most men Emily knew.

It was well into the afternoon when a male cop entered the exercise yard and scanned the occupants. He stopped when his eyes met Emily. He pointed to Emily. ‘Davis,’ he said, then jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Time to go…’

She climbed to her feet. ‘Where to?’

‘Your new home,’ the cop said. He extended a hand to the external cell door.

Emily walked through. ‘Where’s my new home?’

‘The DPFC…’

She remembered the female cop last night said that same acronym. ‘That’s a remand centre, or something, isn’t it?’ Emily said.

‘It’s a maximum security prison,’ the cop said.

Emily stopped walking. Her jaw dropped. She glared at the cop. The cop ignored her glare and kept walking. ‘Am I being moved to a maximum security prison…?’

‘That’s right. Keep moving please.’

Her heart rate quickened. Her mouth became dry. She didn’t want to be in a maximum security prison. It was bad enough staying in the police station cells with those other rough women. What would it be like in maximum security? That’s where they send hardened criminals.

The cop escorted Emily to a secured sally port. A large white van, similar in size to a large RV motor home, was parked in the garage. On each side of the van there were two doors and rows of aeroplane style windows that ran the length of the van. The cop escorted Emily to the driver’s side of the van.

He opened the door closest to the rear, then gestured for Emily to enter. Emily glanced up into the small room then looked back to the cop for reassurance. The cop gestured to step up.

Emily climbed up into the small pod. Once inside, the cop slammed the door behind her. The small 1.5 metre by 1.5 metre, steel room had two small port hole windows—one in the door and one beside the door that allowed limited light in. Two steel hinged seats sat vertical against a wall. Harness style seat belts dangled loosely beside the seats.

She glanced out the window, heavily scratched with names and other graffiti. She wondered if the cop got the right vehicle. This was more suited to transport stray dogs, not people. Prison system’s version of cattle class.

Emily lowered one of the seats and sat. The cold, unpadded steel was hard on her bum. She remembered the female cop said the DPFC was in Deer Park, which she knew was over one hour away. So it was going to be a long, uncomfortable ride on these seats.

After fifteen minutes voices could be heard outside Emily’s pod. She glanced out the window as her door flew open. ‘Get in and shut up. I’m sick of listening to ya,’ a cop said.

A young woman in her mid-twenties quickly climbed up into the pod, lowered the other seat and slumped down onto it. She extended her legs, crossed her arms and shut her eyes. She had clearly done this before.

Being new to this life, Emily had no idea what the protocols were. Does one talk to their transport buddy? Or would she beat me if I tried? Silence was the safest option.

A few minutes later the prison transport van started up and she was on her way.

---

The trip to Deer Park was a quiet one to this point. The other women slept the whole way. Emily was a little envious at how relaxed this woman was, given the uncomfortable seat and the destination that awaited them.

With no conversation to pass the time Emily tried to imagine life in jail. She’d seen all the women’s prison shows like Wentworth and Orange is the New Black. What they portrayed about life in jail scared her.

It would be bad enough being sentenced to a maximum security prison when you had committed a crime, but Emily hadn’t even been convicted of anything. She hadn’t had her day in court. Yet here she was, on her way to a maximum security jail to live with convicted druggies and murderers and other undesirable women of whom she did her best to distance herself from.

The closer they came, the more her anxiety levels rose. Her nervous foot bounced up and down. She rubbed her hands across her thighs as she glanced out the porthole. The fear she felt over the unknown was rising to palpable.

‘First time, huh?’ The other woman said. She never opened her eyes. She never changed from her reclined position. She just knew.

Emily startled when the woman spoke. ‘Is it that obvious?’

‘Yep. You’re like a fart in a bottle. Ya can’t keep still…’

‘I’m Sorry. But this seat is killing my bum.’

‘And you’re shittin’ yourself at what to expect, aren’t cha?’

‘I am actually.’

‘You sentenced, or remanded?’

‘Ah, remanded.’

‘Don’t sweat it. You’ll be fine. You’ll be in one of them cottages. That’s where they keep remandees.’

’What’s a cottage? I thought we were heading to a maximum security prison. Aren’t they filled with jail cells…?’

‘They are. There’s maximum security, medium security and minimum security. You’ll be minimum…’

‘Are you minimum too?’

‘Ha.’ The woman scoffed. ‘I wish… Nah. I’m maximum all the way. Have been for two years now.’

Emily’s eyebrows arched. ‘You’ve been in jail for two years…?’ Emily said as a question. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose two years of your life; two years you’d never get back. She wasn’t sure if she should feel pity for this woman, or respect; not for her crimes, but for making it this far.

‘Yep, and those bastards just denied my third and final appeal. So now I’ve got four more to serve.’

Emily’s mouth fell open. Six years. She slowly shook an astonished head. Six years of not seeing your partner, not holding your partner. Six years of being told when to sleep, when to eat, living in a small confined cell. Everything in your old life would’ve changed after six years.

She was too frightened to ask what the woman did to receive six years. Instead all she said was, ‘How horrible…’

The woman shrugged. ‘It is what it is. Can’t change it now.’

Emily rubbed her nervous hands over her thighs. Just thinking about jail time caused her anxiety levels to rise: anxiety and frustration at being locked up for something she never did.

The other woman glanced passed Emily, out the porthole window. She lifted her chin at the view, ‘We’re almost there,’ she said, then sat back.

Emily checked out the window. Nothing but paddocks as far as she could see.

A few minutes later the van slowed and turned left. Emily peered out the porthole window. She could see a large blue sign with the name of their destination printed across it. The van stopped and sat idling while a huge roller door opened, then it rolled through into the prison grounds.

The van’s brakes squealed as it jolted to a stop. ‘Well, here we are…’ Emily’s travel companion said. ‘Home fucken’ sweet home…’

Emily glanced out the window. They were parked in a small court yard. She could see two prison officers waiting. One held a clipboard. She started to feel sick in the stomach. Her butterflies were having a party in there.

‘They’ll do a roll call first, then we’ll be moved to our cells,’ the other woman said.

One-by-one the van’s doors were opened and its occupants were unloaded, starting on the other side of the van. After a short wait, Emily’s pod door opened. Bright light flooded in. Emily squinted while her eyes adjusted.

‘Step down,’ a male guard instructed.

Emily unclipped her seat belt. As she did so, her travel companion exited first. Emily followed. She didn’t have time to look around the high-walled court yard. The prison guard directed her towards the line of four woman standing side-by-side. Emily scurried over to the end of the line.

The guard stood out front. ‘Feet behind the yellow line…’

Emily didn’t realize there was a thick yellow line on the ground. She adjusted her feet then checked the others.

The guard glared to his left, to the opposite end to Emily. ‘Starting with you, call out your name and your CRN…Go.’

‘What’s a CRN…?’ Emily whispered out the side of her mouth, to her travel companion.

‘It’s ya corrections reference number,’ the woman whispered. ‘Don’t sweat. You won’t have one. You’re on remand.’

Emily nodded her vague understanding.

One-by-one, each woman blurted out their name, followed by a number. The guard checked them off on his clipboard.

When he glared at Emily, her pulse quickened. She gulped. She hadn’t experienced this sort of intimidating discipline since school. ‘Um, Emily Davis…’

The guard checked her off. He slipped his clipboard under an arm. ‘OK, move in.’ He gestured to a door to his left. The single file of women deemed unfit for society, moved off towards a door.

Chapter Fifteen

Inside the building, they strolled passed an unquestioning female guard seated at a front counter. They continued down a long stark corridor to a foyer area.

The female guard walking with them gestured to a row of chairs. ‘Davis. You wait over there,’ the female guard said. She then addressed the other four women. ‘You lot follow me.’

Emily moved to sit. She watched the women disappear through a door. She was now on her own. She glanced around at her isolation. Stark, tired décor. Pale paint colours. A sign above a counter window read, “Reception”.

Sitting all alone on a row of chairs, Emily felt like the class trouble maker banished to sit outside the principal’s office.

I wonder what the time is. Her attention was drawn to shouting coming from the room with the other women. It sounded like a real fracas was taking place.

Emily startled when two male guards suddenly burst through a door at the end of the corridor and ran to the room. They entered without knocking. A short time later they emerged, dragging one of the women from the room. She resisted, digging in her heels as she abused and swore at the guards.

Emily watched them wrestle their way down the corridor and disappear through a door. How am I ever going to get used to this?

Less than five minutes later, the door to the same room flung open. One-by-one the remaining three women emerged wearing a white t-shirt with DPFC stamped on their chest, prison-issue blue track suit pants and white runners. Each one carried the civilian clothes they earlier arrived in.

The single file approached the reception counter and waited. A male guard appeared on the other side of the reception counter. Each woman took turns approaching the counter to place the clothes they carried into a large plastic box with a blue lid, similar in size to a large esky.

When they were done, another male guard escorted them out the door at the end of the corridor.

‘Davis. Your turn. Come forward,’ the guard behind the counter said.

Ever the obedient in this submissive environment, Emily sprung from her seat and quickly walked to the counter and rested on her hands. The guard indicated the yellow line on the ground. ‘Stay behind that line.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ Emily said. she quickly stepped back behind the line.

‘You don’t have to apologise. You get told this time, so you know next time.’

How do I address him? Do I call him sir…? It was too overwhelming. All she ended up going with was, ‘OK.’

The guard checked a page on his clipboard. ‘OK. Emily Davis,’ he mumbled to himself as he scanned the page. ‘Alright. So you are with us on remand until a date to be fixed…’ he said.

Emily nervously nodded her response, even though the guard didn’t lift his eyes to her.

He gestured with a pen towards the door through which the other women exited. ‘You will have no doubt seen those other inmates had changed and were wearing the prison uniform when they left here.’

Emily nodded.

‘OK. Each of them are sentenced inmates serving time here at DPFC. Your position in here as a remandee is very different to them. Remandees are considered unsentenced. In the eyes of the law, you are afforded your natural presumption of innocence until proven guilty. So your confinement here is not a punishment. OK?’

Emily was taken aback by those last comments. She frowned. ’I’m sorry. This is completely new to me. May I ask a question?’

The guard leaned on his hands. ‘You may.’

‘Are you saying that even though I am being held in jail, I’m not being punished…?’

‘Correct.’

‘Forgive me if I appear insolent… I don’t mean to. But, isn’t that a distinction without a difference?’

‘I have to agree with you on that… But that’s the way the system works.’

‘So, may I ask another question, please?’ Emily’s said with a slight tremor in her voice.

The guard grinned as he lowered on to his elbows. He was actually enjoying this. ‘You may, given you asked so politely.’

‘What happens if, down the track, I am acquitted of all charges?’

‘What happens in relation to the time you’d spent here, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

He pushed himself away from the desk to stand. ‘That is one of the great anomalies of our justice system. Nothing happens in relation to that time.’

Emily frowned. ‘Nothing happens? Do you mean… It just becomes time I will never get back? I would’ve essentially stayed here in these conditions, for no reason?’

‘That’s it. Do I think it’s right?’ He shook his head. ‘No I don’t. But I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them.’

Emily slowly shook a disbelieving head. How can that be right? How can they take me away, charge me for something I haven’t done, bring me to a place like this and then in the end, virtually say, sorry, wrong person. You are free to go. How can they do that?

‘OK… While you get your head around that,’ the guard began. ‘Let me continue,’ he said. ’Because you are unsentenced, as a remandee, you are given maximum flexibility and have fewer restrictions to those placed on convicted inmates.

‘For example…’ The guard bent back a finger, ‘You are held separately from convicted prisoners.’ He bent back a second finger. ‘You’ll have increased access to visitors and telephone calls.’ He bent back a third finger. ’You are offered the opportunity to work, but you are not obligated to, unlike convicted prisoners who have to work. And the last one,’ he said, flicking a finger at Emily’s clothing. ‘You are permitted to wear your own clothing, instead of the prison uniform, if you wish.’

Emily regarded her clothing. ‘I can wear this instead of what they were wearing…?’ She jabbed a thumb to the door the women exited through.

‘Correct.’

‘Wouldn’t I stand out from the others?’

The guard smiled. ‘No. You won’t actually. Do you remember I said that remandees are kept separate from the convicted prisoners…?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, you’ll be kept in the remand precinct with other remandees. These are cottage style cells, some call them apartments. They are a bit like a university share-house dorm.’

‘OK.’ That didn’t sound like jail, not the jail she had envisioned.

‘Each unit houses five remandees like yourself, and has individual kitchen and dining facilities. You will be required to cook and prepare your own meals and do your own washing, ironing and housework. Any questions?’

‘No. You have explained everything quite clearly. Thank you.’ Emily was surprised at how friendly this guard was.

The guard beckoned towards the female guard standing off to the side. ‘Now. I’ll get you to go with this officer to complete your admissions. OK.’ He addressed the other guard. ‘Remandee staying in civvies,’ he said.

The female guard nodded. ‘Come with me.’

Emily followed the female guard into the same room the other women entered earlier. The room resembled a basic medical room. There was a single, sheet covered gurney bed, a sink, a desk and two chairs.

The guard pointed to the chair in the corner of the room. ‘Strip. Place your clothes there.’

‘Everything off…?’ Emily asked. Disrobing in front of another woman was difficult for her.

‘Everything,’ the guard said.

It was bad enough stripping naked, but to do so while the guard carefully watched her every move was unsettling. As Emily removed an item of clothing the guard lifted it from the chair and examined it.

Once she was completely naked, Emily stood with her arms across her body, doing her feeble best to try and hide her bits.

Emily’s eyes flared when the guard snapped blue disposable gloves on her hands. Surely they don’t do internal examinations. The guard fronted Emily and checked behind her ears.

‘Open your mouth.’

Emily did as instructed.

‘Poke out ya tongue…Lift it. OK. Arms out to the side.’

Emily did as instructed. Her nudity was now on full display. She was way outside her comfort zone.

The guard checked her armpits. ‘Arms down.’

The guard pointed to Emily’s left breast. ‘Lift that up…’ Emily lifted her left breast. ‘Down. Now that one.’

This was so embarrassing. It wasn’t even a medical.

‘Turn around. Bend forward.’

Emily slowly rested her hands on her knees. Her eyes welled up. First they took her freedom, now they’ve taken her dignity.

For the conservative Emily, this was difficult. She had been reduced to bending forward so a female guard could look up her arse, to ensure she hadn’t smuggled something into the prison.

‘Squat down on your haunches…’

Emily rolled her eyes. She did as instructed. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the guard visually checked her under-carriage and other more intimate locations.

‘OK. Stand up.’ The guard gestured to some scales. ‘Jump on them.’

Emily covered herself up as she stood on the scales, watching the digital display dance to sixty-two. The guard recorded the weight. She lifted a plastic jar with a yellow lid. ‘Head in there…’ She gestured to a door. ‘And provide a urine sample…’

Tears continued to trickle as Emily accepted the jar and entered the toilet. When she returned the urine sample was labelled and bagged.

‘OK. Now, you’ve elected to stay in your civvies…?’ the guard said as a question.

Emily frowned.

‘Civvies… Civilian clothes… Your street clothes there.’ The guard gestured to Emily’s clothes on the chair.

‘That’s right.’

’OK. Put ‘em back on.’

It was probably the quickest Emily had ever dressed. She threw everything back on; inside out, back to front, twisted, it didn’t matter.

When Emily was dressed, the guard opened the door. ‘Follow me and we’ll head over to the remand precinct.’

At the end of the long corridor they exited the admissions building. For the first time in several hours Emily breathed in fresh air. A gentle breeze brushed against her face. She looked skyward. Fast moving clouds dominated her restricted vista.

They stepped into a small alcove, fully enclosed with towering, tightly woven, wire mesh fencing, topped with razor wire. Three wire gate options confronted them, each one led to a different accommodation block.

The guard unlocked the gate on the left and stepped through. She held it for Emily to follow. A similar wire fence lined the right side of the path. A green space of lawns and garden beds was on the left. Ahead was a stand-alone building with an orange tiled roof—their intended destination.

What Emily noticed first and foremost was the front door was not locked. The guard just reefed it open and walked in. Emily followed.

Inside, they approached a male guard seated at a guard’s station located a short distance inside the door. Beyond that was a common room. Three women lounged in the various seating provided, watching television. None of them noticed Emily’s arrival.

Emily’s escort placed some paperwork on the desk. ‘New arrival for you…’ the guard said to her colleague. ‘Davis. Emily.’

The other guard lifted the paperwork and read it. ’Welcome Emily. The male guard said, as he continued to read. Emily was taken aback by the welcome. While somewhat banal, it was still unexpected. This was prison.

‘Are you required to undergo any rehab while you’re here…?’ The guard said to himself as he perused the report. His eyes lifted to Emily. ‘No history of drug use…?’ He said as a question.

Emily firmly shook her head. Everything about drugs abhorred her; the users, the dealers, the damage they caused to families and individuals, the effects on community through crime—everything. ‘No,’ she said. Her reply was convincingly firm.

‘OK. Good,’ he said. He flipped over a page. ‘What brings you here to us then…?’ He asked himself while he read on.

At that moment Emily wanted a hole to open up so she could climb in and hide. She couldn’t look at the guard, not while he read her charges. She knew she would be unfairly judged for something she didn’t do.

The guard’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Oh…’ he said then regarded Emily. He returned all pages.

The escorting guard tapped the desk twice. ‘You won’t have any problems with this one…’ she said, then left the block.

Emily watched her escort leave. She couldn’t help herself. She had to present her own defence, if for no other reason than for her own peace of mind.

‘Just so you know…’ Emily began. She flicked a finger at the report on the desk. ‘There has been a huge mistake. I never did any of those things.’

‘That’s not for me to judge,’ the guard said. ‘There are people paid a hell of lot more than me to make those findings.’

He removed two folded blankets and a folded sheet from under the counter and placed them on top. ‘This is your bedding. It is your responsibility to keep it clean.’ The guard moved around to Emily’s side. ‘Pick them up and I’ll give you the grand tour.’

As they strolled, the guard pointed out the various rooms within the complex. ‘You’ve got your kitchen over there and dining there. You will be responsible for making all your own meals and keeping that space clean. You will also be responsible for doing your own washing, ironing and housework. That over there is a shared space…’ He gestured to the open lounge area. ‘We have five rooms here and they are now all full.’

Emily noticed he referred to their cells as rooms.

‘Those three sitting there…’ He gestured to the lounging women watching TV. ‘Plus the one currently at her compulsory rehab session, are your cottage mates. During the day you are free to roam around inside and out in the gardens. You have minimal restrictions, unless you abuse the privilege. Understood?’

‘I understand.’

Chapter Sixteen

Five doors led from the common area. Each door was open. The guard stopped at the third door along. ‘This is you.’ He extended an arm into the room.

Painted in warm tones, the cell was not large; about the size of a university dorm room, with an ensuite attached. A large window with horizontal bars allowed in ample daylight to brighten the room.

The guard gestured to the bed. ‘So, in here you’ve got ya bed there. That needs to be made every morning, and rooms need to be cleaned before you come out for breakfast. Over there you have a desk and a TV. It’s not a very modern tele, but it gets good free-to-air reception.’

Emily nodded. ‘May I ask a question?’

‘You may…’

‘I notice that you keep referring to this as a room, not a cell. Is that intentional?’

‘It is. You are on remand, so even though you are incarcerated, you are not being punished, so we try and make it as comfortable as possible, while keeping within the guidelines for confinement. You are not convicted, so in the eyes of the law, you are not a criminal, so we believe you don’t deserve to be treated as such.’

Emily was astounded by such a lenient attitude for a corrections facility.

The guard continued. He moved to the ensuite opening. ’In here you’ve got your shower, toilet, basin etc.

‘OK.’

‘Now… Toiletries. We provide you with your basics to get you started… There’s a small soap, small bottle of shampoo etc., but you’ll have to purchase everything you need from the prison canteen… Toiletries cannot be brought in by family or friends. Have you elected to work while you’re in here?’

‘No.’

‘OK. That’s fine. So what you’ll need to do is open an account. Your husband, slash partner, can deposit up to one hundred and forty dollars, per month into this account for you to purchase these supplies. Truth-be-known, because you’re on remand, that amount could be increased a little, if you ran out.’

The guard gestured to a folder he placed on the desk. ‘Everything is explained in there. There is also a page in there where you need to provide the names, addresses and dates of birth of people you want to telephone and those who you want as visitors. If their name is not on that list, they will not be allowed to visit and you cannot call them. A list of visit times is also included in that folder.’

‘I understand. Do I just fill that in and bring it out to you?’

‘Correct. You can have up to ten names. Now,’ the guard continued. ‘Meal times.’ He pushed back a finger. ‘Breakfast is 8.30am.’ He pushed back a second finger. ‘Lunch is 12.30pm and dinner is 6pm,’ he said. ’As I said, you’ll be making your own meals. We supply the basic food staples. If you want anything fancier, you can purchase it at the canteen. Do not, under any circumstances, take anyone else’s food.

‘Doors to your rooms are locked at 7.30pm and re-opened at 7.30am. The lock down at night is about the only part that makes this experience feel like a prison.’

It wasn’t a hotel. It wasn’t overly comfortable, but it wasn’t a cold prison cell either. Emily was surprised and relieved. Like a hotel room, they even provided a compendium of information.

‘Any questions?’

‘Not at the moment.’

‘OK then. Get that list to me so your family can bring you up a change of clothes.’ The guard said, then left Emily in her cell.

Emily watched the guard leave. She glanced around her new home. A sense of isolation washed over her. She moved over to the window to check her view; a leafy garden and plenty of sky.

She sat on the side of the bed. Tears welled as her disapproving eyes glanced around her stark room, devoid of personality. No pictures, no photographs, no flowers, nothing but four walls.

These conditions were better than she expected, but it was still jail. She couldn’t see her husband and hear about his day. She couldn’t call him whenever she wanted to hear his voice. She couldn’t share a hot ‘real’ coffee with Naomi. She couldn’t do anything she used to enjoy. The life she once knew was gone.

---

Emily and her four cottage inmates stood beside their open cell doors while the nightly head count took place. With only five inmates, it was a short process.

Once her name was checked off the list, Emily stepped into her cell. The heavy door slammed behind her. A metal latch clanged and the keys jingled as her door was locked. It was a sound she struggled to get used to. It was a sound that, above anything else, reminded her she was a prisoner.

Emily learned of the nightly head count and lockdown from one of the other women during dinner. Earlier in the evening, all women prepared their meals and dined at the same time. Three of them kept to themselves. But the one who sat next to Emily was quite chatty.

When the other three left the table, the chatty one introduced herself as Mandy. She informed Emily how the other three women had drug habits and were undergoing rehab while on remand, during which they battled their own demons.

Mandy even disclosed to Emily what she was on remand for—theft of two million dollars from her employer over a four year period.

Then came the question Emily expected, but dreaded. ‘What are you in for…?’ Mandy asked.

’I was once told it was taboo to ask another inmate what they were in for,’ Emily said. ‘I will say this, though… I have not committed any crimes,’ Emily said.

‘Yet here you are…’ Mandy said, possibly a little bitter over Emily’s reluctance to share her story. ‘But that’s OK… You don’t have to tell me. I understand.’

Emily sensed Mandy’s slight annoyance. ‘Look… At the moment I’m struggling to come to terms with being here when I am innocent… So talking about it upsets me too much. Maybe with time I will be able to freely chat about it. But right now, I’d prefer not to. OK.’

Mandy held up her hands. ‘It’s OK. I understand. Really.’

Over dinner, Emily happily shared everything else about her life with Mandy. It was comforting to have such a friendly inmate. It helped pass the time, of which she had plenty.

By the end of dinner they were like two besties, chatting and laughing. If only for that brief moment in time, Emily forgot her troubles. She forgot why she was there and enjoyed the company. Mandy made her laugh.

After dinner, Mandy and Emily did their dishes together—Mandy washed, while Emily dried and put away. It was apparent that Mandy was happy to finally have a non-drug affected cottage inmate to chat with.

With the dishes done, Emily and Mandy strolled to their cells for nightly lockdown. Emily stopped at her cell door.

‘See ya in the morning,’ Mandy said, in a chirpy tone, then kept strolling to her cell, two doors over at cell number five.

Emily regarded the departing Mandy. She was perplexed at how someone could be so upbeat while serving time. She couldn’t help but admire Mandy’s positive attitude. Maybe that was the key to surviving this with your sanity intact.

With the cell door now secured, Emily felt alone. She sat on the side of her bed. Her first night in prison would be spent in the clothes she currently wore.

Earlier in the day, she provided her list of approved names to the guard, however it was too soon for Brad to drive up from Geelong to bring her changes of clothes, or to deposit money into an account. She hoped to be able to arrange all that tomorrow.

Without warning the cell light went out. Emily fumbled for the switch on her wall mounted reading light and flicked it on. The grey and black shadows cast across the cell from the dull light gave the small room an eerie appearance.

Emily fell back onto her bed. She tried to visit her happy place by thinking of happier times with her husband. Eventually she allowed herself to sleep.

---

Detective Sergeant Max Higgins rubbed a concerned hand across his mouth while he watched the rows of searchers combing the Otways Forest. They had been at it for over three long hours without result. He started to question if he had the correct location.

Two weeks after he remanded Emily Davis in custody, he decided to re-visit Emily’s List. The list recorded that Libby Vassillou, now missing for twenty-seven months, was somewhere near a bush hiking track leading into Erskine Falls, the popular tourist attraction in the forest on the outskirts of Lorne.

The list referenced a fork in the hiking track and a treated pine bench seat, but nothing further. It was up to Max to try and decipher the message and his search team to locate Libby’s body.

Around one kilometre in, the hiking track forked. Max located a pine bench on the path along the right fork. Satisfied this was the correct location, it became the starting point of the search, and fanned out from there. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Max nodded a silent greeting to the approaching search and rescue team leader.

‘How far into the forest do you intend the search line to go…?’ The team leader asked.

Max scanned the bushland. ‘I was just thinking about that…’ he said. ‘I’m starting to wonder if I deciphered this list correctly.’

He slipped the list from his file and opened it out. ‘See here. It mentions the fork in the path and the pine bench,’ Max said. ‘There’s the right fork… and there’s the pine bench.’

‘Can I see that?’ The team leader accepted the list and read it. His eyes lifted and flicked from the left fork, to the right fork and back. He rubbed his chin. ‘See, I read this differently to you,’ the team leader said. ’It is vague, but I read the search area is the left fork, not the right fork with the pine bench. We’ve been searching the right fork, behind the pine bench…’

Max accepted Emily’s list back and re-read it. ‘OK. I can see that as an option,’ Max said. He gestured to the left fork. ‘So you think we need to search down there…’ he asked, rubbing his chin stubble. ‘A bit cryptic isn’t it?’

The team leader shrugged. ‘Who knows what she was thinking when she wrote that list.’

Max and the team leader moved down the left fork with their eyes glued to the ground, adjacent to the path. Around twenty metres along, they stepped off the track and toed the sandy soil through the accumulation of fallen twigs and leaves.

‘OK. Let’s get the search teams over here. We’ll start from this point, working outwards on both sides of the track.’

Within a short time, lines of police and SES searchers relocated to either side of the left fork and fanned out in rows, prodding the sandy soil with long search sticks.

Forty-five minutes had passed without success when Max impatiently checked his watch. He removed Emily’s list from his pocket and re-read it. He rubbed a frustrated hand across his mouth and chin.

While he pondered the many possibilities in the interpretation of Emily’s list, loud voices from behind caught his attention. He turned to the noise. News media—a cameraman, a producer, a sound recorder technician and a field reporter— approached the crime scene perimeter tape, guarded by a uniform constable.

Max rolled his eyes. ‘What kept you?’ He mumbled to himself.

The female reporter called out to Max. ‘Excuse me, Detective… Could we have a word please…?’

Max checked his watch, more out of reflex than interest, then moved to the perimeter tape.

With a note pad in one hand and a pen in the other, the attractive young female reporter smiled at Max as he approached. After a brief introduction, she fired off the questions and scribbled Max’s responses. She was hungry for a breaking story.

Once the details were obtained, the reporter asked Max if he was prepared to be interviewed on camera. Max agreed. The producer checked for the position with the best lighting.

Max and the reporter positioned themselves in front of the camera. Another from their group angled a reflective shield that directed sunlight onto them.

The producer gave a signal. A red light appeared on the camera and the reporter started to file her report. ‘Earlier today, teams of police and SES searchers descended onto a remote location in the pristine Otways Forest, a location where Police believe—’

A shrieking whistle caused the Max to step away from the camera and glance back towards the searchers. The reporter paused and turned to the sound.

When the search & rescue team leader—the source of the whistle, caught Max’s wondering gaze, he gestured towards the right side of the left fork. Several of the searchers were migrating to this area.

‘Gotta go, sorry,’ Max said to the reporter. He jogged back to the area where the search team had gathered. On the way, the team leader met Max on the left fork and moved to keep in step with him. ‘What’ve we got?’ Max asked the team leader.

‘Looks like a shallow grave…’

Max and the team leader trudged a path through the thick overgrowth. Twigs and dried grasses crunched under foot. Max brushed aside fern fronds, spindly tree branches and shrub foliage, as he high-stepped through the overgrown ground cover.

The searchers had located a clearing in amongst the overgrowth that was out of place to the rest of the forest floor. Their probing search sticks struck something just below the surface. Three of the searchers were on hands and knees carefully excavating dirt with small hand shovels, when Max arrived.

The out-of-place clearing suggested to Max they had located Libby Vassillou’s shallow grave. Over time, the disturbed dirt had re-settled and was firm to dig through, so every care had to be taken.

A member of the police search team eventually uncovered a dirty brown coloured human head, in advanced stages of decomposition. The rest of the body remained interred.

Max halted the exploratory dig and called the forensics body recovery experts to the location for a more thorough dig, to ensure all evidence was recovered.

The forensic team were in the nearby coastal hamlet of Lorne enjoying a leisurely coffee when Max called. Within fifteen minutes they were on site, carefully excavating the soil around the body. Disturbed dirt was sifted onto a ground sheet.

Bit-by-bit the decomposing, fully clothed body was uncovered from its shallow grave of around thirty centimetres deep.

Once evidence photos were taken, the body was carefully removed from the hole and placed onto a stretcher.

While the forensic team sifted the dirt remaining in the hole, Max removed the photo of Libby Vassillou from his file. He compared it to the recovered body. DNA would have to confirm it, however Max was satisfied he had located another of his missing persons. Emily Davis’s charges just increased to six murders.

Chapter Seventeen

With nothing but time on her hands, Emily looked forward to her regular telephone calls to Boyd. She didn’t always have much to report, but it was so nice to hear his voice. Today however she had some good news to share.

This morning she received notification that all persons on her approved visit list had passed probity checks and were cleared to visit her.

The thought of eventually being able to see her husband again excited her. It helped her get through the long days. It had been over three weeks since she last saw his handsome face and that was in court as she was being led away. No hugs, no kisses goodbye, just a fleeting glance over a shoulder before being whisked away.

Emily’s excited heart pounded when she lifted the telephone receiver. She entered her allocated PIN, followed by the number 1, which was Boyd’s reference number on her approved call list.

Inmates were not able to dial numbers from inside the prison. The prison’s telephone system dialled the telephone number recorded against the reference number on the approved call lists.

She nervously drummed her fingers on the wall as the phone chirped in her ear. It answered after four rings. She listened to the standard pre-recorded message informing Boyd he had a call from Dame Phyllis Frost Centre.

The message outlined the rules he was required to follow, if he was prepared to accept the call. The message instructed him to hang up if he did not want to obey these rules, or if he wanted to reject the call. Alternatively, he was instructed to hang on the line for the call to be connected. The call connected.

‘Hi, Hun…How are you going?’ Emily said with excitement in her voice.

‘Hey, stranger…It’s great to hear from you. Is everything still OK with you…?’

‘Yep. All’s good. I have some good news, though…’

‘I could do with some good news for a change.’

‘Me too. You have been cleared to visit me.’

‘Finally. That’s so great.’

‘It is. It will be so good to be able to look at you again, rather than imagining you, while listening to you talk on the phone.’

‘So, when can I come up to see you?’

‘Tomorrow. You have to book the visit with the prison though.’

‘Yeah, that’s fine I can do that, but what time?’

‘Ah, Thursday’s visit times are 12pm to 2pm. 2.30 to 4.30 and 5pm to 7pm. What shift are you working tomorrow?’

‘I’m on an RDO tomorrow so what time would suit you?’

‘The earlier the better. I won’t be able to wait until the afternoon.’

‘OK. I’ll arrange for 12pm. If that’s booked out, I’ll go for 2.30pm. OK.’

Emily was like an excited school girl preparing for her first date. ‘I won’t be able to sleep tonight, Hun. I can’t wait.’

The balance of the call was occupied with small talk to fill in the time and to hear his voice. Before long a warning tone beeped.

‘My twelve minutes is nearly up, Hun. I gotta go.’

‘Twelve minutes is such a ridiculous time they allocate for calls…’ Boyd moaned.

‘I agree…It passes so quickly.’

‘OK. How’s your funds going? Do you have enough?’

‘Yeah, pretty good at the moment, thanks. I can’t wait until tomorrow. I love you.’

‘Me either. Love you too. Bye.’

‘Bye.’

Emily hung up the phone. For the first time in over three weeks she was happy; as happy as one could be in prison. She now had something to look forward to tomorrow.

---

Emily was showered, her room cleaned and her bed made by the time her cell door opened at 7.30am. She patiently sat on the end of her bed waiting for the sound of jingling keys and clanging metal.

The excitement of finally seeing Boyd again caused a disrupted sleep. She was so excited, she kept waking up and peering out her window to check for evidence of the new day. Eventually it was there. Signs of day light rising up against the fading night sky was her silent alarm. Time to get up and get ready.

After a short wait, the heavy cell door flung open. ‘Morning,’ the guard said. It was Clive this morning, one of Emily’s favourite guards. He checked Emily off his morning head count list.

‘Morning, Clive…’ Emily jumped up from her bed and exited her cell. No one else had emerged as yet.

Clive glanced over his shoulder as he unlocked cell two. ‘You’re up and about early this morning. Couldn’t sleep?’ He said as he reefed open the cell door. ‘Morning,’ he said to cell two’s occupant. He checked her off his list.

‘On and off…’ Emily said. ‘But I’m having my first visit today. My husband has been cleared to visit and he is coming up at midday.’ A beaming smile illuminated her face.

‘Good for you,’ Clive said as he unlocked cell one. ‘You should probably have an early lunch today, then. You won’t be back here until after two.’ He reefed open the door. ‘Morning.’ He checked off his list.

He hooked the jingling keys to his belt and shoved the clipboard under his arm as he and Emily moved towards the kitchen. ‘So, you haven’t experienced a box visit before…?’ Clive said as a question.

Emily frowned. ‘A box visit… What’s a box visit?’

‘That’s what we call non-contact visits. That’s what you’ll be having today… a non-contact visit,’ he clarified. ‘They are conducted in this small room, bit like an oversized phone box. You’ll sit on one side of the glass and your husband will be on the other.’

‘Do we talk through telephones, or something?’ Emily asked as she selected her coffee mug from the overhead cupboard.

Clive nodded. ‘Now ya got it…’ he said. ‘I’ll have one with ya…’ He selected a mug.

Emily spooned instant coffee into her mug, then into Clive’s mug. Percolated coffee was not an option in prison, even in the lenient remand precinct.

While not a fan of instant coffee, it was that, or nothing. She still craved the caffeine kick from a hot, barista prepared coffee, but with every passing week, those cravings faded into memories as she slowly acquired a taste for the bitter processed alternative.

They added their milk and slid into chairs at the kitchen dining table.

With only five inmates to look after in the shared cottage, the guards were quite relaxed. They didn’t feel threatened and they actively interacted with the remandees. Guards like Clive treated the inmates with respect; he treated them like people, not crims.

So for Clive at least, sitting and sharing a morning coffee with the more friendly remandees like Emily and Mandy, was a common occurrence.

Around the time they considered a refill, Mandy shuffled into the kitchen, yawning.

‘Here she is, right on time,’ Clive said.

‘Morning,’ Mandy said. She made herself a strong coffee and slid into the chair beside Emily.

‘What’s for brekky this morning ladies?’ Clive asked in his typical upbeat tone.

‘I’m going with my usual…cereal and a cuppa,’ Emily said.

‘I think I’ll scramble some eggs,’ Mandy said. ‘I feel like eggs this morning.’

Clive checked his watch. ‘I’ll leave you ladies to it then,’ he said. He pushed himself up from the table. ‘I’ll come and get you around 11.45am, OK?’ he said to Emily, then returned to his desk.

---

The repetitive clip-clunk, clip-clunk of a table tennis game echoed from the common area. Rallies were short and cackling laughter followed as table tennis novices, Emily and Mandy often sent the ball ricocheting off the roof, or a side wall.

An entertained Clive leaned his elbows on his guard station watching the friendly game. He checked his watch. ‘What’s the score?’ he asked.

Emily tapped her chest. ‘Eighteen – ten, my way,’ she said, then served. Laughter followed as Mandy launched the ball forty-five degrees to her right. ‘Make that nineteen-ten,’ Emily said.

‘OK. Finish your game then we’ll have to go, Emily. You’ve got an important appointment.’

‘I do. Is it that time already?’

‘It’s a little before 11.45. Keep going. Finish your game, first.’

Emily served. Mandy swung and missed, which said more about Mandy’s eye-hand co-ordination than the quality of Emily’s serve. ‘Twenty-ten. Game point,’ Emily said.

Emily served. Mandy connected with this one. Her unintended tennis style forehand drive sent the ball rocketing passed Emily’s head, into the back wall. Mandy covered her mouth. ‘Sorry…’ she said.

‘You’re dangerous, girl. I think that’s game,’ Emily said.

After returning the equipment to the cupboard, Emily approached Clive, still leaning on the high ledge of his guard station counter. A huge grin illuminated her face as she rubbed her nervous hands together. ‘We all set?’ she asked.

‘We sure are. Let’s go,’ Clive said. ‘Just escorting Emily to her box visit,’ Clive said to his relieving guard at the front desk.

The guard lifted his eyes from the newspaper. ‘Nice.’ He said. He smiled at Emily. ‘Enjoy.’

---

When they stepped from the cottage, Emily glanced up to the cloudy sky. She briefly closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh air.

Emily had a child-like spring in her step as they strolled the path through the remand centre’s gardens, to re-enter the main building. This was all new to Emily. She had never been into this part of the prison before today.

The spring in her step faded the further she moved into the prison proper, and away from the comfort zone of her remand cottage.

Like an insecure young child with a parent, Emily walked close to Clive for security. Her eyes darted and her head turned to the many voices, or nearby activity.

After navigating several corridors, they approached a questioning guard seated at a guard station. Clive spoke with the guard, while Emily stood back against a wall, waiting.

She anxiously shuffled the weight distribution on her feet. She rubbed her perspiring hands down her thighs as she glanced at passing prisoners. Her eyes followed them until they had passed by, all the time avoiding eye contact. These were real prisoners and they were intimidating.

When he was done, Clive beckoned to Emily. ‘This way,’ Clive said. Emily caught up with Clive. ‘You’re in box four today,’ he said. Emily smiled. She didn’t care what box number she was in, as long as her husband would be there.

It was like a first date all over again. Her stomach churned with nerves and expectation. Her mind raced. I hope I don’t cry when I see him.

After a short walk, they entered a corridor lined with doors on either side. Clive stopped at a door and grabbed the handle. He smiled at Emily. It was a genuine, warm caring smile. He was happy for her. ‘This is you. Ready?’

Emily nodded like an excited school girl. ‘Yep.’ She rubbed her perspiring palms together. Her heart raced with the expectation.

Clive opened the door. ‘Enjoy,’ he said.

For the first time since arriving at prison a genuine smile filled Emily’s face. She was happy as she stepped in through the door. Clive closed the door behind her. Her eyes locked onto the empty chair on the other side of the glass. Her smile faded. Where is he?

Emily took a typical first time glance around the box. The small, brightly lit room was around one metre by one metre. Even with the large window opening to a similar size room on the other side, it was claustrophobic in there.

Her eyes never left the vacant seat as she slid onto the round metal seat attached to an arm protruding from the front wall. The seat was uncomfortable, but she’d happily sit on broken glass to see her husband. She leaned her elbows on the small ledge, still staring at the empty seat on the other side. Come on, Hun… Where are you?

Her face tightened. The sinking feeling from three years ago came flooding back to when she received that dreaded phone call. Her mind’s eye flashed back to the hyperventilating and the heaviness in her stomach as she raced to be with her husband.

She recalled the kaleidoscope of flashing blue and red lights against the dark sky when she arrived. How she burst into tears at the sight of his mangled car on the side of the road.

Visions filled her head of her unconscious husband lying in hospital with bandages around his head and tubes coming out of him. Tears filled her eyes. Ever since that day, whenever Boyd was late, she immediately thought the worse.

Chapter Eighteen

The door opposite opened. Emily’s wide eyes locked onto the guard standing in the doorway. She watched him gesture into the room. Her face lit up when Boyd stepped in and the guard closed the door.

All the built up tension, all the worry left her in waves when she saw her husband was safe. Her hands shot up to her mouth. Her chin quivered and her eyes welled.

For the first time in four weeks their eyes locked onto each other. So much for not wanting to cry when she saw him. Emily stood from her seat. Tears continued to well.

Boyd smiled. His welling eyes glistened. Emily placed her palms on the window. Boyd placed his hands over hers. It was the closest they could get to holding hands. Tears trickled down her cheek as she silently regarded her husband.

Emily gestured to the telephone receiver. She lifted hers and sat down. Boyd lifted his and took a seat. She was so distracted by seeing her husband again, the germaphobe in her completely disregarded the cleanliness of those phones and who before her had used them.

‘Hi, Hun. You’re a sight for sore eyes… I have missed you so much,’ Emily said. ‘You have no idea how good it is to see you. I was worried when you weren’t here when I walked in.’

‘I have missed you too, Hun. They kept me with all the checks and balances they run before they’d let me in.’

Seeing her husband and hearing the dulcet tones of his caring voice warmed her from within. If only she could hold him. Her admiring eyes followed the contours of his face as he talked.

‘How was the trip up? Lots of traffic?’ She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

‘Pretty good, really. Not much traffic at all.’

‘So, they made you jump through a few hoops to get in here? Did they search you?’

‘One hundred point ID check first, bit like in a bank. Then they gave me a key to a locker to lock away my property…car keys, wallet, that sort of thing. Then they searched me. Nothing too invasive. Checked my shoes, socks, around my belt, um, pockets that sort of thing. But it’s all good. It was worth it just to see you again.’

Emily fought to stave off the inevitable. Her lips tightened as her chin quivered. She couldn’t hold back anymore. She started to sob. ‘I don’t want to be here anymore…I want to go home with you,’ she whined.

‘I know, Hun. I want that too. Don’t cry…please. You’ll make me cry,’

Emily dragged a finger under her eye. ‘I’m sorry.’ She sniffed, then exhaled heavily to compose herself. ‘How much longer is it?’

‘Duncan is working on it, Hun. I had a meeting with him yesterday and he genuinely believes we have a chance to beat this. You just have to stay strong. He said he’ll know more when the police give him a copy of their evidence brief.’

‘Do we have a hearing date yet…?’

‘Not yet. But he said that the cops can’t leave you in here indefinitely while they prepare their case. He asked me to get you to ring him…you put him on your approved call list?’

‘I didn’t initially… But one of the more friendly guards in here reminded me to include my lawyer on the call list…so, yeah, he’s on there now.’

Looking at her husband and not being able to hold him was like an alcoholic sitting within reach of a freshly poured beer that couldn’t be tasted.

Boyd’s face tightened slightly. She knew all his tells and this one meant something was on his mind.

‘What’s wrong Hun…? What aren’t you telling me?’

Boyd took a moment to respond. Maybe it was to choose his words carefully. Emily’s brow dipped. The long pause concerned her.

‘Hun… What’s going on?’ she asked in a firmer tone.

Boyd adjusted himself on his uncomfortable metal stool. ‘I wasn’t going to mention anything… I thought I’d let Duncan tell you…’

Emily frowned. ‘Tell me what…? What’s wrong?’

Boyd held Emily’s gaze. ‘The cops found another one of the missing persons from your list—the hitch hiker that went missing in the Otways. Her body was buried in a shallow grave off a track somewhere.’

Emily exhaled. The tension in her shoulders relaxed. ‘That’s great. The family will now have some closure. That’s why she came to me, Hun… She wanted my help,’ Emily said, with a sense of achievement. Her smiling face quickly wiped. She frowned at Boyd’s expression. ‘What?’

Boyd shook his head. ‘It’s not great, Hun,’ Boyd said. His morose tone was not lost on Emily. ‘The cops have amended your charges to six counts of murder now. Duncan received the new charge notification a few days ago. That’s why he wanted to meet with me. That’s why he wants you to call him.’

Emily’s shoulders slumped. She was so happy for Libby Vassillou’s family, she overlooked the seriousness of her own predicament. She leaned on an elbow and cupped her forehead. ‘There’s still one more missing, isn’t there….?’ Emily said. ‘So…if they find him, does that mean they’ll charge me with seven counts of murder…?’

‘They have to find him first, but… yeah,’ Boyd said, nodding. ‘If they do…I guess they will,’

Emily’s head shot up. Her expression firmed. She waved the back of her hand. ‘You know what? Five counts… six counts… seven counts…It doesn’t matter,’ she said with a defiance that belied her deepest concerns. ‘I didn’t do it. I never killed those people, so the number is irrelevant. They won’t be able to prove it was me, coz I didn’t do it…’

‘You’re exactly right,’ Boyd said. ‘But enough of that,’ he continued. ‘Let Duncan worry about that for us. How are you coping in here?’

‘As well as could be expected, I suppose. It’s killing me not being able to see you, to talk to you and hold you…’

‘I’m exactly the same, Hun. The bed seems so big without you in it. I come home after work some nights excited to tell you about my day and then I remember you’re not there.’ Boyd’s mouth straightened.

‘I’m so sorry I have done this to us. I wish I never said anything.’

‘Don’t say that, Hun. You did the right thing. Because of you there are six families out there who now know where their missing loved one is. The unknown to them would’ve been far worse than knowing.’

‘I know. But what’s good for them…’ Emily’s eyes fell. ‘Is horrible for me.’

‘We’ll beat this, Em… I know we will. You just have to stay strong,’ Boyd said. ‘I gotta tell you though, Em, I’m so glad you don’t have to wear those prison uniforms. I think it would be more upsetting to have to see you dressed like a prisoner,’ Boyd said.

Emily glanced at her clothing. ‘It does make it feel less like a jail when I can wear these,’ Emily said.

The allocated two hours passed quickly for Emily, and no doubt Boyd. Periods of extended silence started to replace their excited chatter. At times they just sat smiling at each other. They didn’t need to talk.

Emily startled at the firm knock on her door. Her eyes filled with panic as they met Boyd’s. Her husband would be leaving her. She didn’t want him to go.

The door to Emily’s side opened. A guard stood in the doorway. ‘Say your goodbyes and finish up, thanks,’ the guard said. He left the door open and stood off to the side.

Emily stood from her seat. She placed her hand on the window. Boyd did the same. ‘I don’t want you to go,’ she said with desperation in her voice. Tears flowed down her cheeks. ‘I want to go home.’ Her emotions took over. She broke down into tears.

Tears trickled down Boyd’s cheeks. There was nothing he could do to help his wife. He couldn’t even comfort her. ‘I know, Em. I know. I want you to come home,’ Boyd said. ‘But you have to stay strong…’

The guard re-appeared in the doorway. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. His direction was firm.

Emily and Boyd said their goodbyes. They hung up their phones. Emily held Boyd’s gaze as tears now flowed freely. ‘I love you,’ she mouthed to him. Boyd mouthed back the same.

Before exiting through the door, Emily turned back for one last look at her man. Boyd looked as sad as Emily. She blew him a kiss then stepped from the box. She sobbed as the guard closed the door. As sudden as that, it was all over.

The guard escorted Emily back to the remand precinct. Her lowered head and rounded shoulders painted a picture of internal pain as she strolled. No conversation took place for the entire walk back. All she could think about was her husband; the look on his face as she left and the fact he would be leaving her all alone in this place. He was so close and now he’s gone.

Back in her cottage, Emily failed to acknowledge Clive’s smiling greeting. She marched passed the guard’s station, on a direct line to her cell. Emily slumped heavily onto her bed. She draped an arm over her eyes and openly sobbed for the life she once knew that was taken from her by these wrongful charges.

---

Max dropped the file onto his desk. He exhaled heavily as he rubbed a frustrated hand over his balding head. He collapsed back in his chair while his dejected gaze shifted to the whiteboard. The words “LOCATED DECEASED” in bold red letters, spread across six of the seven photos, leapt out at him from the board.

The strike rate of over eighty-five percent would usually excite someone tasked with locating long-term missing persons. But there was something about these victims that troubled him. Nothing linked them.

His years of policing told him the discovery of the bodies at locations disclosed in Emily’s list was not enough to be confident of securing a conviction at trial. He needed more. He needed evidence tying Emily to each victim. Problem was, the passage of time had effectively removed that possibility.

Alibis were either forgotten, or no longer verifiable. DNA evidence had long been destroyed. His searches failed to locate a murder weapon. There were no witnesses. He couldn’t find any motive for Emily to commit these murders. He had doughnuts and lots of them.

Max arranged for the police IT techs to run the same series of checks on Emily’s seized phone that they used to locate Malcolm Denyer’s last movements, before he went missing.

None of these checks placed Emily’s phone in, or near any of the locations where the six bodies were located.

This provided Max with two possible scenarios. The first and what he suspected to be the most likely, was that Emily was simply not involved in any of the murders. The second considered the possibility she was involved, but had enough guile and foresight not to take her mobile phone with her during the commission of each murder.

Autopsy results for each victim was consistent. Cause of death was either exsanguination caused from a slit throat, or organ trauma from multiple stab wounds. None of the victims had defensive wounds.

The testing for blood on the clothing and knives seized from Emily’s home came up empty.

There was no victimology pattern. There were no consistencies in each of the victims’ age, height, weight, gender, or residential suburb. There was no nexus to victim occupations, sporting interests, hobbies, places they shopped, restaurants they dined at, bars in which they socialized.

Everything pointed towards random victim selection; wrong place at the wrong time scenarios. The apparent lack of planning was more suited to a psychopath satisfying an uncontrollable urge to kill, rather than a serial killer who targeted specific victim types.

Meanwhile, Emily Davis, one of the nicest people he had met, had sat in a jail cell now for over two months while he tried to gather evidence to prepare a brief for trial.

He wasn’t confident he had his offender before he arrested Emily. Due to the paucity of incriminating evidence, he was even less confident now.

The same doubt, the same resonating question kept bouncing around in his head — what if Emily Davis was actually psychic…? The thought caused him to shudder.

Communicating with the dead defied his beliefs on the afterlife and it defied available scientific evidence on the subject. But was the scientific evidence proof, or merely proof of a scientific theory?

At the end of the day his problem was, he couldn’t prove Emily wasn’t capable of communicating with the dead and she couldn’t prove she could. It was a stalemate that may have caused the wrong person to be accused of crimes she didn’t commit.

A court of law required satisfying the burden of proof of beyond all reasonable doubt to obtain a conviction. Right now, his evidence struggled to prove his case on the balance of probability.

Max had numerous arguments with his boss over this case; some quite heated. As far as Jeff was concerned, he didn’t want to listen. Max had the right offender. All Max had to do now was get out there and locate the evidence to secure a conviction. And therein lay the rub—locating the evidence to secure a conviction.

Max’s frustrated gaze moved back to Dale Cartwright’s photo on the whiteboard. He had since obtained Dale’s mountain bike from the Anglesea Police, after it was found beside a bush track, between the coastal towns of Airey’s Inlet and Fairhaven. As expected, it failed to provide any evidence.

Detailed line searches of the vicinity where the bike was located failed to find Dale Cartwright’s body. In the end, it was decided the search area was too large and the information recorded on the list was too vague to narrow down an approximate location.

He slipped Emily’s list from his file and re-read for the umpteenth time, the notation Emily wrote about Dale Cartwright.

Just like the time before, and the time before that, the list gave him nothing. He dropped the list onto his desk and rubbed a frustrated hand across his mouth.

Finding Dale Cartwright was important to his case, but if the other six bodies were any indication, finding him would not provide any smoking gun evidence leading him to the killer. At this point in time, Max would settle for any evidence, compelling or otherwise.

‘Stuff this…’ Max blurted. He pushed himself from his desk. ‘I’m going for a coffee,’ he announced to no-one in particular.

He stood and stretched into a yawn. ‘Anyone want a coffee while I’m there?’ he asked those present in the office. ‘No…? Cheap shout,’ he mumbled as he moved towards the exit.

Chapter Nineteen

Max shuffled into the police station kitchen saying his greetings to those there before him. He selected a large mug from the overhead cupboard and dumped in two generous spoons of instant coffee. While vigorously stirring in his milk and two sugars, he glanced to the wall-mounted TV.

A headline on the news ticker scrolling across the bottom of the screen caught his eye, just before it disappeared off the left of screen. He frowned heavily. ‘What was that about a body being found…?’ he broadcast to everyone seated in the kitchen. The shaking of heads, vague glances at the TV and shrugs, were the responses he received.

Max positioned himself in front of the TV waiting for the news feed to loop back around. He sipped on his coffee, waiting.

Around one minute later, the news feed he wanted scrolled into view. Max’s mouth fell open as he read, “Body discovered in shallow grave near Airey Inlet in Victoria’s south-west.”

His stunned eyes followed the headline across the screen until it disappeared from view. ‘What the…’ he blurted. Max quickly returned to his desk, balancing his coffee as he walked.

‘Anyone hear anything about a body found near Airey’s Inlet?’ Max said when he burst into the bull pen, still balancing his coffee, most of which had spilled along the way. Same response as the kitchen.

Max looked up the phone number for the Anglesea police station. While the ring tone chirped in his ear, his hopeful eyes glanced to Dale Cartwright’s photo. The call answered.

Following the usual exchange of introductions and banal greetings, Max continued with the purpose of his call.

‘What can you tell me about the body that was found?’

’Um. A local female came into the police station early this morning and reported finding the body. She said she was walking with her dog along the cliff top track, just south of Aireys inlet there.

’The dog apparently ran off to the side of the track and showed interest in something. He started to dig, as dogs do. When she went to investigate, she saw her dog had uncovered what she thought was a human foot.

‘Our Sergeant went down there to investigate. It appears that the heavy, unseasonal rains of late washed away some of the sandy soil to partially expose the foot. It was in a shallow grave, just off to the side of the walking track.’

‘Is the body male, or female…?’

‘Male, I believe.’

‘Any idea on ID?’

‘Not as yet… They’re waiting for the forensic body recovery team to arrive from Melbourne. You guys should’ve been told about this by now…’

‘No-one here knew anything about it,’ Max said. ‘I only found out from the news feed on TV.’

‘Shit. That’s ordinary. I heard the sarge say over the radio only a short time ago that he had to notify Geelong CI of the find… Obviously he hasn’t done that yet.’

‘Alright. I’ll wander down there. Where am I going…?’

‘Are you familiar with the area?’

‘No.’

’OK. Put Eagle’s Nest Parade into your GPS… You get to it off Boundary Road. You’re looking for a sign to The Point Lookout. There should be police and SES vehicles in the car park there.

‘You’ll have to park and make your way down to the cliff top track, to an area about two hundred metres east of the lookout. Our sarge is still down there.’

Max scribbled the directions. ‘OK. Got it thanks for that.’

---

With his clipboard under an arm and a hand shoved in his pocket, Max trudged along the gravel cliff top track, back towards Anglesea.

The salty breeze atop of the elevated cliff was strong. The picturesque coastal vista of rolling waves and endless snaking sands was lost on the distracted Max.

The general area he searched for wasn’t too difficult to find. A news media chopper hovered up ahead, like a vulture with a sniff of carrion.

Around two hundred metres along, he came across the sergeant and a senior constable from the Anglesea police, chatting with two SES workers, dressed in their trademark orange jump suits. An area of the path had been cordoned off with police tape.

‘Hey, Dan. What have we got?’ Max said.

‘Hey, Max. Are you psychic, or something? I was just going to call you guys.’

Max lifted his chin at the circling chopper. ‘They beat ya too it, mate. I saw it on the TV news feed.’

‘Oh, Shit. Sorry, mate. You guys were next on my call list.’

‘All’s good. I’m here now. What’ve we got?’

The sergeant gestured to the north side of the track. ‘A dog partially uncovered the left foot of a body in a shallow grave over there. I reckon it’s a male’s leg, but I can’t be certain at this stage. The forensic guys are en-route to dig it up,’ Dan said.

Max opened his file and removed the photo of Dale Cartwright. He handed it to Dan. ‘I think you’re spot on, mate,’ Max said. ‘If I’m not mistaken, that there is your guy in the hole.’

The sergeant accepted the photo and glanced at it. ‘Missing Person…?’

Max nodded. ‘Yeah. Missing since January this year…’

Dan flicked a finger at the body. ‘Looks like the excess water runoff from those torrential rains we had down here over recent days, followed the natural slope towards the cliff face, and in doing so, washed away the soil to expose the foot. Doesn’t look like a great deal of care was taken to bury the body,’ Dan said.

Max scanned the surrounds. ‘The area is remote enough that they didn’t have to. If not for the rain, it would still be covered,’ Max said.

It quickly became evident to Max why their previous line searches failed to locate Dale Cartwright’s body. Dale’s mountain bike was found on the west side of Aireys Inlet, on a track towards Fairhaven. So that was where the previous search focused. This body had been located on the east side of Aireys Inlet, closer to Anglesea; a distance separated by several kilometres.

---

The forensic body recovery team erected a tent over the shallow grave site to protect it from the elements, while the team worked to slowly expose the body.

While watching the dig, Max glanced up at the second media chopper that had arrived and hovered out over the ocean, near the first chopper.

The dirt around the body was carefully removed and sifted for evidence. Following the slow and tedious process, the fully clothed body was eventually uncovered from the soil. Photos were taken and it was removed from the hole and placed onto a stretcher.

Max compared the file photo to the body. It was unmistakably the body of Dale Cartwright. He even wore the same Lycra bike pants and riding top, as those depicted in the photo.

The shrinking, decomposing skin failed to mask the large wound visible in Dale’s neck. His throat had been cut. That COD was a match to four of the other six victims on Emily’s list. There were no obvious defensive wounds to his arms and hands.

As he waited for forensics to do their thing, Max couldn’t help but consider that if Emily Davis did kill Dale Cartwright, why were her notes vague as to the body’s location?

In fact, the list failed to narrow down any specific location. It was the finding of Dale’s mountain bike that provided an initial search area, not Emily’s list. And the cliff top area where Max now stood was in no way referenced in Emily’s list.

Was this apparent vagueness in Emily’s list a ploy to mask her complicity? Or could the obvious answer be that Emily really was psychic and she relied on what she was told by the ghost of Dale Cartwright?

Try as he may, to openly consider that possibility, it was extremely difficult for Max. That was an improbable option that conflicted heavily with his disbelief in ghosts and the afterlife.

Once the body was loaded and transported and the area cleared, Max door knocked on the houses that lined Eagle’s Nest Parade. Some houses were vacant holiday homes, while others were principal residences.

He showed the photos of Dale Cartwright and Emily Davis to those who answered his door knocks. Most of the residents he spoke to were beyond retirement age. None had seen either person before.

On his way back into Anglesea, Max visited the woman whose dog discovered Dale Cartwright’s body. During his chat he learned she walked that track daily, rain or shine, and had done so for the last five years. She never noticed, or had any reason to notice that shallow grave before today.

Max showed the woman the photos of Emily and Dale. She too had never seen either person before.

Back in the office, Max capped the red whiteboard marker and stepped back to admire his sign writing work. He now had a complete set. Every photo displayed the “LOCATED DECEASED” notation. Emily Davis now faced seven counts of murder.

---

Duncan Jervis wedged the telephone receiver between his ear and shoulder as his fingers walked though his file. He lifted a page. Emily patiently watched on from her side of the box.

‘The committal hearing is scheduled for…’ he read from the page. ‘Ahh… the 12th of December. So what’s that…?’ He asked himself as he checked his open diary. ‘Five weeks,’ he said answering his own question.

‘What does that mean… a committal?’ Emily said into her telephone.

‘Evidence will be presented to a magistrate, just like in a normal court case, but in a committal, the magistrate is not required to make a finding on your guilt or innocence. He, or she will decide if sufficient evidence exists to commit the case to stand trial before a judge and jury,’ Duncan said.

Duncan was an educated man who was articulate and spoke with a clarity and well-rounded enunciation befitting an English Royal. He was easy to listen to and instantly instilled a confidence in Emily that she had the right lawyer for the job.

’What if the magistrate thinks there is not enough evidence for a trial?’ Emily said.

‘If that was the case, then the magistrate would dismiss all charges.’

‘Do you think I have a chance of that happening?’

Duncan held Emily’s gaze. Emily noted the long pause in his response. ‘Look. I think the police case is weak…’ Duncan eventually said. ’It is circumstantial at best. But—′

‘Does it look bad for me if I can’t provide alibis for when these people went missing…?’

‘Not at all. It is not unreasonable for the court to accept, without prejudice, that you unable to recall your whereabouts for dates up to two years ago.’

‘So… Even though it’s a circumstantial case… you think I’ll still be sent to trial, don’t you?’

Duncan held Emily’s questioning gaze. ‘You are charged with seven counts of murder. It would be a brave magistrate who dismissed all seven counts of murder. My gut is… the magistrate would rather a judge and jury make that decision and so…yes, I think they’ll send it up.’

‘So, you’re saying, regardless of whether I’m innocent or not, a magistrate will still send me to trial…?’

Duncan firmly shook his head. ‘No. That’s not what I’m saying. If during the committal we can successfully present our defence to demonstrate your innocence, then the magistrate would have no choice but to dismiss all charges. If our defence is weak, the magistrate will send it to trial and let a judge and jury decide.’

‘I see,’ Emily said. ‘So, I’ll ask you again,’ Emily said with a tone firming with frustration. ‘Do you think I will be committed to trial?’

‘That is what I wanted to talk to you about today,’ Duncan said. ‘Do you think there is any way we can prove that you have the ability to speak to people from the afterlife?’

Emily rolled frustrated eyes. She lowered the phone while she gathered her thoughts. There had not been a night during the long lonely hours of lockdown that she hadn’t tried to think of how she could prove these people visited her.

She lifted the phone and glared at her lawyer. ‘Don’t you think if I could prove it, I would’ve done so by now? It would’ve got me out of here.’

Duncan held up a placating hand. ‘I understand. I won’t sugarcoat this, Emily. That is the basis of our defence. Prove these visits and the police case falls over. If we fail to prove it, the question gets asked about how you knew where these bodies were located and we will invariably go to trial.’

Emily sighed. ‘Apart from my husband, I have thought about little else while I’ve been in here.’ Emily cupped her forehead. After several beats passed, she ran a hand through her fringe. ‘How can I possibly prove something that happens inside my head?’ She fell back in her chair. Her body language conceded defeat.

‘Have you spoken to any other dead people, other than the seven names you gave police?’

‘No.’

‘OK.’ Duncan’s face tightened as he jotted some notes. ‘And these seven were the first time you had experienced any contact with the afterlife…?’ He said as a question.

‘That’s right.’

‘Why do you think that was the case?’

‘What was the case?’

‘The only dead people who you have had contact with were the seven people you have been charged with murdering?’

Emily straightened in her chair. ‘I don’t know. Maybe because they were all missing from Geelong and I live in Geelong.’ She glared at Duncan through the window. ‘Do you think I’m guilty?’

‘That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m asking you a question that a judge would surely ask at a trial. I need to know what you would say… How you would answer that question.’

‘I can’t,’ Emily said. ‘I can’t control who from the afterlife seeks me out.’

Duncan nodded unconvincingly as he scribbled notes.

‘Have you undertaken any training courses to further develop your mediumship skills?’ Duncan said. ‘These would show you believed you had, and were serious about developing your unique skills.’

‘No. I never bothered. It took me a long time to even know what I was experiencing. It wasn’t until I went to a medium seminar that I learned what was happening.’

‘Wait. So you attended a medium seminar? When was that?’

‘Um. Back in June. The seminar was held by this medium by the name of… Molly Williamson. She dragged me up on stage and discussed my skills.’

Duncan frantically scribbled notes. ‘This is good. This is good,’ he said. ‘So… You went up on stage? On your own, or with other people?’

‘Just me. She interviewed me about my visits.’

Duncan scribbled. ‘Was there an attendance fee charged?’

‘Of course. She travels Australia with her seminar. We paid one hundred and forty dollars each. So it cost Boyd and me two hundred and eighty dollars.’

‘Boyd went with you…?’ Duncan said. He scribbled notes.

‘Yes.’

‘This is good. This is good,’ he said continuing to scribble. ‘Any other research?’

‘No.’

Emily startled at the firm knock on the door to her visit box.

Duncan checked his watch. ‘OK. I’ve got a few things I want to follow up on,’ Duncan said. He gathered up his paperwork. ‘We’ll meet again in a week or so, OK.’

Emily nodded. ‘Thank you.’ She was vulnerable. She had no idea what she was doing and relied heavily on Duncan’s advice and expertise.

The door behind her opened. ‘Time,’ the guard said.

Emily hung up her phone and stood. At the door she turned back to Duncan and waved then stepped from the box. Her future was in Duncan’s hands. She was drowning and he held the life buoy. It was up to him to get it to her and save her life.

Chapter Twenty

Max wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear while he continued to scribble notes. ‘OK. That’s great. I appreciate you taking the time to chat with me, Mrs. Cartwright. Thank you. Bye.’ Max dropped his phone into its cradle and finished his notes.

‘Six down… one to go,’ he proudly said to himself as he ran a finger down a list, stopping half way down. He lifted the handset and dialled a number.

A true investigator’s mind never turned off. It doesn’t conform to the routine of nine-to-five, returning the next morning. For cops like Max, the mind never stopped.

It was relentless in continually analysing evidence, assessing people such as witnesses and suspects. It remained switched on considering likely directions to take a case, or ways to locate new evidence.

It was the curse of the investigator and the likely contributing cause of premature burnout of elite level investigators within the force. Only the passionate survived, and above all else, Max was passionate.

During his sleeping hours last night, Max’s overactive mind triggered a possible link between Emily Davis and her seven victims. Up until now, he had been unable to connect them in any way.

A connection to Emily was the glue he needed to bond his case together. Early this morning his overactive mind may have provided the link he so desperately searched for.

Since arriving at work this morning, Max had spent the morning calling the spouse, or next of kin from each of Emily’s seven alleged victims, to ascertain where they did their banking. It was a possible lead that so far proved promising.

After completing six of his seven calls, his check list recorded that each of the six victims banked at the same bank where Emily used to work. He needed one more to complete his set and confirm the theory that kept him awake most of last night.

The ringing phone chirped in his ear. Max drummed his fingers on the desk as his satisfied eyes passed over his rapidly filling check list. The phone answered.

‘Hello,’ a female voice answered.

Following the usual introductions, Max continued. ‘Mrs Denyer, I’m conducting some ongoing inquiries in relation to what happened to Malcolm and I was hoping you could assist me. Do you have a couple of minutes?’

‘Yes. I’ll see what I can do.’

‘I need to know which bank, or banks Malcolm banked with. This would include where his pay was deposited, what credit cards, debit cards he used, anything bank related.’

‘Oh, we have a number of accounts. We use two banks.’

‘Did Malcolm operate any accounts separate to you, or were all your accounts jointly held?’

‘No. We jointly held our accounts.’

A smile filled Max’s face as he scribbled the information Mrs. Denyer provided for her husband’s bank. He was only interested in one of the banks she mentioned; the one that matched Emily’s former employer.

Max thanked Mrs. Denyer and ended his call. He dropped telephone handset into the cradle. As he reviewed his now completed list, a grin emerged out the side of his face. He liked what he saw. He now had the full set. Each victim was now connected to former Accounts Manager, Emily Davis via their bank of choice.

---

Max confidently strode into Emily’s former office to follow up on his latest information. He was met at reception by Emily’s former Manager, Amanda West.

After connecting all seven victims through Emily’s bank, Max contacted Amanda to request further information in relation to these victims’ individual accounts.

The information he sought would hopefully provide conclusive evidence that Emily knew of each victim. This in turn would suggest the murders were targeted, rather than random. It would also go towards refuting her psychic medium defence.

Max obtained the appropriate search warrant compelling Amanda and her bank to cooperate with his inquiries and he set off for his prearranged meeting with Amanda.

At the reception counter they shook hands and Amanda escorted Max to her office and closed the door. Max presented the order to produce information, to Amanda.

With the legal formalities out of the way, Amanda was comfortable in assisting Max. ‘What is it you specifically require from us, Detective?’

‘You mentioned on the phone when I called yesterday that when a staff member accessed a customer’s account, your banking system records the staff member’s ID, date and time of access…’

‘That’s correct. Like I mentioned on the phone, we use a key card swipe system to prevent unauthorized use of a staff member’s ID.’

‘Good. What I need you to do is access your records for each of these former customers…’ He indicated the list in front of himself. ‘And tell me if, and when, Emily Davis accessed any of these accounts.’

Amanda accessed her computer. She typed something then swiped a card through a reader running across the top of her keyboard. ‘OK. So what specifically do you require?’

Max handed Amanda the list. ‘All the information you need for each customer is on that list… Names, dates of birth, address etc. What I need is to find out if Emily accessed any of their accounts, prior to the dates recorded beside each name there.’

Amanda checked the list then commenced tapping the keyboard. ‘Since the move to ATMs and online banking, we don’t have many requirements to access customers’ accounts, these days. Most transactions are managed by the customer via their online banking,’ Amanda said as she continued to type.

That could be good and it could be bad for Max. Only time would tell.

Amanda stopped typing and read from her screen, ‘OK. I have just accessed the account owned by Jenny Cox. She’s the first name on your list there…’ Amanda said. ‘There is no historical recorded access to this account by Emily Davis.’

Max frowned. That can’t be. ‘Nothing at all?’ he said.

Amanda shook her head. ‘No. For the dates you have provided… in fact I went back a little further than that date there on the list, and… no, there is no access to this customer’s account by Emily.’

Max wasn’t expecting that. He rubbed a contemplative hand across his mouth. ‘What about Emily’s work colleague… What’s her name?’ Max asked himself. ‘Naomi… I can’t think of her surname.’

‘That would be, Naomi Johnson.’

‘That’s her. What about her? Is she recorded as accessing that account?’

Amanda tapped on the keys and studied her screen. ‘No. There has been no access to this account by Naomi either.’

Max slumped back in his chair. He saw these inquiries heading in a different direction. ‘OK. Can you try the next one on the list.’ Max lifted the list and read from it. ‘Ah, Libby Vassilliou.’ He replaced the list.

Amanda tapped on her keyboard. She paused to study the records. She shook her head. ‘Neither Emily nor Naomi has accessed this customer’s account,’ Amanda said.

‘Is there any other way Emily could’ve learned of these accounts…? Any way that would not record her staff ID?’

‘No. All access is recorded for security reasons. Under our strict privacy requirements, staff must have an operational reason for accessing customer accounts. This prevents sticky-nose employees randomly checking friends, or celebrities to see what bank balances and investments they have. So, no… even if she wrote a loan for these customers, it would be recorded.’

‘What if she approved a loan that was prepared by an employee reporting to her?’

‘Same. It would record her involvement. Plus, she would have to access the customer’s records to check their banking history and other things of interest in the account.’

Max leaned his elbows on the desk. ‘Not off to a good a start are we…?’ He forced out a smile. ‘OK can you continue to check the others please.’

One-by-one Amanda accessed the accounts of the people recorded on Emily’s list. And one-by-one she returned the same result. None of the remaining accounts had been accessed by Emily Davis or Naomi Johnson. There wasn’t even any recurring consistency in the names of the staff members who had accessed each of the accounts of interest.

This outcome floored Max. ‘So all these people…’ He flicked a finger at the list in front of Amanda. ‘These… these seven murder victims, all banked at this same bank that employed Emily Davis, but she never accessed any of their accounts. So this is just one big misleading coincidence,’ Max said. His recap was rhetorical. Amanda didn’t respond.

Max left the bank in complete contrast to how he entered. A slow shuffle replaced the earlier confident gait. Rounded shoulders replaced the earlier upright stature. Every few steps he shook a slow disbelieving head as he tried to come to terms with the disappointing outcome.

If he was a betting man he would’ve bet the house on Emily being linked directly to each victim, via their bank account. Good thing he didn’t gamble.

Back in his office, Max dropped his folder on the desk. He slumped back into his chair. The momentum caused it to recline. He locked disappointed fingers behind his head while he tried to rationalize the lack of success from the bank inquiries. He still needed that missing connection between victim and Emily.

---

The lure of fresh air and warm sun dragged Emily from the stuffy confines of the cottage, to the manicured garden area out front. She lounged on the lush lawn, leaning on an elbow. It was a pleasant retreat to be alone, compared to her cell.

She plucked some grass and launched it skyward. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the comfort of the warming sun. The breeze gently caressed her face. For a brief moment her mind transported her away from this place.

She was free. She visited Boyd. She laughed with Naomi on those fun coffee breaks. She visited her parents in Ballarat, spent time relaxing on the beach watching the waves roll in. Anything she enjoyed in her former life, she relived in her imagination.

Her reflections were however short lived. Coming down from the brief high was a stark contrast to her reality. It was mildly depressing.

Emily plucked some more grass and lobbed it skyward. She watched the blades separate and drift back to the ground. A heavy metal clunk resounded through the garden area. Emily’s focus shifted towards the sound. A female guard and a new remandee strolled down the path towards the cottage.

During the three months Emily had been held on remand at DPFC, all her cottage inmates, with the exception of Mandy, had been turned over. She wasn’t sad to see the back of those drug-affected women. Their moods and temperament were unpredictable as they battled with coming off their addictions.

Emily watched remandee number four stride her way to the cottage. Her initial visual assessment of the new arrival was not flattering.

This twenty-something year old woman had that stereo-typical druggie appearance; pallid complexion, underweight, unkempt bottle-blonde hair with heavy dark roots and a heavy covering of visible tattoos. An intimidating scowl filled her face.

She watched them until they disappeared into the cottage. A short time later Mandy emerged and made her way to Emily’s comfy corner of lawn. Emily sat up and dusted her hands while watching Mandy approach.

Mandy jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. ‘Did you see that one they just brought in…?’ Mandy said. ‘You should hear the language coming out of her. Eff and “C” bombs fired off everywhere,’ she said. She lowered herself to sit cross-legged beside Emily.

Emily leaned back on her hands. ‘Yeah, I did. I thought she looked a little rough. Druggie, ya reckon?’

Mandy scoffed. ‘Hell, yeah… Might have to watch that one. She’ll be a handful.’

The front door banged heavily when the female guard exited the cottage. Emily and Mandy watched her stroll along the path to the main building.

‘Hey, I meant to ask you…,’ Emily began. ‘How did you go? Have you got a date yet…?’

‘Yeah. I thought I told you…’ Mandy said. ‘My trial is next week. Ah, next Thursday.’

‘Trial…? What about your committal?’

Mandy’s mouth inverted. She shook her head. ‘No point. I’m guilty. I’ve elected to go straight to trial for a plea. I’m hoping that will work in my favour when it comes to sentencing.’

‘I hope so, Mands…’

‘Two million bucks is a lot of money,’ Mandy said. She slowly shook her remorseful head. ‘My lawyer says I’ll definitely get time, it just depends on how much, after they take into account all this remand I’ve had.’

Emily dusted off her hands. ‘What do ya reckon…?’ she said deliberately changing the subject. ‘Must be close to lunch time?’

Mandy looked skyward. ‘Yep. The sun’s virtually straight up.’

‘Let’s do it…’ Emily pushed herself to her feet.

Mandy clambered to her feet and the girls returned inside to prepare their lunches.

Emily and Mandy stood side-by-side at the kitchen bench, idly chatting while they prepared their tomato and cheese sandwiches.

Neither noticed the recent arrival walk into the kitchen behind them. Emily squared off her sandwich then cut it in half. Her mouth salivated in anticipation of her tasty lunch.

Before she could lift her plate and move to the table, the recent arrival shouldered Emily aside and lifted one half of Emily’s sandwich. She took a bite then held it up to Emily. ‘Thanks, bitch,’ she said then moved over to the lounge area.

Emily’s mouth fell open as she watched this school yard style bully walk away from her. It was evident she was not new to incarceration.

Emily’s frozen expression flicked to Mandy, who now sat at the dining table watching on. Mandy slowly shook her head. ‘I’ll help you make another one, Em…’ Mandy said. She pushed herself up from her chair.

Emily held up a hand. ‘It’s OK. I can do it. Thanks anyway.’ Emily glared at the sandwich thief, before preparing a new sandwich.