CH 1-10

Summary

When Kade Miller decided to traverse the continent from west to east to holiday on Queensland’s sunny Gold Coast, all he craved was sun, sand, surf and all night partying. Instead he found himself a person of interest in a 25 year old cold case investigation, despite being his first trip to this state.

Chapter 1

It has been six weeks since I was rocked in a way I’ve never felt before. Six weeks of existing in a fog. Time off work and some medication only numbed the reality, but in the end, nothing changes.

Every time I close my eyes I see mum’s tear-streaked face telling me how dad collapsed at work and could not be revived. A massive heart attack they said. Apparently he was dead before he hit the ground, they said. Why I needed to know that detail still escapes me. It certainly doesn’t make it any easier.

That was six weeks ago and dad’s unexpected passing is still no easier to accept. For a man of sixty years of age, dad was fit and healthy, a non-smoker and a modest drinker. He exercised regularly. He watched his diet. He certainly didn’t fit the Heart Foundation’s high risk profile and yet, we still lost him.

As an only child growing up near the coast in Western Australia, my dad did everything with me. He taught me everything I know; how to swim, how to surf, how to kick a football.

He taught me how to bowl a cricket ball. He taught me how to skip rocks on a lake, how to bait a hook and ride a bike. Dad taught me how to shake hands like a man and not be embarrassed to show emotion.

As cliché as it sounds, dad was my hero. I wanted to be like him. His paternal influences moulded me into who I am today.

He was the one who drove me to my sporting games on the weekends and the many hours of weekly practice sessions. He was the one who gave me encouragement, even though I knew I’d played a shocker.

And just like that, he is gone. My dad is gone and I will never see him again. I never got to say goodbye. I will never hear his hearty laugh after one of his corny dad jokes. I will never feel his warm welcome embrace, or hear his sound words of advice shared from a lifetime of experiences.

But most of all, I will never again feel that special father-son bond, that friendship I had with my ‘old man’. I love my mum with all my heart, but dad, he was my best friend and his passing has left a gaping void in my life.

Everyone copes with tragedy differently. Some have the ability to move on rather quickly, some struggle to accept the harsh reality of it, while others plunge deep down into a dark space. Me, I’m probably somewhere between struggling to accept and that dreaded dark space. I can’t imagine my life without my old man being here.

When my mate, Mitch first suggested taking a getaway to the Gold Coast to help me cope with everything, I wasn’t interested. A holiday was the last thing I wanted. But with time, the more Mitch sold me on the trip, the more interested I became.

Mitch, or Ben Mitchell as named by his parents, is a good mate. We go back as far as year seven in high school. He’s my brother from another mother. We think alike and have each other’s backs. Loyal friends like him are rare as rocking horse shit.

Eventually, and with some strong encouragement from mum, I caved. The lure of the sun, sand, surf, clubs, bars, and fit girls in bikinis won out. Who wouldn’t want that, right? It may just be the distraction I need. Nothing will bring dad back, so it’s all about learning how to continue living while coping and adjusting.

---

After shuffling my way from the cheap seats back in row 35 to the front external stairs, the male flight attendant smiled and said, ‘Thank you. Hope you enjoyed your flight.’

I lifted my chin to his well-rehearsed, yet banal valediction. Unless you’re in the pointy end, does anyone ever enjoy their flight, particularly on a budget carrier…? Does anyone ever say they had fun sitting wedged shoulder-to-shoulder in what can best be described as a scaled down version of a seat?

Regardless, after a long 4½ hour flight, we finally arrived at the Gold Coast. As I descended the steep stairs to the tarmac below, I welcomed the 32 degree sunshine on my skin and the fresh air filling my lungs. I started to sense something I haven’t felt in a long time; a tinge of excitement and heightened expectation over what the next ten days holds for us.

‘This is gunna be great, Kade…’ Mitch said, moving in step beside me as we strolled the tarmac. ‘This’ll be just what the doctor ordered, buddy…’

His smile and comments as we strolled reassured, but then, so they should. After all, it was his idea for us to traverse the country for an escape from a month I would prefer to forget.

We followed the procession of passengers ambling across the tarmac into the terminal. Wind on the ground was strong but warm, carrying the heavy stench of aviation fuel.

Even after the short trek from the plane, the cool air conditioning was a welcome relief to Queensland’s February heat.

Like herded sheep, we followed signs directing us through the terminal to the luggage carousels. Mitch grabbed our suitcases while I collected our pre-booked hire car.

A signature on some paperwork and a swipe of a credit card later and we were on our way to our accommodation in Broadbeach, on Queensland’s sunny Gold Coast.

---

A slow-moving elevator, wallpapered in local tourist attractions, carried us to the 12th floor. A snaking internal corridor led us to a nondescript door with a small number 8.

As I turned the worn key and shouldered open the heavy door, my anticipation levels spiked over what to expect on the other side.

Natural light flooded into our apartment, courtesy of north-east facing ceiling-to-floor picture windows and glass patio sliding doors. The expectation of a stunning sea-side vista from the balcony lured me through the coastal themed apartment, decorated with marine life, shells, anchors, ropes, and various coastal paintings.

Passing through the spacious living room, I continued out onto the large coast-facing balcony and leaned on the hand rail to take it all in.

The tension in my shoulders left me in waves. I couldn’t contain my smile. White sands and rolling waves as far as the eye could see, all framed by the picture-perfect, cloudless blue sky. Even from twelve floors up I could taste the salt in the gentle breeze. The outlook was mesmerizing from our little beach-side perch; it had an instant calming about it.

‘How good is this…?’ I asked, albeit rhetorically, as I continued to take in the view.

Mitch followed me through and leaned his elbows on the hand rails. ‘This is gunna be hard to take for two weeks, bro…’ he said. ‘I’m glad we upgraded…This is more than worth it.’

When given a choice between two single beds in a one bedroom apartment on the 3rd floor, with views to the hinterlands, or a spacious, light-filled, two-bedroom, two bathroom suite on the 12th floor with uninterrupted coastal views, the upgrade option was always a no-brainer.

Two slow elevator rides down to the basement carpark and back, to empty the hire car of luggage and the supplies we stopped off for on our way, completed our move in.

I checked my watch. ‘What do ya reckon bro…Beer o’clock…?’

‘You bettcha…’ Mitch said.

Mitch did the first fridge run, handing me an inviting Corona on his return to our balcony.

‘Cheers…’ he lifted his beer.

‘Cheers, mate…’

Reclining on the balcony with my legs resting up on the hand rails, sipping on a cold beer was just the distraction I needed. While he is never far from my thoughts, right at that moment, losing my dad is the furthest thing from my conscious mind.

‘How’s the serenity…?’ Mitch quipped, with a knowing grin after intentionally quoting Daryl Kerrigan in The Castle.

‘So much serenity…’ I said, finishing the popular line from the iconic Aussie movie.

The beers were going down so well that before we knew it, the empties gathering beside our chairs numbered four each. Time seemed to stand still. Right at that moment, nothing else mattered.

My peaceful trance-like state was broken when Mitch checked his watch. ‘News time…’ he announced. He lowered his feet from the rail and moved inside.

I raised my stubbie. ‘Enjoy,’ I said. I wasn’t moving. The outlook was too peaceful. Board riders along the coast were navigating a modest swell. Hordes of beachgoers were still enjoying an escape from the summer heat, despite the late afternoon shadows creeping across the sand.

If the Queensland coast had any fault, it would be the premature end to each day by its early sunset. Back home, 6.20pm is still early afternoon, but here, it is approaching the onset of dusk, moving into night.

Chapter 2

‘Hey Kado… Get in here, mate… Quick… Check this out…’

The excitement in Mitch’s booming voice shattered my ‘serenity’. I dropped my legs and moved in through the oversized glass sliding doors.

Mitch was reclining on the flora-themed bamboo two-seater with his feet on the coffee table when I entered. He was taking a photo of the wall mounted flat screen with his phone.

‘What’s up?’

He flicked a finger at the TV. ‘Check this guy out…’

I did as he asked. A head shot photo of an old bloke filled the TV screen. The caption, “Graham Evans dead at 59” filled a banner at the bottom of the screen.

‘What about him…?’ I shrugged.

‘Don’t you see it….?’ Mitch’s assessing glare was like I missed the punchline to an obvious joke.

‘See what…?’ I glanced back at the TV as the image left the screen and returned to a field journalist filing a report. ‘I don’t get it,’ I said then took a swig from my beer.

‘Mate… That’s you in 30 years… Have a look at him.’ Mitch brought up the photo he took. He showed me his phone screen. ‘That guy looks like you in 30 years…’

It was just a photo of an old guy to me. I shrugged my indifference as I tried to listen to the news report to learn why this guy’s passing was so newsworthy. Mitch drowned out the reporter.

‘If I didn’t know your family…’ Mitch began. ‘If I’d never met your dad before he…’ Mitch paused. ‘Well. I’d swear that this bloke could be your dad. It’s uncanny.’

‘It said he was 59… I hope I don’t look that old at 59, mate… He must’ve had a hard life, or something.’

Mitch smiled as he glanced at his photo. ‘I’m Snap Chattin’ this, bro. This is gold.’

All I could do was shake my head. ‘Sorry mate… I just don’t see it. Maybe you should go easy on the brews, or something…’

Mitch gestured at the TV. ‘You know what that photo looked like…? That photo of the old bloke there was like they used one of those ageing apps on a current photo of you.’

‘Seriously, mate… You gotta get over this.’

Mitch’s Snapchat tone sounded. He checked his phone. ‘Here ya go… I sent a Snapchat of this old guy out with the caption, “Does he look like anyone we know”… Dougie Barnes just replied saying, “looks like Kado in 40 years…”’. Mitch held out ‘I told you so’ hands.

‘Do you know what his claim to fame is…?’ I asked, lifting my chin at the TV.

‘No I don’t, actually. I was too busy taking a photo.’

Mitch’s Snapchat tone sounded again. He checked his phone. His grin was enough for me. ‘Gibbo just said the same thing as Barnsey, bro… How can you not see it, when we all can?’

‘His name was Evans…’ I recalled. ‘He can’t even be a distant relative of dad’s, can he? We’re the Millers.’

‘I’ve heard of doppelgangers, but not future doppelgangers, bro…’ Mitch said. He found all this strangely humorous.

Mitch’s Snap chat tone went off again. He checked his phone and grinned.

I raised a hand. ‘I don’t want to know… OK. I get it. You all think he looks like an old version of me. Point made, OK.’

Mitch continued to study his phone.

‘I’m off for a shower, bro… Have a think about what you feel like for dinner.’ I didn’t wait for a response.

---

With the showers out of the way and a meat lover’s pizza courtesy of Uber Eats, we were ready to check out the well-documented Surfer’s Paradise nightlife.

Neither Mitch nor I had been to the Gold Coast before. In fact, the furthest east I have ventured was on a family holiday to Adelaide when I was 12 and then to Torquay in Victoria a few years later. So being ‘Gold Coast virgins’ we relied on the various marketing brochures and tourist books provided in our suite, to guide us.

If we are to believe the Queensland tourism propaganda, Surfer’s Paradise, colloquially known as ‘Surfers’, “is one of Australia’s most pristine beaches that attracts surfers, swimmers, and joggers around the world. Here, you can find both locals and tourists participating in different activities including beach volleyball, surfing, sand castle building and swimming.”

While these printed marketing pitches got our tourist juices flowing, what really piqued our attention was when we read, “Surfers’ is now known as Australia’s nightlife capital with stylish pubs, lounge bars, and clubs. Surfer Paradise after-dark entertainment districts features a mix of DJs, solo acts, live bands, and even guest appearance of international artists.”

We didn’t have to read any further. We were sold. I slammed the marketing book shut and ‘dropped the microphone’. Surfers’ it was and it was only a casual 10 minute walk, or a 20 minute stagger back home to our suite.

Mitch moved out to the balcony and leaned on his elbows, glancing north along the beach. ‘Do ya reckon that’s surfers’ up there with all the lights…?’ Mitch said. He gestured towards the floodlit sands, in the distance.

‘It’d have to be, wouldn’t it, judging by all of them…?’ I said lifting my chin to the sands below our apartment.

On the beach below was a procession of people strolling in that direction like the proverbial moths to a light. So we adopted the ‘when in Rome…’ philosophy and did the same; a beach walk to Surfers’ in the balmy evening, serenaded by rolling waves and a gentle breeze. How perfect is this?

Tourists like us strolled the beach like a line of worker ants spread out along the sand. High-rise apartment buildings jutted up to line the wide sands of the surf beach. Think Miami coast line, or Waikiki in Hawaii.

The beach area at Surfers’ was brightly floodlit. About 50 or so people, not many over 30, gathered in groups on the sand. Each person held a drink of choice. It was pleasing to see the alcohol consumption laws were relaxed over here in Queensland.

We scuffed our way up the dry sand, weaving through the beach revellers. I said to Mitch, ‘this is gunna be awesome, mate.’

Mitch didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. I knew from the frozen grin across his face, he agreed.

The dress code among the girls was ‘less is best’, which suited the balmy evening conditions and of course, us. Butt-cheek revealing cut-off denim short-shorts, short summer dresses and skimpy bikinis only just satisfying public decency requirements, plunging, cleavage-bulging necklines and body hugging little dresses were everywhere. It was a bloke’s smorgasbord.

The only thing that interested us more than this favourable scenery at this point was the strong lure for another cold beer. Surfers’ is apparently filled with an abundance of bars to choose from, so it was time to check it out.

We made our way up the beach towards the road, passing under the iconic arched Surfers’ Paradise sign—the gateway to Surfer’s beach.

After navigating the slow moving stream of vehicles cruising the coastal road, we entered the Cavill Avenue pedestrian mall in search of a bar.

Towering palm trees illuminated by up-lights, ran down the centre of the mall. Shops and eateries lined its sides. Wafting food smells filled the air from the heavily patronized alfresco restaurants and eateries.

It was the epitome of ‘touristy’. There were people everywhere. The place had a life of its own and the stream of people flowing through it was its blood supply.

Our focus was on something of a more liquid dietary requirement at this time. We found a first-floor bar called The Sand Bar. The attraction was the large balcony overlooking the flood lit sands of Surfer’s beach, across the road.

The main bar area inside was standing room only. In the corner of the room, a piano man tinkled out modern tunes, only just audible over the hen-house chatter and laughter.

‘This’ll do us, bro… Whatcha reckon?’ Mitch said.

‘I’ll get the first round.’ I said. I flicked a finger towards the alfresco the balcony. ‘See if you can get us somewhere out there to lean.’

It took longer to get served than my limited patience would normally tolerate, but I was on holiday; plus the female scenery made the wait worthwhile.

When I eventually reached the front of the six-person deep queue, the well-endowed blonde barmaid with a tight black singlet top I had been watching work, gave me the, ‘what can I get you’ point. She was all business.

While my beers were poured I leaned my elbows on the bar checking out the like-minded people crammed around me.

To my left, an out-of-place old guy with thinning white-grey hair and a white moustache sat on his own at the end of the bar, where it returned back to the wall. He wore a dark suit with a loosened tie. He stared at me over the top of his glass, as he took a sip.

When he lowered his drink he continued to check me out. Presumably he was the bar owner, or something. Why else would an old bloke in his 60s be sitting alone in a crowded bar of twenty-five to thirty-five years olds watching people drink. Regardless of why he was there though, his constant leering was a little uncomfortable.

With our first round finally in hand, I carefully navigated the packed room towards the beach-side balcony, using my elbows to fend off the occasional incoming body along the way. I am pleased to say that not a drop of the precious liquid was spilt.

Before stepping out onto the balcony, I checked over my shoulder. The old bloke was still watching me. Hopefully he noticed my disapproving head shake as I stepped outside.

Chapter 3

The humidity was noticeably higher stepping out from the bar’s climate controlled comfort. The atmosphere out on the balcony was alive; it had a pulse.

Next I had to try and find Mitch among the masses of people, whose combined presence must surely have tested the balcony’s engineering limitations.

As I scanned, I heard Mitch call from my right. His head poked out through the line of people leaning against the outer balcony rail. He raised a hand to me.

‘How did you manage this pole position…?’ I asked, handing him his beer.

‘Three girls stepped away from the handrail just as I walked along looking for a spot… Quite fit looking, too, I must say…’

‘From what I’ve seen so far, Bro… They’re all fit up here.’

We were three rounds in when Mitch asked, ‘do ya wanna go somewhere else, or do you want another…?’

‘I reckon we can go one more.’

Mitch downed his glass then gestured to mine. I drained mine and handed him my empty.

While waiting for Mitch to return, I took the opportunity to check out those easier on the eye. My crowd scanning locked onto the old guy from the bar. He had now moved out to the balcony, where he leaned a shoulder against the open bi-fold doorway, smoking a cigarette.

He twisted his mouth sideways sending the smoke skyward, all the time staring in my direction. The next time I looked back, the old guy was stamping out his cigarette before returning his fixed glare to me.

Bar owner or not, this is getting creepy. I’d had just enough beers to affect my ‘consequences’ care factor. Do I go over and find out what this bloke’s problem is? Or do I just go over and sit him on his arse? I gave him my best, ‘what the fuck are you looking at’, glare. But all that achieved was a hit to my ego when the old guy didn’t flinch. He continued to check me out.

While I pondered my options about how to handle this old bloke, Mitch emerged from the bar and handed me my drink. ‘I thought it was time for an upgrade,’ Mitch said. ‘Bourbon and rocks.’

It was my favourite go-to after having a fill on the beers. I took a sip then leaned on the hand rail.

‘You OK, Bro…?’ Mitch asked. Concern lines filled his face. ‘Too early for the bourbon…?’

‘No. No, good drink choice mate. It’s just…’ I checked over my shoulder at the old guy still watching me. ‘See that old prick over by the door…’

Mitch sipped his bourbon as he casually glanced back to the door. ‘Aha. What about him?’

‘He’s been staring at me all night. You know…in a creepy way. He just stares. First at the bar, now out here on the balcony. I’ve just about had a gut full, bro…’

‘I don’t think you’ll have to wait long to find out what he wants… he’s coming this way.’

I glanced over my shoulder. The old man lifted his chin at me in a muted greeting. I ignored it and returned my focus to the beach revellers below. ‘If he puts the word on me, mate…I’m gunna smash him.’

‘Excuse me…’ the old man said.

I ignored him. My jaw tightened.

‘Excuse me…I’m sorry to bother you…’ he tried again.

After giving Mitch my ‘see what I mean’ glare, I glanced over my shoulder at the old guy, giving him the silent ‘fuck off’, then turned back to leaning on my elbows watching the beach activity.

Mitch turned and fronted the old guy. ‘What’s your problem bloke…?’ he blurted. Mitch’s six feet five inch frame towered over the much smaller, creepy old man.

The old guy held up his hands. ‘I don’t have any problem…I was just wondering if you boys were locals, or visitors to the region…’

I scoffed, shaking my head in annoyance. ’That’s original…. I bet that line has ’em queuing up to give you head jobs in the toilets, granddad… It’s right up there with pearls like, ‘do you come here often’.

‘What…?’

I pivoted around and eyeballed the old guy. He had the stench of a full ashtray. He stared back at me through bloodshot eyes. ‘We’re not gay, mate,’ I blurted, glaring into his deep set eyes. ‘So fuck off…!’ I flicked my hand toward the doorway then returned to leaning on my elbows.

‘No. No. No. No. You’ve got it all wrong,’ the old guy said to my back. ‘I’m not propositioning you…’ he said. I didn’t respond, but I fired off a frustrated glare to Mitch.

The old guy touched my shoulder. ‘Excuse me. Can I talk to you for a minute?’

The hand on my shoulder was only light, but I didn’t want him touching me. I spun around and faced him ready to escalate this further. As I did so he flipped open a badge. ‘My name is Brent Dawes… I’m a Detective here on the Coast…’ he said.

I didn’t respond. If I was supposed to be impressed, I wasn’t. I shrugged and turned my back and leaned on the hand rails. My patience was melting quicker than the ice in my drink.

‘You look familiar. I was wondering if you’re from around here…’

‘Nuh…’ I said, keeping a disinterested back to the old guy.

‘Are you from Queensland…?’

Mitch fronted the old guy. ‘Look mate… I don’t care if you’re a cop, or not… We’ve done nothin’ wrong here, so it’s none of ya business where we’re from… OK! Time you were gone. It must be passed your bedtime grandpa…’

‘Look… I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just wondering if your friend’s name is Jayden?’ he said to Mitch.

Jayden… Who the fuck is Jayden…? I didn’t dignify his question with an answer, hoping he would go away before I did something I’d regret.

‘Look… I was wondering if your name is Jayden Evans,’ he tried again.

I turned to face the old man. I gave him the best disinterested glare I could muster. ‘If you’re talking to me…No. Sorry. Wrong bloke,’ I said.

‘You’re not Jayden Evans…?’

‘That’s what I just said… I don’t know any Jayden Evans…’

‘Are you from Queensland?’

‘No.’

The cop shook a confused head.

‘Look… What’s this about?’ Mitch asked.

‘A three year old boy went missing from the front yard of his home just south of here… and has never been seen since…’ the old cop said.

‘That’s tragic, but what’s that got to do with me?’ I asked

‘Tell me this…’ the old cop said. ‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-eight.’ I probably fired off my answer too quick, rather than waiting to consider the relevance. Thinning patience can do that.

‘That three year old kid went missing twenty-five years ago… His name is Jayden Evans. Today is his birthday… He’d turn twenty-eight…’

‘I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.’

Mitch’s face tightened. ‘Evans…?’ he frowned as he nudged my arm. ‘The old man on the news tonight… Wasn’t his name someone Evans…?’

The cop nodded. ‘You’re correct. Graham Evans was his name. That was Jayden’s father. He passed away yesterday. His funeral is the day after tomorrow. The poor bloke went to his grave never knowing what happened to his beloved son. Never knew if his boy was alive or dead… Twenty-five years he carried the burden of wondering what happened to his boy…’

‘That’s pretty sad… Truly, but what’s that got to do with me?’ I asked.

‘We’ve had computer generated photos prepared estimating what Jayden would look like today… And I gotta say… The photos look remarkably like you.’

‘Let me see if I understand you correctly…’ I said, oozing with sarcasm. ‘Are you saying that I look like a missing three year old boy whose photo you have digitally aged…?’

The cop pulled a packet of Marlboros from inside his suit. ‘I am…’ the cop said. He extended the open packet to me. I shook my head. He did the same to Mitch with the same response. ‘Do you mind…?’ he asked lifting the cigarette packet to me.

I waved the back of my hand at him. ‘Free country…’

The cop lit up his durry and dragged in a lung full of smoke. Twisting his mouth to the side, he jetted the smoke skyward.

‘I’m sorry to burst your bubble, mate,’ I said, briefly watching the dissipating plume. ‘But I was born and raised in WA…’

‘I can vouch for that…’ Mitch said. ‘We went to school together.’

‘For what it’s worth, this is the first time I have ever been to Queensland, OK,’ I added in an attempt to further dissuade his interest in me.

The cop held a silent, but assessing glare at me. He nodded slowly. His cigarette glowed in the darkness, as he dragged in another lung full. His puzzled eyes flicked between Mitch and me as he exhaled the smoke skyward. ‘OK. OK,’ he nodded, clearly unconvinced. ‘Sorry to bother you… It’s just that the resemblance is remarkable.’

‘Resemblance to a computer generated image…’ I said cynically. ’If this kid is alive today… he could be bald… He could be fat. He could have a full Ned Kelly beard. He could have all of the above, or any number of other characteristics that differ from your computer generated guess of what he looks like today…’

‘You may be right… Do you mind if I ask your name…?’

‘Well, I can tell you it’s not Jayden Evans. OK…’

The cop slipped a card from his shirt pocket and held it out between extended fingers. ‘Look… I hear what you are saying. This is my card. If you ever want to talk about anything… Give me a call anytime day or night…’

I didn’t even look at the card. ‘Talk to you about what…?’

‘Anything.’

‘I don’t have anything to talk to you about, mate… I’m here on holidays… OK. That’s it.’

The cop pushed the card towards me. ‘It can’t hurt, can it…?’

With a deliberate over emphasized roll of my eyes I snatched the card, using all my restraint not to flick it over the balcony to the road below. ‘I’m not your guy…’

‘OK. I appreciate your time, anyway.’ The cop pointed to our glasses. ‘Can I get you guys another round, for your troubles…?’

‘No, we’re good. We’re about to hit a club,’ I said.

The cop nodded and lifted a hand. I watched him disappear through the crowd and into the bar.

‘Thank fuck he’s gone, bro…’ I blurted.

‘You realize that cop was talking about the old guy on the news tonight… the one who I said looked like you in 30 years…’

I leaned my elbows on the hand rail. ‘Yeah… I got the connection. Pretty weird isn’t it?’

Chapter 4

We waved goodbye to The Sand Bar $100 lighter and ventured out into the mall. The thumping bass from a nearby club led us around the corner to a club called Sinners. Sounded promising, if its name is anything to go by.

While we considered our club options, of which there were many in this street, three fit girls in short skirts and spike heels strolled by and into Sinners. ‘This’ll do just fine…’ I said, while watching the girls ascended the three front steps.

We followed them in through the front doors. A massive islander with no neck, dressed in bouncer-black demanded photo ID, which he scanned. Next stop was the fit girl at the entry who relieved us of $30 each and provided a Fluoro yellow wrist band.

Once inside, the psychedelic Techno beat grabbed a hold of us. I began a trance-like nodding to the vibe. The place was thumping. Bodies jumped and writhed in unison. Purple fluorescent lights strobed across the dark dance floor and ricocheted off the walls.

The carpet squelched under foot as I moved to join the massive queue around the bar. Each step peeled from the carpet like I was wearing Velcro soles. A mouldy damp stench wafted up from the sodden floor. I hate to think what was soaking in this carpet.

The jostle for front position at the bar was like being at a chaotic food drop in a starving third-world country – every man, or woman for themselves.

Once I reached the front I leaned on the bar. It was reminiscent of standing front row at a rock concert with the surging crowd pushing forward from behind. It was out of control.

The over-worked girls behind the bar really didn’t want to be there, or that’s what their expressions screamed. Two beers relieved me of twenty-eight bucks.

I returned to Mitch and handed him his drink. ‘Enjoy that bro. It’s liquid gold in here.’ Mitch accepted his drink then opened a hand to reveal two jozzas. I checked over my shoulders. ‘Awesome… Where did you get those?’ I said.

Mitch lifted his chin towards the toilets in the rear corner. ‘Some bloke over there. You name it… He’s got it,’ Mitch said.

‘How much…?’

‘Coupla Lobsters…’

‘Cool. Smoker’s room…?’ I suggested.

‘This way…’ Mitch gestured to our right.

While I am not, and never have been a cigarette smoker, I don’t mind the occasional toke. Some will argue that’s a distinction without a difference, but I beg to differ. There is no carcinogenic tobacco in my joints.

It was evident that very little of the dense second-hand smoke in the smokers’ room was from cigarettes. We slipped into a couple of lounge chairs and sparked up our sticks.

The considerably lower noise levels made it easier for conversations. We were planning the next couple of days when an easy-on-the-eye, well-tanned, leggy girl in a short lemon coloured dress approached us.

‘Excuse me… I’m so sorry to bother you…’ she said, bending forward to be heard over the chatter.

‘That’s not a problem. You can bother me any time,’ I said. It was hard not check out the generous cleavage she displayed.

‘I’m just here with my friends over there,’ she gestured to three girls back behind her. ‘I have gotta ask… You wouldn’t happen to be from Robina, would you… You know… When you were a kid…?’

I couldn’t tell if that was a pick up line, or a genuine question. I so much hoped for the former. ‘No. I’m sorry. I’m not.’ Part of me suddenly wished I was from Robina.

‘So you never lived in Woodlands Drive, as a kid then….?’ She said as a question.

‘No, sorry. I don’t even know where Robina is.’

‘Ah, that’s OK. It’s south-west of here.’ She gestured generally to her left.

‘Can I ask why you asked me that…?’

‘I grew up on Woodlands Drive in Robina and I thought you may have been a neighbour of mine, back when we were kids…’

‘No, sorry. But part of me now wished I did, if it meant I would’ve had you as my neighbour.’ Her smile was pleasant, but more importantly, she didn’t find my flattery creepy. ‘Did you move away, or something…?’ I asked.

‘No. No. I’m really boring. I still live with my parents… The reason I asked was because a few years back—’

‘Believe me, you are far from boring…’ I said.

‘…when I was just a kid…’ she paused to smile as my comment resonated. ‘A neighbour of mine was kidnapped from his front yard. I didn’t actually know him, but my parents have talked about it for ever. I’ve seen photos and stuff, and I just thought you looked a little bit like this kid, but, you know… a grown up version.’

Again with this kidnapped kid. Mitch caught my knowing sideways glance. The grin he tried to suppress emerged out the side of his face.

‘That’s really interesting…’ I said, feigning interest. I did my best to keep her engaged. ‘So, you never met this kid, then?’

‘No. He was three when he was taken. I was only two at the time so no, I never met him. It’s just you look a lot like the photos published by the media of him as an adult.’

The comparison to this missing kid that keeps coming up was wearing thin. In fact, it borders on the ridiculous. If she wasn’t so hot, I would’ve moved on long ago. But she was. ‘So, the young fellow… he is still missing today…?’

‘He is. Only he wouldn’t be young now. If he was alive he would be my age.’

‘If he was alive….? Do you think he met with foul play?’

‘No-one knows. There were all sorts of theories back then…’

‘So… He’d be your age, would he?’ I grinned. ‘And what age is that…?’ She smiled, baulking at the question one should never ask a woman. I extended my hand to break the awkwardness. ‘I’m Kade and this is Mitch…’ She smiled at Mitch. ‘I’m twenty-eight…’ I said, hoping she would respond in kind.

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms, contemplating my question. I gave my best reassuring smile. She accepted my handshake with a hypnotizing smile. Her hand was soft and small and fitted perfectly into mine.

‘Sarah…twenty-seven. And that’s Bec…that’s Robbie and that’s Michelle.’

I waved to the girls. ‘Lovely to meet you, Sarah, from Robina…’

‘Likewise…’ she said.

I inhaled on what was left of my Jozza, then extended it to Sarah. She accepted it and blew lightly on the end. She inhaled deeply, holding it in her lungs as she passed it back to me.

‘We’re visitors to the Coast… You’re a local. What are the best clubs around here?’ I took another deep toke.

‘We were just talking about going to Room 181… It’s not far from here.’

‘That’s really weird…’ I said with feigned excitement. ‘Mitch and I were just saying, why don’t we hit… Room 181 next.’

‘Is that right..?’ she said, oozing cynicism.

‘Well, I’m sure that’s what we would’ve said, if we knew the place…’ I gave my best smile.

Sarah nodded. ‘Why don’t you join us…’ she said. ‘It’s mostly hip hop though… Does that matter?’

‘Not in the slightest. Mitch…?’ I said seeking his opinion. He was too busy checking out Sarah’s friends to respond. I gave him a gentle elbow.

‘Huh… Oh, ah, yeah, sure. Sounds good to me.’

We finished up what was left of the spliffs and left for Room 181.

Chapter 5

The next day I woke with the mother of all hangovers. I needed a coffee before I did anything. I shuffled into the kitchen on auto pilot. Such was my craving, I settled for the instant shit they provided in the rooms, while rueing our tardiness in buying real coffee from the supermarket.

While waiting for the kettle to boil, I checked my phone for messages and reviewed my drunken posts. Sarah emerged from the bedroom wearing my t-Shirt–the other half to the track pants ensemble, I was wearing.

‘Morning…’ she said. She ran her hands through her matted hair.

I glanced at the wall clock. ‘Afternoon,’ I said, admiring the view.

‘I hope you don’t mind.’ She tugged down on the T-shirt hem.

I waved a hand. ‘Of course not. It looks better on you anyway. Coffee…? I only have instant.’

‘Oh, coffee would be great… thanks.’

We took our brews out on the outdoor setting, taking in the view. Conversation was light while our brains waited for the caffeine to kick start them awake.

Holding her cup in both hands, Sarah asked, ‘How many shots did we do last night?’

‘I’ve no idea. I lost count. It was a top night though, wasn’t it?’

‘It was. What time do you reckon we got here this morning…?’

‘All I remember is the sun was up when we were walking along the beach. Did you catch the strange looks we were getting from the early morning joggers and walkers…?’

‘Ah… I sure did. Was a little uncomfortable, but hey… I’d just had the best night I’ve had for a while,’ she said, then sipped her coffee.

‘What is it about this kid who went missing from your street all those years ago that everyone seems to be so interested in?’

‘It was tragic. A little boy gets stolen right out of his front yard and no-one sees anything, knows who did it, or where he is.’

‘Why the interest after twenty-five years…? I would’ve thought after all this time people would forget about him… you know, maybe with the passage of time, accept that he met with foul play.’

‘For one reason or another, his case remained in the media every year.’

‘Really. Why?’

‘Every time there was a new lead, or another suspect, it was reported on.’

‘There must’ve been plenty of leads, or suspects if people still remember the case twenty-five years later.’

‘When he went missing, the community banded together searching. I think everybody hoped for that happy ending.’

‘It is quite tragic when you take the time to think about it,’ I said. ‘Mitch reckons his old man looks like me in 30 years…’

‘Yeah, I can see that, I suppose. But I think you look more like the photos the cops have of what they estimate Jayden looks like today. Did you know Jayden’s father passed away a couple of days ago…?’

‘Yeah, it was on the news.’

‘My family knew him. I’m going to his funeral tomorrow with mum and dad.’

‘As freaky as that is… You’re not the first one to tell me I look like this missing kid, since I have been here.’

‘No?’

‘Yep. A cop came up to Mitch and me at a bar last night and asked me if I was…what’s his name…? Jayden Evans…’

‘That’s right.’

‘Problem is…I was born and bred in Western Australia. This is my first trip to Queensland, so you can imagine my surprise when people keep thinking I’m someone else.’

‘That would be weird…’

‘Morning you two…’ Mitch said as he and Sarah’s friend, Bec, shuffled into the kitchen. Like me, Mitch was dressed in his track pants and no shirt. Bec wore her clothes from last night–a little red dress, minus the heels.

‘Kettle’s hot,’ I said.

By the time we’d all finished our bitter instant coffees, I suggested we head down and grab some breakfast from somewhere, or rather lunch, given it was well after 1pm.

The girls declined due to only having last night’s clothes. Something about the walk of shame.

I offered to drive them home to Robina to get changed, but their preference for an Uber won out. It was probably the right choice given the number of shots we did last night. I doubt I’d pass any breatho.

We parted company with the girls when the Uber turned up.

After our showers, we went in search of some food, preferably something greasy.

---

Old habits won out over being adventurous with meal choices. After all, there’s nothing better after a big night on the beers than a Macca’s hamburger. So, McDonald’s it was for brunch.

While we dined in, chowing down on our orders of hamburgers, fries, and a Coke to wash it down, I got to thinking about this missing kid.

I wiped my mouth with a serviette and said to Mitch, ‘We’ve only been here five minutes and there’s been three people—you, that cop and Sarah— who have all compared my looks to this missing kid from twenty-five years ago. Am I the only one who finds that intriguing?’

Mitch gulped down a huge mouth full before answering. ‘Not at all, bro… I agree with you.’

‘Maybe the family really is some distant relative to dad’s family line,’ I said. ‘Could explain the apparent genetic similarities.’

‘Maybe…’ Mitch said before shovelling some fries into his mouth.

‘It’s got me intrigued,’ I said. I Googled his name. ‘I have to find out more about this mystery kid. Why the resemblance?’

Pages of hits returned from my search of “Jayden Evans”. ‘Check this out… There’s a Wikipedia page for this kid,’ I said. ’It’s called, “Disappearance of Jayden Evans”.

‘You’re shittin’ me…’

The page had a photograph of the missing three year old boy. The 1994 photo was of average quality and did not reproduce well. ‘So that’s what you look like…’ I said, thinking out loud.

‘Show me…’

I handed Mitch my phone. His eyes flicked from the screen, to me and back again several times. ’I suppose there’s some similarities there… Long bow for mine, though. I reckon you look more like his dad.’

I accepted the phone back. ‘Says here he was three when he went missing from Robina on 8th of May 1994. He was playing in his front yard. His mum went inside the house to use the toilet. When she returned, she couldn’t find him. He was gone.’

I continued reading. ‘It says here that two hundred volunteers joined police and emergency workers searching overnight. Police divers searched dams and waterways. They even searched every house in the area, several times. No clues were found.’

‘Do you think it’s all legit…?’ Mitch asked. ‘I mean…Do you think the family was involved? Doesn’t that sound a little unusual to you? She went inside to go to the toilet… And the kid goes missing.’

‘Who knows…? But it says here, the cops cleared the family of any involvement.’

‘That’s just tragic bro… Probably some fucken rock spider grabbed him.’

I continued reading the web page. ‘Funny you should say that. It says here there were forty-three registered sex offenders living in the Robina area at the time this kid went missing.’

‘Forty-three. Are you shittin’ me? Unbelievable. Did they suspect a paedophile grabbed him, though?’

‘According to this they did, at first. They had a suspect with over one hundred convictions relating to child sex offences…’

’100… What the fuck. What’s he doing out on the streets?’

‘Good question. This rock spider was even seen in the area on the day the kid disappeared.’

‘It had to be him, bro…’

‘You’d think so, right. But apparently he had a solid alibi,’ I said. ‘Listen to this… It says a car was sighted driving slowly passed the kid’s home more than once on the morning he disappeared… A green sedan. Could they be any vaguer on the car’s description?’

‘So… No suspects?’

‘On the contrary. It says here they interviewed a total of eight suspects, but none was ever charged.’

‘The kid just vanished into thin air,’ Mitch said, dripping with cynicism.

‘There has been 2468 sightings of this kid since he disappeared…’

‘2471…’ Mitch corrected. My frowning eyes questioned Mitch. ‘If you add me to the two more from last night bro…’ Mitch said with a grin. ‘The cop and Sarah…’

I couldn’t contain my grin. I had to give him that one. That was little bit funny. ‘So it just goes to show…with 2468 sightings…I’m not the only one around here who looks like this missing kid.’

‘Maybe they just want it so badly, their minds mess with them. You know… they think they see the poor kid, even when it’s not him,’ Mitch said.

‘Tell me about it. No-one knows that more than me. Oh wow…’ I kept reading. ‘There’s a one million dollar reward offered by the Queensland Government… And it’s still current today,’ I said. ‘Maybe that’s what motivates people on these never-ending sightings. It says here that on his birthday, every year for ten years after his disappearance, the cops made an appeal for information on his whereabouts. No wonder folks around here can’t let this go. They had an annual reminder of it.’

I returned to the browser. ‘What was the street name Sarah said she lived in…?’

Mitch shrugged as he sipped on his watered down Coke.

‘Woodlands Drive, wasn’t it?’ I said. I typed this street into Google Maps. ‘I’m getting sucked in, Bro. I wanna see the house this kid lived in…’

‘Do you have a street number?’

‘No.’ I fired off a quick text to Sarah. Her reply was instant. Number 14. I did a ‘street view’ of the house. Nothing special about it. White weatherboard with a white picket front fence. A rope swing hung from one of the tall trees in a large front yard. There is a driveway down the side to a garage at the rear of the block.

Mitch checked his watch. ‘This is all really intriguing bro… but the sun’s out…it’s about 35 degrees out there and we’re sitting in here looking at a phone…Let’s go body surf the shit out these waves.’

I ‘hibernated’ my phone. ‘You’re right. Sorry bro. I’m there.’

chapter 6

The next morning, while enjoying a morning cup of instant coffee on the balcony, I was quietly celebrating a much clearer head, courtesy of a more subdued night.

I was lost in the ambiance when Mitch stepped onto the balcony carrying coffees and a brown paper bag.

‘Hey…I didn’t realize you were up,’ I said glancing over my shoulder.

‘Couple hours now. I couldn’t stomach that instant shit again, so I did a coffee run and these looked so good,’ he said dropping two rounds of ham and cheese toasties on the table in front of me.

‘Awesome, bro.’

I cracked the lid on the coffee and breathed in the wafting aroma. The only thing better than the smell of strong coffee in the morning, is that very first sip.

While I was chowing down of my toasties and taking in the view, Mitch dropped toast crumbs over the newspaper he was reading.

‘Hey… there’s a big article in here on today’s funeral for that missing kid’s old man,’ Mitch announced.

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I recalled. ‘Sarah said she and her parents were going to that today.’

Mitch read the article in silence. As he turned the page he announced, ‘his unfortunate tragedy really brought him some sort of celebrity, didn’t it…? I mean, this write up is like a eulogy of his life, but he was just the father of a missing kid, who was never found.’

‘Can’t imagine how that would feel… Never knowing if your boy was alive or dead. Never knowing if he became fodder passed around in some sick paedophile ring… or if he was a rock spider’s victim who buried his crime.’ A chill ran down my spine. I was starting to understand the intrigue this case held over a community. ‘Hey, what church was the funeral at…?’

Mitch turned back the page and scanned the article. ‘St Patricks in Robina. The article suggests standing room only…’ Mitch’s eyes lifted from the article. ‘Thinking of going…?’

I glanced out over the ocean while I considered my response. ’You know what… I wouldn’t mind. There’s something about this missing kid that intrigues me. ‘Wanna come with…?’

Mitch pushed himself from his chair and checked out the surf. ‘You know what, bro, there’s a pretty good swell there this morning. I think I might hire a board a catch a few…’

‘Cool.’ I gestured to the newspaper. ‘What time is the service today?’

Mitch checked the paper. ‘Um…11am.’

---

St Patricks in Robina was a twenty-minute drive, with directions courtesy of Google Maps. The 18th Century Gothic style church stood proud with its towering spire, pointed arched stained glass windows, wide concrete apron with steps leading up to a pointed arched door. It was built on a corner to maximise its commanding presence.

Parked cars lined the narrow residential streets for blocks. It was after 11am by the time I found a parking space. The stroll back to the church in the twenty-eight degree temperatures and clear skies had me questioning if Mitch’s surf option would’ve been better.

A PA system broadcast the service to over 100 mourners unable to cram inside. I took up a position at the back, near the footpath. Those gathered formed a sea of uniform black. I glanced down at my navy, Nike shorts, white surfing tee and thongs. At least my sunnies were black.

It wasn’t long before memories of dad’s funeral flooded back. I wiped a tear from my cheek as I listened about the life of someone I never knew.

Forty minutes standing in the baking sun had me questioning what I was doing there. What was I hoping to achieve? If I was being honest to myself, I didn’t really know. I didn’t know the old guy who died, so the long eulogies meant nothing to me. I checked my watch for the umpteenth time considering whether to call it.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here…’ Detective Brent Dawes said, as he sidled up beside me.

‘Hey…’ I nodded. ‘Yeah, a friend I met the other night is here, so I thought I’d come and see if I can catch up with her. What about you…Why are you here?’

‘This case has been my life for twenty-five years. I’ve come to know the family very well…’

‘Yet, you’re standing out here with me.’

He shaded his eyes as he regarded me. ‘Got held up at work…’ His tone was firm, as if forced to defend his tardiness.

Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven began crackling over the outdoor speakers. Mourners commenced to file out from the church. Family members, relatives and close friends trailed the coffin down the front steps. Sarah was among the early groups to emerge. They exchanged handshakes, hugs, cheek kisses and embraces.

‘What are your plans from here?’ the cop asked.

I checked my watch, even though the time was irrelevant to me. ‘Got some surfing to do,’ I said.

‘Why don’t you let me buy you some lunch? There’s a great little café not too far from here.’

‘Thanks. Really… But I’ve got to get back. I’m going surfing with my mate.’ I lied.

‘OK… What about a coffee then. One coffee won’t take up your afternoon.’ He regarded me while I considered his offer. ‘What do ya say…?’

While I considered a convincing inability, Sarah approached. ‘I didn’t know you were coming…’ She said, then greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.

‘Well… all this talk about look-a-likes… I thought I’d see first-hand who this family is.’ Sarah’s smile was genuine as her eyes flicked to the cop. She extended him a warm smile. ‘This is…’ I held my hand to the cop but his name escaped me.

The cop extended his hand to Sarah. ‘Brent Dawes…’ Sarah accepted his hand shake.

‘Sarah…’ she replied.

‘Lovely to meet you,’ he said. ‘How do you two know each other?’

Sarah and I exchanged a smirk. Saying we were each other’s drunken conquests would not be appropriate, so I went with, ‘we met in Surfer’s a few nights back…’

‘I see…’ the Cop said with a knowing smile.

‘Funny story, actually…’ Sarah began, as if trying to justify our little tryst to the cop. ‘I thought Kade looked remarkably like the photos the cops published of an older version of Jayden. I actually asked him if he ever lived in Woodlands Drive.’

I can’t explain why, but as the words left her mouth I experienced a strange sense of guilt, even though I’d done nothing wrong.

‘Is that right…?’ The cop said holding an ‘I told you so’ smirk at me. ‘And what did he say…?’

‘He told me they were from WA, so I knew it couldn’t be him.’

’Did you live in Woodlands Drive?’ the cop asked Sarah.

‘Still do.’

‘What number?’ Sarah regarded Dawes before answering.

To allay her concerns over why this old guy, she has never met, asks her what number she lives at, I jabbed a thumb at Dawes. ‘He’s the lead cop who’s been investigating your missing neighbour all these years…’ I clarified.

Sarah shaded her eyes as she checked Dawes out. ’Oh right. I thought you looked familiar,’ she said. ‘I live at number 26,’

‘So, that’s six doors up from Jayden’s home.’ He didn’t wait for confirmation. ‘Did you know Jayden, then?’

Sarah shook a firm head. ‘I was too young. My parents did, though. I only know about it because my parents often speak of the case and the family.’

The cop jabbed a sideways thumb. ‘We were just going for a coffee. Why don’t you join us,’ he said to Sarah.

Sarah glanced back towards the front of the church. ‘Oh, thank you. But I must get going. I’m driving mum and dad to the wake at the Evans’ house.’

‘OK then. It was lovely meeting you,’ the cop said.

‘Likewise,’ Sarah said. She moved in and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Give me a call later,’ she said quietly in my ear. I watched her move back to be with her parents.

The cop held up his keys. ‘Where are you parked? I’ll drive.’

I gestured to the corner. ‘I’m around there a couple blocks down…but I didn’t accept your offer.’

‘Yes you did…’ He lightly guided my arm as we commenced to walk. ‘You just didn’t realize it. I’m just here.’ He remotely unlocked the unmarked cop car, illegally parked near the corner. ‘I’ll bring you back to your car afterwards.’

As he opened the driver’s door, I checked over my shoulders while I considered how to refuse his offer.

‘Come on, get in,’ he said over the roof of his car.

I had nothing, so I opened the passenger door and slid into the front seat.

Chapter 7

Menial small talk prevented awkward silence during the short drive to a suburban retail strip. Shops lined both sides of the street. Alfresco cafes were popular in the area.

We parked in the street—illegally of course, outside a busy café. The cop chose an outdoor table next to the road, shaded from the sun by an extended canopy. We slid into our chairs opposite each other. A manila folder he brought with him from the car, sat on the table beside him.

I glanced around at all the lunch time activity, contemplating what I was doing there, while the cop ordered our coffees from a table waitress.

He clasped his hands and leaned on his elbows. ‘So…Sarah, eh. Not a bad sort. She seems like a nice girl.’

His icebreaker small talk was obvious. I shrugged. ‘We only just met the other night.’ The cop regarded me, a little uncomfortably for mine. ‘Why am I here…?’ I asked. My bluntness was intentional.

‘I’ve been investigating the disappearance of Jayden Evans for twenty-five years. The last ten, or so, have been without any breakthroughs.’

‘And you think I’m your breakthrough…?’

‘I certainly haven’t discounted that yet…’

‘Frankly, Detective, I’m on holidays at the moment and the last thing I want is to be sitting here with you wasting all this sunshine, while you reminisce over your twenty-five year old case.’

‘See… That’s the thing. I think you do. I think you wanna know more about this missing kid. That’s why you went to the funeral. That’s why you agreed to this coffee…’

It was difficult to refute his argument. I was curious, although I had no intention of letting him know that.

He opened the folder and slipped out an A4 sized photo and slid it across the table. ‘That is the computer generated prediction of what we think Jayden would look like today.’

I lifted the page and examined the digital image. Granted, there was a similarity to me, but in reality, the manufactured image would also look like thousands of other people. The only reason none of them are sitting here is because they didn’t have the misfortune of crossing paths with a desperate detective, who for mine, was like a drowning man grabbing onto anything thrown his way.

‘Don’t you see it…?’ The cop said.

‘See what?’

‘The uncanny resemblance to you.’

‘Uncanny resemblance. No. No, I don’t. A little similar… Maybe.’

‘A little similar…?’ He said, collapsing back in his chair like he’d just received bad news. He pulled his cigarettes from his suit pocket while he regarded me. He lit us his durry and dropped the packet and lighter onto the table.

‘Look here…’ I said pointing to the image, ‘This chin is squarer than mine. The nose is different to mine and these eyes are green. Mine are blue. And don’t get me started on that hair style. What century is that from…?’

The waitress brought our coffees to the table while we argued the point over likeness.

His cigarette hung limp from his lips while he returned to the folder and slid out a photograph. He dragged in a lung full, then blew it sideways and said, ‘Do you have any photos of yourself when you were younger…?’ He said. He tapped the ash from his durry, into an ashtray.

‘What. Here…? Are you seriou— Do you carry around photos of a younger you in your wallet?’

‘Good point.’ He pushed a photo over to my side. ‘That’s Jayden when he was three… before he went missing.’

‘I saw these on the internet.’

‘See, there’s my point from earlier. You have even looked up this case on the Internet. Just like me, you wanna know more.’ He dragged in another lung full.

I shook a firm head. ‘Not “just like you”, at all,’ I reassured. ‘My only interest is because some people say I look like this kid, or his now deceased father. Nothing more. Do I think I’m him?’ I said with a flick of a hand at the photo on the table. ‘No. I definitely do not.’

‘We’ll agree to disagree,’ he said as he shaped the ash into a point on the edge of the ashtray.

‘Do you even begin to understand how frustrating and even offensive it is to have someone like you trying to tell me I am not the person I know I am…?’

‘I understand what you are saying.’

‘Do you, though…?’

‘I do understand… really.’ He flicked a finger at me. ‘I noticed you sugared your coffee and stirred it with your left hand…Are you left handed?’

I overtly checked my watch and sighed. He got my hint but chose to ignore it. ‘Yes…’ I said. ‘This is where you tell me this kid is also left handed…right?’

The cop grinned as he removed a photo of the missing kid in happier times, painting on an easel. He slid it over to my side. I left it on the table while I glanced at it. ‘Paint brush in his left hand…’ the cop pointed out.

‘A lot of kids at that age are ambidextrous. They don’t know which hand they favour.’

He slid out another image. ‘That’s him in his high chair feeding himself. Spoon in his left hand.’ He slid out another photo and slid across the table. ‘And that’s him swinging a kid’s plastic golf club—left handed…’

‘OK… I get it. The kid was left handed…Not exactly ground breaking forensics, is it…?’

‘Here’s what I have…’ He pushed back a finger. ‘Jayden would be twenty-eight now, if he is alive today. You are twenty-eight.’ He pushed back another finger. ‘Jayden is left-handed. You are left handed.’ He pushed back a third finger. ’You bear a remarkable resemblance to the computer generated prediction of an older Jayden’s physical appearance. He slid out another photo. ‘And you also look like the recently deceased Graham Evans. He could easily have been your father,’ he said tapping the last photo.

‘I don’t know what to tell you, Detective.’ I pushed the photos back to him. ‘You left out that I was born and raised in WA.’

He gathered the photos and placed them in the folder. ‘I’d like to visit that further…Tell me about your parents…’

‘What, so you can expand your witch hunt to include them… I don’t think so.’

He raised a hand. ‘Fair enough. I’ll just focus on you, then. I know your Christian name… but what’s your surname?’

‘How is that relevant…? You know it’s not Evans.’

‘Just humour me…’

With a roll of my eyes, I gave in. ‘Miller.’

‘Kade Miller…’ he repeated, as if committing to memory. ‘Where were you born…? What hospital?’

‘I was a bit young to remember…’

He grinned at my non-committal response. ‘Where did you go to primary school?’

‘My primary school education was from my mum… She’s a qualified primary school teacher.’

‘Does that mean you were home schooled..?’

‘It does.’

‘Why was that? Religious reasons…?’

‘Shit no. Dad was an engineer working in the mines up near Karratha…We lived in the middle of nowhere in a small pop-up town for all the mine workers and their families…’

‘So…were you born up near Karratha…?’

‘Like I said… I was too young.’

He sucked his teeth as he lifted his disposable lighter and sparked up a flame. ‘I didn’t ask if you remember your birth…’ He said studying the flickering flame. He sparked another flame. ‘Have you discussed where you were born, with your parents…?’

‘Not really…’

‘Not really…? Not really–Yes, or not really–No.’ He dropped the lighter onto the cigarette packet.

‘No.’

‘But you knew you were home schooled…’

‘Of course… How else do you think I learned to read and write…?’

‘What work do you do…?’

‘Civil Engineer?’

‘Like your dad…’

‘Correct.’

‘Where did you get your degree?’

‘UWA.’

‘UWA… Is that… University of Western Australia…?’ I nodded. ‘Is that in Perth?’

‘It is.’

‘So, being from Karratha…. you lived on campus then…?’

‘No. Dad moved jobs when I was about twelve or thirteen…He accepted a job in Perth. So we moved to Cottesloe, closer to his new job…’ After a short pause I said, ‘St Xavier’s…’

‘Sorry… What’s that, the name of your dad’s new company?’

‘No… That’s the secondary school I went to. You were going to ask it, sooner or later…’

He found humour in my sarcasm. ‘St Xavier’s…Is that a private school?’

‘It is…’

‘That’s where you met your friend, Mitch…?’ he said as a question.

‘Good memory.’

‘Where do you currently work…?’

‘For an Engineering company in Perth. And the name of my employer is not important to you. I don’t want you stalking me, or contacting them.’ I checked my watch. ‘Look… Thanks for the coffee, Detective and the walk down memory lane… but I think you’ve got enough background from me to realize I am not your man. Regardless…I’m ready to go.’

‘OK. You’ve helped me more than you probably realize…’ He scooped up his cigarettes and folder. ‘I’ll fix up the coffees and run you back to your car.’

Chapter 8

Each night when Mitch tuned in for his evening news fix, I remained on the balcony with a cold beer pondering the elephant in the room—my resemblance to a three year old kid who went missing twenty-five years ago. It’s a dilemma that continues to occupy my waking thoughts.

Could there be a distant family connection I don’t know about? That would certainly explain the genetic similarities.

Or maybe it can be explained by the theory that everybody supposedly has seven people in the world who look just like them. Maybe Jayden Evans is one of my seven.

Regardless, and contrary to what Brent Dawes hopes, I am not his missing boy. I am not Jayden Evans.

Just like the previous four nights, the growing intrigue had me booting up my phone’s browser to continue my research on this missing kid.

YouTube videos provided replays from over 10 years of news articles. There was one with Jayden’s distressed parents making heart wrenching pleas to return their boy.

There were news articles of a much younger Brent Dawes, complete with thick brown hair and a dark moustache. He was almost hidden behind news media microphones, while he updated the public on the latest findings.

There were You Tubes of news articles depicting lines of people searching the local bush.

I found an article where Dawes was interviewed on what would have been Jayden’s fifth birthday. A caption read, “730 sleeps since Gold Coast mum last hugged her little boy lost.”

Reality hit hard when I read this. I instantly related it to my mum and how devastated she would be, if I was suddenly snatched from her life.

Imagine the tragedy of never being able to watch your child grow into an adult. Imagine never being able share the various stages of his developing years, all the while not knowing if they were alive or dead. Chills ran down my spine at the thought of it and I’m not a parent.

Another You Tube news video from 2018 reported that Jayden’s disappearance was only second in public interest to that of the three Beaumont children, who disappeared from a South Australia suburb in 1966 aged 9, 7 & 4. Like Jayden, they have never been found.

An incoming call from an unknown number lit up my phone. I stared at the warbling phone contemplating whether to answer it or not. Probably another off-shore call centre… again, I mused. ‘Hello…’ I waited for the sub-continent accent, with a thumb paused over the end call button.

‘Kade… good evening. This is Brent Dawes… How’s the holiday going?’

What the fff… ‘How did you get this number…?’

‘I’m a cop, mate. That’s what we do.’

‘No. Really. How did you get my mobile number…?’

‘I was in the Robina area on another matter, so I took the opportunity to visit Sarah. She gave me your number.’

‘Did she just…? I’ll have to have a word, or two with her. You don’t give out other people’s mobiles…’

Dawes scoffed. ‘Don’t blame her…I told her it was very important that I contact you urgently, so she thought she was helping.’

‘So, what do you want…?’

‘During our coffee, after the funeral last week, you mentioned you attended a private secondary school…’

’That’s right. St Xavier’s. What about it…?

‘Did you have the typical private school blazer…?’

‘Of course. Essential part of any college uniform.’

‘What colour was the St Xavier’s school blazer?’

’Green… bottle green with a gold logo embroidered on the pocket. Why are you asking this…?

After a brief pause, Dawes said, ‘I’m going to send you a link to a website…I want you to read it and call me straight back… OK?’

These cryptic games were wearing me thin. ‘Can’t you just tell me what is so important?’

‘No. I want you to read it for yourself.’ His voice had a strange excitement to it.

‘I assume this website is something to do with Jayden’s disappearance…’

‘Indirectly… Yes it is.’

‘And… I’m assuming because you are force feeding me this website…it has something to do with me as well…’

’Just read it. I think you’ll find it very interesting.’

‘If I read it… Will you leave me alone…?’

‘Probably not. Look…I’ve just sent you a link. Have a read and get back to me tonight.’

I ended the call and opened the link from the text message he sent. A website news article with a by-line dated 2004 opened. My chest tightened slightly when I read the headline;

“Jayden Evans is Alive and Well and Living in WA- UK Psychic”

The article was compelling reading. To be frank, I was a little stunned at this psychic’s comments, some of which were too close to home not to resonate. Clearly, this was the cop’s intentions.

I re-checked the date of the article. 2004. I was thirteen in 2004.

‘Hey bro…bought you another beer…’ Mitch said, stepping out onto the balcony.

Such was my focus on my phone I didn’t notice his approach. ‘Oh…hey. Cheers mate.’ I accepted the Corona.

‘You OK, bro…? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, or something.’

I took a long chug. ‘You could say that… I’m reading about this psychic from the UK… Back in 2004, she —’

‘Psychic. What the fuck, bro… You don’t believe in that shit. What are you reading that for?’

‘Back in 2004, she predicted that this missing kid, Jayden Evans, was alive and well and living in WA.’

Mitch slid into a chair. I had his attention. ‘How so…?’ He sipped his beer.

‘She was a guest on one of those midday-type talk shows… you know like Oprah…only in the UK. She was being interviewed about the number of successful missing persons cases she’d assisted local police in solving.’ Mitch gave a ‘keep going’ nod. ‘During a Q&A with the audience, someone from Australia asked this psychic if she knew anything about the disappearance of Jayden Evans, back in 1994.’

‘And did she…?’ Mitch said, leaning onto his elbows. He appeared surprisingly interested.

‘More than I expected, I’ve gotta say…’

‘Really…?’

’She says she was aware of this case. She said she had seen Jayden. He appeared relaxed, like he was having fun with boys his own age. She said he looked to be about twelve or thirteen years old.

Mitch rubbed a hand across his mouth. ‘That’s creepy….’

‘It says here that she was able to picture Jayden alive and well in the grounds of either a religious school, or a church, she wasn’t sure which. She’s never been to Australia before so it wasn’t completely clear to her, but she was getting a sense that it was a school in WA…’

‘A religious school…? In WA…?’ Mitch repeated knowingly. He too made the connection.

‘She said the front of the building she’d pictured had a tall spire, like a church, so that’s why she wasn’t certain, but she felt it was a religious school rather than a church.’

‘The admin building at Xavs had church spire,’ Mitch said.

‘Correct. She said she saw this kid sitting under a large shaded area, like a sail. He was having lunch with his friends.’

Mitch’s mouth fell open. ‘The outdoor café seating area at Xavs is covered by a huge sun sail…’

‘It gets worse… She said she thought the school she saw may have been a private school…’

‘How could she tell that?’

‘By the uniforms on the boys.’

‘This psychic saw that much detail?’

I nodded a muted response. ‘Have a guess what uniform she described back in 2004…’

Mitch sat upright in his chair as he treated me to a hard, but knowing stare. ‘No…’

I nodded my confirmation. ‘The Jayden she saw was wearing a green jacket with a gold logo on the pocket.’

‘Whoa!’ Mitch said. His eyes fell heavily to the floor. ‘How creepy is that?’

‘Too creepy. I don’t believe in this psychic shit… but what she is describing…’ My words trailed off. I didn’t want to articulate it out loud.

‘You wanna hope your cop mate doesn’t get a hold of this, bro.’

I returned serve on the hard stare. ‘How do you think I got this?’ I held up my phone.

‘What… the cop sent it you…?’ I nodded a silent confirmation. ‘Why did he do that…?’

‘Coz he thinks I’m him…’ I dropped the phone on the table. ‘And shit like this only feeds his suspicions,’ I said flicking a hand at my phone.

‘I gotta say though, bro… If I hadn’t grown up with you… I’d be starting to wonder as well after hearing all that creepy shit,’ Mitch said.

Call it closed minded, or maybe I’m yet to be convinced otherwise, but I don’t believe in psychic phenomena, mainly because their predictions are usually vague and can be adapted to suit most circumstances.

But the coincidences in these predictions made back in 2004 were way too close to my childhood. Could it be just that—coincidence, or was there more to this?

‘What are ya gunna do?’

I lifted my chin to the phone. ‘He wants me to call him back to discuss what I just read.’ My eyes locked on to the phone on the table. It is the last thing I want to do.

‘Are you going to…?’

I shrugged. ‘Don’t really want to.’

‘Let him sweat, bro. We’re on holidays. I reckon we should grab a feed then hit the bars…’ Mitch drained what was left of his beer.

I studied what remained of my beer before taking a sip. I know I can’t unread all that, but will I be able to just park it and go out and get pissed? I’m not so sure. There was something very creepy about this.

‘You know what, bro…Why don’t I just call this cop back and get it out of the way.’

Mitch stood from his chair. ‘Your call, mate…’ He said. It was difficult to tell if he was disinterested or disappointed at everything. He pointed to my beer. ‘Want another?’

‘Yeah, thanks.’ I watched him move back inside. My eyes fell back to the phone. ‘Fuck it…’ I caved and called the cop back. It answered after one ring.

Chapter 9

‘How did you go…?’ Dawes asked.

‘Were you sitting on it…? Did it even ring at your end…?’

Dawes chuckled down the phone. ‘Just keen to hear your comments.’

‘What can I say…? She’s a psychic. I don’t rate psychics…’

‘Did you read the article?’

‘I did.’

‘And…?’

‘And, what?’ There was no way I was sharing my true thoughts with him. ‘I told you…She’s a psychic. Most of them are frauds…aren’t they?’

‘Come on, Kade…’ he said like he was trying to convince me to try something for the first time. ‘Surely you noticed the similarities…’

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to answer.

‘You’re an intelligent bloke…’ the cop said. ‘I don’t need to spell it out to you. You would’ve made the obvious connections.’

Mitch returned and handed me a beer. I activated loudspeaker as he slid into his chair. ‘All I noticed were a number of coincidences…That’s what psychics do…they give vague descriptions and allow you to fill in the blanks, so it fits to your circumstances.’

‘Vague descriptions…?’ The cop’s tone was firm but questioning. ‘I suppose the green blazer was vague….’ he said. ‘I suppose the detail about the gold logo on the pocket was vague… and she couldn’t have been vaguer about the school description, could she…?’ he said oozing sarcasm. ‘A religious private school… in WA,’ he emphasized.

‘I don’t know what to tell you…’

‘I Googled St Xavier’s College, Kade. The older part of the school building has a spire at the front, like a church…Just like she claimed to see.’

‘Aha.’ He was not getting me to say I agree with him. He never will.

‘You’re being difficult now…’ he said with obvious thinning patience. ’

’Am I….? Am I being difficult… or am I prepared to look at this objectively, rather than with your closed mind?’

‘I have a closed mind, do I?’

‘You’re looking for anything to support your theory of who I am, without considering any opposing views.’

‘Is that right…?’

’Well…you just said you Googled St Xavier’s… how do you know this psychic didn’t do that? You’ve seen the school website…it’s filled with students in full dress. There’s photos of the café’s outdoor sail covered dining area. All this information is readily available online.’ Mitch lifted his beer to me as if to approve of my comments.

’But was it readily available back in 2004…?’ his tone was condescending.

‘Of course it was. Those facilities were there when I was a student.’

‘OK… then tell me this…why did she pick St Xavier’s College…? She could have picked any one of the other colleges in WA. For that matter…why did she choose WA…?’

‘She didn’t actually name St Xavier’s…you’ve drawn that connection. But you’d have to ask her those questions, Detective…’ My patience for this bloke had all but evaporated. ’Wouldn’t that be part of your job… to actually find the answers to these questions before you go off half-cocked and accuse innocent people?’

What irked me the most was, if he thinks I am Jayden then that implies my parents had something to do with this kid’s disappearance. And that to me is about as offensive as anyone can be. ‘I can’t believe you, as a detective who should work on hard facts, not witchcraft, is placing so much reliance on the comments of a Psychic…’

’Those comments you referred to, turn out to be fairly accurate…’

‘Because you want them to be…’ I blurted. ‘That’s what they do.’

‘You don’t think you’re Jayden… I have a strong suspicion you may be… At this point we’ll agree to disagree.’

’A strong suspicion based on an aged computer generated image of a three year old boy.’

‘Not just the photo. What about his father, Graham…? You can’t deny that you look like Jayden’s father. Hell, even Mitch identified the comparison.’ I shot Mitch a hard stare. He cowered like a dog about to be chastised. ‘There is one way we can settle this,’ he said like he was discussing a wager between friends. He paused waiting for my response. I left him hanging. ‘Give me a DNA sample…’

Mitch firmly shook his head at me. I held up a hand. ‘Not happening,’ I said.

‘Why not? It’s quick and easy. Just a saliva swab and you’re on your way.’

‘You’re not getting my DNA, OK.’

‘I say you’re Jayden…you say you’re not. Let the DNA sample decide.’

‘I don’t need a DNA sample to tell me who I am.’

‘Come on it won’t — ’

‘I-Said-No!’ It was time to escalate this. ‘I’ve just about had a gut full of you and your implications…’

‘Implications…?’

‘Implications… If you think I’m Jayden fuckin’ Evans, then that implies my parents were somehow involved in his abduction.’

‘I’m not implying that at all Kade…’ Dawes said. ’I’m actually suggesting they were involved – somehow.’

‘Whoa…’ Mitch said. ‘Dude… That’s harsh.’

‘Is that Mitch…? Hi Mitch I didn’t know you were there.’

I clenched my jaw as I pushed myself from away the table, leaving my phone. I leaned my hands on the balcony, staring out into the darkness while I tried to calm my racing blood pressure. My jaw ached. My temples throbbed as my knuckles whitened.

‘Mate, you’re colder than a mother-in-law’s kiss…’ Mitch said. ‘I have known Mr & Mrs Miller for more than fifteen years, well before Mr Miller passed away and you would never meet better people. They’re not even my parents and I’m offended by your comments. I can’t begin to imagine how pissed off Kado would be…’

‘I understand what you — ’

I’d heard enough. I grabbed the phone and ended the call, dropping it onto the table. ‘Fuck you!’ I screamed at the phone as it bounced on the table. I found myself pacing the balcony like a lifer pacing his cell.

‘You OK, bro…?’

Before I could answer Mitch, the phone started ringing and vibrating on the glass table. I checked the number. ‘It’s that piece of shit again…’ I said as I shut down my phone. ‘I need a drink, bro…Let’s hit the bars.’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

Chapter 10

The next morning we were up and about early, thanks to a clear head from an uneventful night. My buzz-kill stalker from last night destroyed any chance I had of enjoying myself. His accusatory phone call kept resonating most of the night. In the end I was unable to get the taste, so I called it early.

On the upside, the forecast was for a scorcher and with only two days remaining, we took the opportunity to grab an early breakfast and hit the manicured beach.

I call it a manicured beach because in the wee hours of every morning on the Gold Coast, a tractor drags the sand to remove all rubbish, leaving a neatly swept and even sand for the new day.

There were many mornings we exchanged a drunken wave with the tractor driver, as we staggered home along the beach.

We chose a patch of neatly dragged sand within the red and yellow flags. The information board on display showed a water temperature of twenty-two degrees and a swell of one metre. It also warned of strong rips outside the safe swimming area.

With sunscreen applied and an Esky full of water and cold beers to keep us hydrated, we settled in for what promised to be a relaxing day.

By 9.30am the temperature was at twenty-eight degrees and rising fast. The gentle easterly did little to alleviate the heat. Beach umbrellas dotted the sands as hundreds of like-minded people sought respite, with others still arriving in droves.

The surf was a shore break which shortened any rides, but the glassy one metre face was ideal for body surfing. Bodies spread along each wave face like dolphins sharing a ride.

After an energetic surf session, we strolled the beach back to our patch of sand. ‘What time are the girls arriving?’ Mitch asked.

‘They said around 10-ish…’

While electing to sun dry, over towel, I scanned the beach to take in the general vibe of the place. Squawking seagulls hovered over the shallows. Kids were digging holes near the water’s edge, others were building sandcastles with their dads. People were throwing Frisbees or playing beach cricket. It was so relaxed.

It wasn’t long before Sarah and Bec arrived under the shade of stylish, wide-brimmed sun hats and over-sized sunglasses. Both girls were tall and leggy. Their suntans were natural, not bottled. Their brief G-String style black bikinis fully exposed their toned bum cheeks, leaving little to the imagination.

Our beach rendezvous was arranged the night before. By the time we received a text from Sarah last night asking if we wanted to catch up at a club, we’d already called it for the night. My reply invited the girls to join us at the beach today. They happily accepted.

‘What happened to you boys last night…? The Gold Coast pace a little too much for you Western Australians…?’ Sarah jibed.

‘Huh. Hardly…’ I scoffed, making sure our rep didn’t take a hit. I lifted a handful of sand and watched it sift through my fingers. ‘Detective Brent Dawes is what happened…’

’Is he still annoying you?’

’You have no idea. It’s a fait accompli as far as he is concerned…I am Jayden Evans and nothing will convince him otherwise.’

‘That must be so frustrating,’ Bec said.

‘You should’ve heard the accusations he made last night about Kado’s parents,’ Mitch said. I continued to watch the sand sift through my fingers, as Mitch explained. ‘Flat out says they’re the ones who kidnapped the missing kid twenty-five years ago…’ Mitch added with a disapproving shake of his head.

Sarah and Bec’s mouths fell open. ‘That is so wrong,’ Sarah said. ‘No wonder you weren’t in the mood for a sesh last night. I doubt anyone would be, after that.’

Buoyed by the girls’ support, I decided to update them with a general précis of my telephone call with Dawes from last night.

It was particularly reassuring when both girls agreed that by relying so heavily on a psychic, the cop was snatching at any evidence he could locate to suit his cause. They agreed he’s clearly desperate in his attempts to connect me to the Jayden Evans disappearance.

In the words of a thirsty old salt, the sun was over the yardarm, so I handed out the first round. ‘That’s enough energy wasted on last night’s call…We’re all unanimous in our opinion that the cop’s a piece of shit. Time for a cold one…gotta keep hydrated.’

Several hours of swimming, sunning and drinking flew by. Relaxed by the beers, Sarah decided to make her skimpy bikini even more revealing by getting her sizable girls out to sun bake topless. Bec followed shortly after.

Their choices not only met our approval, but judging from the extended stares, they also met the approval of the many blokes strolling by our patch of sand.

‘Do you need any help with that…?’ I said with a cheeky grin as I watched Sarah apply sunscreen to her exposed breasts. Judging by the lack of tan lines, it was apparent they came out to play in the sun quite often.

She smiled at my flirtatious offer. ‘Thanks… But I think I’ve got it covered,’ she said holding my gaze as she continued to massage the cream into her breasts.

When the sun repositioned west of centre, the girls re-fitted their bikini tops and we grabbed some food from the café at the local surf lifesaving club — hamburgers for Mitch and me and chicken salad wraps for the girls.

Once our hunger pangs were satisfied we returned to our patch of sand to continue enjoying the good life by the beach.

As we reclined on our towels, Sarah lifted herself onto an elbow. ‘I’ve been thinking…’ Sarah began. It was difficult to maintain eye contact now the top was off again, but I did my best behind my dark sunnies. ‘What do you think about visiting Mrs Evans? Hear me out before you decide,’ she said.

‘Go on…’

‘She could meet you and see for herself that you are not her lost boy. I’m sure a mother would know if you were her son…’

I sat up and dusted the sand from my hands. ‘I hear ya but…Wouldn’t that be dredging up a painful past…?’

‘No more than what the media has done over the last week, after her husband died… Besides… While the wound is still open from recent events, it would be a good time to see her. Less chance of upsetting her when she is already at a low from being force fed the last twenty-five years of her life all over again.’

I watched the rolling waves while I considered Sarah’s suggestion. It has merit. But what if Mrs Evans is as desperate as Dawes to find her boy? I couldn’t handle two of them telling me I’m someone I’m not. It would be a risk I had to take, if I choose to follow Sarah’s suggestion.

‘What do you think..?’ Sarah said, obviously impatient for my answer.

When I looked to Mitch for assistance, all he gave me was doughnuts by a non-committal shrug. ‘Thanks for your help, bro…’ I said, but with a grin to keep it light.

Mitch must’ve felt guilty. He sat up. ‘What would you hope to achieve from doing that?’ He asked.

‘Confirmation I am not Jayden Evans…’

‘You already know that, bro. We all do…’ Mitch said.

‘I know that… but others up here aren’t so convinced. Maybe I can put this to bed, once and for all, before we leave in a couple of days.’

Mitch nodded slowly as he lowered himself back onto his towel. ‘Then I say, why not. Suck it and see.’

‘That settles it,’ Sarah said lightly dusting specks of sand from her left breast. ‘We’ll visit her later this afternoon.’