Chapter 21

Work-life balance for me was something that dramatically changed after Dawes chose to travel to Perth and intrude on our lives, with his trumped up accusations.

My work is a distraction that keeps my mind occupied during the day. It is outside work however where Dawes has impregnated my psyche.

It is during this supposed downtime that my mind is a melting pot of emotions. From the concerns about how he is affecting mum’s health, to my overwhelming frustrations over why he is desperately trying to link me to a twenty-five year old missing person case.

Then there is the anger, which almost always escalates into vein-bulging rage over his astounding accusations that my parents were involved, all without the slightest shred of evidence.

I’m not an aggressive or violent person, but when I see what he is doing to my mum, I just want to hurt him.

All too often of late, I find myself lying awake in the early hours staring at the ceiling, concocting various undetectable scenarios for Dawes to have an ‘unfortunate’ accident.

Maybe my fascination over conspiracy theories feed these evil thoughts. But I often consider the various scenarios surrounding the many witnesses to JFK’s assassination; the ones who died from sudden ‘accidental’ causes, before they could give evidence.

Or the paparazzi photographer, who was a key witness to the 1997 car cash in a Paris tunnel that claimed the life of Princess Diana and Dodi Fayed. He was found twenty months later in a burnt out car with two gunshots to the head. The legal finding was death by suicide. The conspiracy theorists question how he could shoot himself in the head—twice, then torch his own car.

These are the type of ‘accidents’ I wish on Dawes; ones that only the likes of the CIA or MI6 really know what happened. That is until my rational brain kicks me back into reality.

---

Two days after Dawes dumped the warrant on mum, I was driving back to my office from a site meeting with one of my Foremen, when my Manager called. I tapped the hands free.

‘Hey Jim. What’s up?’

‘Are you far from the office?’

‘Ten minutes. Just been to the Barrow Towers job.’

‘Peter wants to see you in his office when you get back.’

‘Why? What’s up?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘OK. Will do…’

I ended the call wondering why the National General Manager was summoning me. I am too far down the food chain for him to even know who I am. I couldn’t help thinking this isn’t going to be good meeting.

A short elevator ride released me at the 4th floor executive suite. The Managing Director’s Personal Assistant greeted me, then directed me to a side chair, while she notified her boss of my arrival.

The waiting area was bathed in natural light from tinted ceiling-to-floor windows. Framed photos of the company’s more high-profile builds lined a wall like trophies. Another wall displayed an oversized indigenous artwork.

My window gazing was broken when the PA announced, ‘Peter is ready for you now…’

Ready for me… Ready for what? I suppose I was about to find out.

The door to the MD’s office was closed. I knocked and waited until a voice instructed me to “come in.”

Peter stood from his desk to greet me when I entered his spacious office. He thanked me for coming up and directed me to the visitor chair at his desk.

By Aussie bloke standards Peter is a short man; around 160 centimetres. I have seen him around the place but never held a conversation with him. He is a man who spoke with confidence and implied power, consistent with his corporate leadership and the toughness he is renowned for.

I slid into the visitor chair like a nervous student summoned to the principal’s office, waiting to get reamed over something I had done.

Peter pointed to me. I froze momentarily. ‘Can I get you a Drink? Water? Coffee?’

I rubbed my perspiring palms down my thighs. A straight bourbon would be great. What I actually said though was, ‘water would be great. Thank you.’

Peter leaned on a button on his desk phone. ‘Rebecca, could you bring some water in, please.’

He glared across his desk at me. Inside I cowered like a disobedient puppy about to cop a basting. Peter was difficult to get a read on. He had a fierce glare that would melt stone.

He leaned on his elbows and clasped his hands together. ‘I suppose you are wondering why I asked to see you…’

‘The thought did cross my mind…’

’This company… your company… prides itself on its integrity and reputation within this competitive industry…’

Unsure where this is going, I nodded once, as proof of life.

‘What we can’t afford to happen is, anything that will question this integrity we have worked hard to earn. And that includes the action of our employees…’ He held my glare.

‘I understand. But why are you telling me this?’

Peter’s PA knocked on the door and entered carrying a tray with a jug of water and two glasses. She placed them on the desk and left.

Peter waited for the door to close. ‘I had a visit from the police yesterday…’ he began.

‘OK…’

‘A detective from Queensland…’ There it is. I rolled my eyes. ‘His name was—’

‘Brent Dawes.’

‘That’s right. Do you know him?’

‘Unfortunately, yes, I do…’

Peter regarded me in silence. It was difficult to get a read on his thoughts.

‘This Detective made some very serious allegations about your family and you…’ I shook my head. ‘Is any of this true…?’

‘What has he alleged?’

‘He said a young boy went missing twenty-five years ago. kidnapped from his front yard. He says—’

‘This is bullshit…’ I said in a rush of emotion. I collapsed back in my chair and tightly folded my arms. ‘I’m getting sick off this.’

‘Is any of it true…?’

‘What… That I’m that missing kid and my parents stole me…? Is that what he told you…?’

‘He did.’

My jaw tightened as I removed my phone and navigated to my photos, while Peter continued.

‘Your father was a well-respected executive officer and colleague within this company… and from all reports, you have inherited a number of his work qualities. But if any of this is true… Well…’ Peter shook his head as his voice trailed off.

‘These allegations are baseless,’ I said. ‘He makes them without any evidence at all. He is making my life hell over this.’ I handed Peter my phone. ‘That there is a copy of my birth certificate. The same photo I sent to Dawes to show him I was born in WA.’

Peter examined the photo. He nodded then handed back my phone. I continued to defend myself and my parents’ honour.

‘You’ll also be interested to know that while I was in Queensland on holidays, I visited the mother of this missing kid… to warn her this cop… this detective Dawes… was spreading false rumours by saying I was her son. She told me her son had a birth mark on his ribs, around this area…’ I tapped my ribs. ‘I do not have this birth mark. Yet despite all these facts, this cop continues to defame me and my family… Now he is involving my employer.’

‘I appreciate you telling me this. From my perspective, and that of the company, I have seen your birth certificate and I accept what you have told me. I am satisfied that we have nothing to concern ourselves over in relation to the allegations made by this Queensland detective.’

’You’ll also be interested to know that my parents left Queensland and moved here to WA, two years before this young kid was even born.’

‘I’m beginning to understand your frustrations.’

‘I appreciate that.’

‘I will make a file note of our meeting here today and that will be the end of the matter, as far as I am concerned. Now…’ he clasped his hands on the desk. ‘If there is nothing else… I’ll let you get back to your work.’

‘Thank you.’ I pushed myself up from my chair and left the office. I stormed passed the PA to the elevator and firmly punched the call button, probably a little too hard. Inside I was fuming. Cop or no cop, Dawes has no right to dump these baseless allegations on my employer. What could he possibly hope to achieve from it? This has got to stop. It is passed time for legal advice.

Chapter 22

I was still seething when I arrived at our favourite watering hole for our Thursday night drinks.

Located on the outskirts of the city, the pub was a quaint little tavern patronized by city workers, taking a detour on their way home. There is never any trouble. The beer is always cold and the noise levels are low, allowing easy discussions over a quiet beer.

Mitch and the boys were well into their first round when I arrived. I said my greetings over the chorus of comments about always being last to arrive, or arriving empty handed.

I waved off their attempts at humour. ‘OK. OK. I’ll get the next one…’ I said and headed for the bar.

While I watched the young bar girl pour five schooners of the good stuff, Mitch approached. ‘Hey, bro… Thought you could use a hand… Five is one too many to carry… Don’t want you droppin’ any…’

‘Would’ve grabbed a tray…’

‘All good. I’m here now.’

‘Cheers, mate.’

‘So how was your day…?’ Mitch said. ‘Manage to keep out of that heat?’

I’m sure Mitch’s question about my day was rhetorical. Like when someone asks, “how ya going…?” The reality is, usually they don’t really care.

Due to the volcano bubbling inside me however, I took Mitch’s question literally. I answered it as a way to vent off steam. ‘I’ve had a prick of a day, mate…’ Mitch raised curious eyebrows, as if he wasn’t expecting that response. ’Turns out your friend and mine… Super cop, Dawes, paid my work a visit and told my employer I am that missing kid from twenty-five years ago and my parents are the ones who kidnapped me…’

‘You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me…’ Mitch shook his head. ‘This bloke is an absolute dog…’

‘I think they were gunna sack me, if I admitted it was all true…’

‘What happened?’

‘I just showed them my birth certificate and other stuff that proved I’m not him…’

We watched the last of our beers land on the bar. After a tap of my credit card we made our way back to the table.

‘And they were happy with that…?’ Mitch said.

‘Yeah. They were… But I’m not. This prick is trying to ruin my life.’ I exaggerated checking over both shoulders. ‘You don’t happen to know a reliable hit man for hire, do you?’

Mitch stopped walking. His jaw fell open as he glared at me.

‘I’m kidding…’ I said with an elbow nudge.

Mitch laughed off his obvious relief. ‘You had me worried, bro… What with that newspaper article and now him visiting your work… I was starting to think he’d broken you…’

‘Newspaper article…?’ This time I stopped walking. ‘What newspaper article…?’

‘Today’s West Australian… You know… The article about your family in… today’s… paper…’ Mitch glared at me as his voice trailed off. ‘Ah, shit. You haven’t seen it…’

‘I’ve been too busy to read today’s paper…’

Mitch unloaded the beers he was carrying. I did the same. He surveyed the bar room like he was looking for something. ‘Nah, you’re gunna want to read this, bro. Dawes did an interview with a journalist…’ He held up a finger, ‘Hang on…’ he said then made his way back to the bar.

After a brief chat with barmaid, she retrieved a copy of the newspaper from under the counter and handed it to Mitch. When he returned he handed me the newspaper. ‘Page two, bro…’ He quickly pulled it back when I reached for it. ‘Just be prepared… You’re not gunna like what you read…but you need to see it.’

I held out my hand. ‘Now you’ve got me worried.’

‘What happened at your work today is a cake walk compared to this.’ He handed me the newspaper.

I opened to page two. A half page article with the headline, “Perth Family Hides Secret to 1994 Missing Boy Mystery” jumped out from the page. My pulse rate quickened as I commenced reading the article.

It was trash journalism at its best. The journalist reported how Queensland police believe that missing toddler Jayden Evans, who disappeared twenty-five years ago, is alive and well and living in Perth, with his mother after his father recently passed.

The article reproduces an interview with Dawes where he told of his investigation that led him to me and my parents, who reside in Perth.

I was gobsmacked. My temple throbbed as I continued reading. In the article Dawes told how he has evidence that suggests my parents—whom the article named and shamed— unlawfully took me from my front yard on the Gold Coast, when I was three year old Jayden Evans and moved me here to Perth to start a new life as their only son, now known as Kade Miller. I lowered the paper as my eyes lifted skyward. I can’t believe they published our names.

The libellous story did nothing but defame my family with a litany of lies and unfounded allegations. I never expected Dawes would stoop this low.

I checked the by-line. Christine Gould. How can she write this trash without first speaking to me or my parents to verify it, or at least, seek our comment?

‘You good, bro…?’ Mitch asked.

I couldn’t speak… My words jammed somewhere in my throat. I shook my head. No wonder Peter wanted to speak to me… He too must’ve read this article and probably felt it corroborated Dawes’ story.

I jammed the newspaper between my hands then dropped it to the floor. I rubbed a hand across my forehead as I tried to compose myself. I glanced around. I felt as though everybody in the bar was staring at me, judging me. Paranoid…? Probably. Justified…? Definitely.

I suddenly lost my thirst. I didn’t want to be here while I process this. The whole of Western Australia now believes I am Jayden Evans and my parents—my biological parents— kidnapped me twenty-five years ago. Life as we know it… I cut my thoughts off. I didn’t want to think about it.

‘How do you think Vicky is taking this…?’ Mitch asked.

I too shared his concerns about my mum. ‘I gotta go, guys. I’m sorry, but… I gotta…’ I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder to the door as my words tapered off.

’Mitch stood from his seat. ‘You OK, bro…?’

‘No…No, I’m not, Mitch. I’m fucken’ pissed off. And I’m worried how mum is taking this. I gotta go and check she is OK.’

‘I understand, mate. Go do what you gotta do, OK. I’ll check in later.’

I stormed from bar without looking back.

Chapter 23

When Dawes visited mum around two days ago and dropped that warrant on her, I suggested we seek legal advice. Mum wasn’t interested. She didn’t believe any lawyer would be able to assist. In her words, “it is a warrant issued by a court… What can a lawyer do?”

I didn’t push it. I didn’t agree, but I had to avoid upsetting her any more than what Dawes already has. She was resigned to the fact she will have to provide her DNA.

After the day I’d had, the kid gloves towards mum had to come off. It was time to make her understand that we now require legal advice; advice about the warrant and advice about the libellous defamation of our family by Dawes and this journalist from the Western Australian newspaper.

From the bar I went straight to mum’s. It wasn’t a pleasant visit. She was understandably devastated by the newspaper article. It took many straight whiskeys, followed by a number of strong coffees before mum calmed down enough to think rationally. Eventually she agreed with me. We now require sound legal advice.

It was well after midnight by the time I felt comfortable enough to leave mum on her own. Her racing blood pressure had settled. She appeared much calmer and she was able to talk without breaking down in tears.

Seeing my mum like this is incredibly distressing. She doesn’t deserve this. No one does. It is now time for positive action, but I have to do it legally. No hit men. No black balaclavas and baseball bats. This has to be fought through the courts. Dawes has to be held to account. He has to be made to pay for what he has done.

---

Two weeks after Dawes visited Perth and changed our lives forever, mum and I headed for the city. It was our time to return serve to Dawes. It was our time to send a message to this career cop that it’s not OK to mess with people’s lives in his misguided pursuit for justice.

I drove mum in her black S-Class Merc. It was a more appropriate form of transport for my mother than my dusty work truck.

Sadly, it took the loss of my dad for me to understand how precious my time is with my parents. I now realise that I didn’t visit them anywhere near enough while dad was alive and now it’s too late.

I can’t undo what has been done, but I will not let that happen again. So I visit mum often, up to three times a week. They are not always long visits, but I keep in touch.

Whenever Mum and I are together we chat about anything and everything. I relish the opportunity to catch up and learn about her week, but today was different. Today was an uncharacteristically quiet trip into the city. Mum spent most of the time staring silently out her window.

Dawes upset mum, more than she lets on. She is angry about being forced to provide her DNA to the police, when she has not done anything wrong. She is angry about being publicly labelled a kidnapper. Regardless of the obvious lack of evidence, now in the court of public opinion, mum is guilty.

What sort of justice system do we have where cops on a fishing expedition can randomly select law abiding members of society and force them to provide DNA samples, or publish untruths that attack a person’s character?

The demand for city parking spaces exceeded supply. After several laps of the area we happened across someone exiting a space on St Georges Terrace.

With the parking meter fed, we made our way to the QV1, a towering architectural concoction of concrete and glass stretching over 43 floors.

Following a quick check of the tenancy directory, we traversed the spacious marble entry foyer to take an elevator to the 35th floor.

The elevator doors sprung open to polished marble tiles leading us through open, double glass doors to a large foyer with a central island reception desk. Beyond the desk, a waiting room of tub chairs sat in front of ceiling to floor picture windows, overlooking the Swan River and South Perth.

A smiling receptionist greeted us like she was genuinely pleased to see us. I introduced myself and informed her of our allotted appointment time of 9.30am.

After she confirmed our meeting, she directed us to the waiting area beyond her desk. The scenic vista from 35 floors up was a welcome distraction to the wait.

While we enjoyed the view, a fit looking blonde woman, smartly dressed in a grey jacket and skirt, approached and offered us coffees. She returned a short time later with an espresso blend that would be the envy of any café Barista.

Despite being Perth locals and knowing the city area well, mum and I were impressed by the magnificence of the elevated views over the river and south Perth. A cloudless blue sky framed the postcard-perfect vista.

We were only half way through our coffees when the receptionist who greeted us from the elevator approached.

‘Mr Davison will see you now,’ she said. ‘You are welcome to bring your coffees with you.’

The receptionist escorted us down a timber panelled hallway, to a large door. The brass name tag beside the door read, “Miles Davison- Partner”. She knocked once then opened the door for us to enter.

As we stepped inside the office our lawyer stood from his desk. He fastened a button on his suit jacket as he moved around to greet us. Miles Davison, whom we are meeting for the first time, is a high profile Senior Counsel barrister who came highly recommended to us.

He is a tall, lean man in his forties. His salt and pepper hair was salon styled. He wore a dark bespoke suit that would’ve been five or six times my $500 Peter Jackson.

Two walls of the spacious corner office shared the same views as those in the waiting area, courtesy of the ceiling to floor picture windows.

A large bookshelf, crammed with all sorts of bound legal journals and legislation, lined the wall to our left.

His court attire — his black Senior Counsel silk robe and wig — hung on a coat stand in the corner beside a small round meeting table, positioned next to the windows.

A framed 10 x 8 inch family photo took pride of place on the corner of his oversized timber desk.

He extended his hand to me. ‘You must be Kade…’ I accepted his handshake. ‘Miles Davison, pleased to meet you,’ he said.

‘This is my mother, Vicky Miller…’ He shook mum’s hand.

He directed us to the meeting table. Mum and I took a seat while he grabbed a yellow pad from his desk. He unbuttoned a single button on his jacket and slid into a chair opposite us.

‘These views are outstanding, aren’t they?’ mum said.

‘Yes, they are special,’ he said. ‘Now,’ he clasped his hands and leaned on his elbows. ’How can I help you today?

‘We have a problem with a police Detective who is harassing my family,’ I began. ‘A few weeks ago he served a warrant on mum for her DNA and he is also responsible for a defamatory newspaper article about us. We just want to know what we can do about it. What our legal recourse is.’

Miles scribbled some notes. ‘OK. Let’s start with the warrant. Do you have a copy with you?’

Miles was a charismatic and articulate man. His voice was gentle and he spoke with the enunciation of a British Royal, suggesting refinement and education.

‘I do.’ Mum removed the warrant from her handbag and handed it to Miles. He read the warrant, pausing to scribble notes. When he finished his eyes lifted to me.

‘Our first question is… Do we have to comply with this warrant?’ I asked.

‘This is a court order compelling you, Vicky, to provide a sample of your DNA to the police, via a non-intimate procedure. Which in essence is just a mouth swab, or a hair sample.’

‘That much we understand,’ I said. ‘But our concerns are as to why mum has to provide her DNA, when she hasn’t committed any offence.’

He placed the warrant to the side. ‘I’ll discuss your obligations under this warrant shortly. First, let me explain what this warrant means.’ He clasped his hands on his note pad. ‘Before a Magistrate issues a warrant for a non-intimate procedure, the police must first prove to the court that there are reasonable grounds to believe that you committed an offence, and further, there are reasonable grounds to believe that the forensic procedure… the non-intimate DNA sample… may show evidence tending to confirm, or disprove your guilt. Now. Is it your understanding that you have not committed any offence…?’

‘I have not,’ mum said firmly. She clutched her handbag to her chest.

‘Why do you believe you were served with this warrant…?’

‘A detective rang me and said he wanted to ask some questions about a young boy who went missing twenty-five years ago.’

Miles’ eyebrows arched. ‘Twenty-five years ago…?’ He repeated as his questioning eyes flicked between mum and me.

Chapter 24

This was an opportune time to fill Miles in on everything that has occurred to date. I started with my chance encounter with Dawes during my Queensland holiday. I included everything that has occurred since, up to Dawes serving this warrant on mum, visiting my employer and finished with the newspaper article. I even presented Miles with a copy of my birth certificate.

Miles scribbled notes during my summary. When I was finished he flipped the overturned pages back to the front. ‘This Detective…’ he checked his notes. ‘Mr Dawes… suspects you are this boy who went missing in 1994…this Jayden Evans,’ he read from his notes. I nodded my confirmation. ‘And Dawes suspects you, Vicky, are the person responsible for taking him…?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘That is astounding,’ Miles said. ‘I take it that after this detective identified Kade’s likeness to these computer generated images of Jayden Evans, he focussed his attention on you as a suspect, simply because you are Kade’s parent.’

‘It appears so,’ mum said.

‘I see.’ He made notes. ‘Do you have a copy of this modified image of Jayden Evans?’

‘No. But it is available on line,’ I said.

Miles scribbled notes. ‘OK. I’ll get a copy later. Now… I assume Mr Dawes has a copy of your birth certificate…?’ he said as a question.

‘Absolutely…’

Miles shook his head. ‘Bizarre.’ He continued to scribble notes. ‘When Mr Dawes visited you around three weeks ago Vicky, and served the warrant on you… Did he ask you questions about your whereabouts and actions around the time this young boy, Jayden went missing?’

‘He did,’ mum said.

‘And during this conversation of three weeks ago, did he allege, or in any way, suggest you were responsible for taking this young boy?’

‘Yes. Much to my shock,’ mum said.

‘I’m sure. Tell me this please… Before Mr Dawes discussed this missing boy with you, did he caution you…? By that I mean, did he warn you of your rights that you were not obliged to answer any of his questions unless you chose to do so, or any such similar warning?’

‘No. He just asked a series of questions about my whereabouts.’

Miles scribbled notes. ‘Right… That was his first mistake. Anything you discussed with Mr Dawes when he visited your home is not admissible in evidence. If, as you have indicated, he failed to caution you of your rights before questioning you on this matter, then everything that was discussed after he arrived at your home cannot be presented to a court in evidence.’

‘I haven’t done anything wrong, so I don’t believe any answers I gave Dawes were incriminating anyway,’ mum said.

‘I understand. Regardless of the answers you provided, none of your discussion with Mr Dawes can be used in evidence.’

‘What about the DNA sample…?’ I asked. ‘If mum hasn’t done anything wrong, how can she be compelled to provide a sample?’

Miles lifted the warrant and passed his eyes over it. ‘We won’t be complying with this warrant…’ he said. ‘I will be instructing you not to provide your DNA to the police.’ Mum and I exchanged an excited glance. ‘I will seek a court order to have this warrant withdrawn.’

‘Do you mind if I ask, on what basis you will seek to have the warrant withdrawn?’ I said.

Miles slid the warrant across the table. He used his pen to point to the words, “issued by the Southport Magistrates Court”.

‘This warrant was issued by a Queensland court. If you resided in Queensland, you would have to comply with it. But this particular warrant does not have any jurisdiction here in WA. Mr Dawes has either used the incorrect warrant, or he may have withheld information from the court about your usual place of residence.’

‘So, mum doesn’t have to provide her DNA to the police?’

‘I will make application to the court today to have this warrant withdrawn. So, no. My instructions to you will be to ignore this warrant. You will not have to provide your DNA.’

Mum and I exchanged relieved smiles. ‘That is fantastic. Thank you so much,’ mum said. For the first time in days the hint of a sparkle returned to mum’s eyes.

‘Now. You understand, this does not prevent Mr Dawes from issuing the correct warrant, once this one is withdrawn.’

‘Knowing Dawes as I do… I expect that’s exactly what he will do…’

‘You may be right. Now… you also mentioned something about a defamatory newspaper article… What does this involve?’

I removed a copy of the West Australian from my brief case and handed it to Miles. ‘Page two,’ I said. Miles opened the paper. He scribbled notes as he read the article.

When he finished he gently placed his pen on his pad and clasped his hands together. ‘This is a little more complicated than the warrant,’ Miles began. ‘Defamation in Western Australia is a civil action, known as a tort. Broadly defined, it is the publication of unsubstantiated facts that hurt an individual’s reputation.’

‘Hasn’t that article done just that?’ I said lifting my chin to the newspaper.

’We could argue the publication contained what we will claim are unsubstantiated facts that have hurt both your reputations…’

‘Facts…? There’s no facts in that article, unsubstantiated or otherwise. It’s all blatant lies…’ I said.

‘Yes… I understand. But in these type of cases… a lie is the same as an unsubstantiated fact…OK…?’

‘OK. To me though, it implies elements of truth.’

Miles shook his head. ’No. That’s not how it is read.

‘Fair enough…’

‘The legal test used to determine whether a statement is defamatory is whether in the eyes of a “reasonable person” your reputations have been lowered…’

‘The pub test…’ I said.

‘Exactly.’

‘Let me ask you this…’ I said. ’How would you feel if some journalist falsely reported that your parents were kidnappers? Would you think your parents’ reputations had been lowered…?’

‘Well, that is what we are trying to prove here…’ Miles said.

He didn’t answer my question and I didn’t push it.

‘Allow me to ask you this…’ Miles began, ‘What are you hoping to achieve out of this defamation action…? Are you seeking financial compensation… an apology from the newspaper and a retraction of the article… or both…?’

‘I can only speak for myself… But I have no interest in seeking financial compensation, Mr Davis…’ mum said. ‘All I want is for my name and reputation to be cleared… exonerated, if you will…’

‘I am the same…’ I said. ‘I am not looking for a payout. My biggest wish is for Dawes to leave us alone… for good.’

’Good… I need to understand your expectations, because the law here in WA allows for a non-litigious remedy to defamation…A favourable outcome would be more difficult if all you are seeking is financial compensation.

‘Non-litigious remedy…?’ I asked.

’That’s right. In your case, this allows for the Western Australian newspaper to publish a retraction of the article and an apology, as an acceptable and quick way to resolve this matter.

‘I would be happy with that outcome…’ mum said.

‘I agree. But what about Dawes…? He was the one who approached the media and provided the lies to them.’

‘The position with Dawes is a little more complicated. We can still pursue him for defamation because he provided, what we claim to be lies to the newspaper journalist. However if the newspaper retract the article and apologize, then that action, in many ways, reverses the actions of Dawes.’

‘So we can’t go after Dawes…?’

‘Defamation by a police officer could prove problematic, but if you are insistent we try, I can instigate proceedings against him. We will say he caused damage to your reputations. I expect however he will argue one of a number of defences open to him.’

‘Such as…?’

’He could raise a Truth defence… Otherwise called justification. He could try and argue the comments were substantially true…’

‘And he will fail…’

’I understand. He could also try and argue Honest Opinion… This is where he believes his comments were not to be read as fact, but rather, his opinion on a matter of public interest, such as his investigation of a missing boy.

‘You’ve read the article… Does that read like an opinion…?’

Miles lifted the newspaper. ‘I suggest his comments, as printed in the article, are stated as facts, rather than suspicions or opinions and are not supported by evidence. That is where I expect his defence will fail.’

‘Good. I’m all for pursuing him… I think mum agrees…’ I looked to mum. She nodded.

‘With Mr Dawes, are you seeking financial compensation?’

‘No. Not unless he makes it difficult for us. We just want him to leave us alone… I am not Jayden Evans and I would like him to publicly declare that…then be required to cease his harassment of my mother and me over this missing child investigation.’

‘Very good…’ Miles scribbled some notes. ‘Now. For these actions to be successful, we need to be able to show the comments in print and those quoted from Dawes are unsubstantiated facts…’ I opened my mouth to correct him, but Miles continued. ‘Also known as lies…’ He said with a knowing grin.

‘How is the best way to do that?’

‘Let me recap what evidence we can prove.’ Miles referred to his notes. ‘We have a WA birth certificate for Kade showing a birth date of 16 January 1991. We have a number of photographs depicting Kade’s life from newborn to teenager. We will present evidence that you and your late husband moved to Karratha from the Gold Coast in 1989 for employment reasons. Essentially, you had left the state of Queensland before the young missing boy was born.’ Miles flipped a number of pages, as if searching. ‘What hospital was Kade born in?’

‘He was born in the remote mining town we lived in out of Karratha.’

Miles scribbled a note. ‘He was a home birth…?’

‘Not by choice, but yes, he was.’

Miles made notes. ‘Did a midwife assist with the birth?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you remember her name?’

‘Marilyn… But I can’t remember her surname.’

‘That’s fine…’ Miles scribbled notes. ‘Was she a registered Nurse?’

‘As far as I believe, she was.’

‘The passage of time may present a challenge locating Marilyn,’ Miles said as he heavily underlined something. ‘We will also seek to obtain a deposition from the missing boy’s mother…’ Miles referred to his notes. ‘Mrs Mandy Evans, who we expect will attest that her missing son, Jayden had a distinctive birth mark on his ribs. You, Kade do not, correct?’

I lifted my shirt. ‘Correct.’

Miles made notes. ‘Is there anything else…?’

Mum and I exchanged a glance. ‘No… I think that’s it,’ I said. Mum agreed.

Miles flipped the overturned pages back to the front. ‘OK then,’ he said as he stood from his chair. ‘That will be enough for now…’ Mum and I also stood. ‘I will send a letter to the Western Australian newspaper seeking an immediate retraction and public apology. I will also send a letter to Dawes outlining our intent to pursue him for defamation. As for the warrant, I’ll let you know how my court application to withdraw goes later today.’ He extended his hand.

‘Thank you.’ I shook his hand.

Miles shook mum’s hand and we left the office, returning to the receptionist. After she confirmed mum’s personal details, we took an elevator back to the ground floor.

Our visit with Miles has already proven a success, in my mind at least. Seeing the sparkle return to mum’s eyes is well worth the two grand an hour fee.

The wafting aroma of freshly brewed coffee from a nearby café was hard to ignore as we exited onto St Georges Terrace. We took an outside table and I treated mum to morning tea of a coffee and a cake.

Chapter 25

Coping with the sadness from losing dad continues to be difficult. Every day I am reminded of what I miss about him. I still wipe a tear when my emotions creep up on me.

Whoever said “time is a great healer” has clearly never lost a loved one. When it comes to psychological hurt, Time doesn’t heal shit. All Time does is allow the brain to cover the pain with new memories. Nothing heals. Underneath all the psychological padding that forms over time is the same hurt, still as raw as ever.

Tonight I expect the pain will only get worse. The empty seat beside me is a telling reminder of what I have lost.

Mitch, dad and I are season ticket holders to the Perth Wildcats, the current reigning champions of the National Basketball League.

Before every Perth home game the three of us would meet straight after work in the member’s lounge for beers and dinner. We were always full of hype as we discussed the visiting team and its unlikely chances. After dinner we’d move out to our seats in the 3rd row, located behind the Wildcats bench, in time for the player introductions.

The Wildcat games were a passion dad and I shared. It was a father-son ritual I looked forward to every home game. The three of us each had all-access VIP passes to the player change rooms for post-game meet and greets of players and coaches.

Tonight’s game against the Brisbane Bullets will test me. It is my first game since losing dad. A win will earn us outright top spot, so usually we would be excited at the prospect. But not tonight. Pre-game beers and dinner didn’t taste the same. The lustre of the occasion has tarnished.

We were a quarter in when Mitch did a beer run. My eyes fell heavily to the empty seat beside me. For a brief moment I saw dad smiling proudly from ear-to-ear as our boys fought hard for the “W”.

I quickly wiped an escaping tear when I saw Mitch edge his way along the row with a beer in each hand. I accepted my beer from Mitch. He held his up to me. ‘Cheers, mate…’ he said as he slid into his seat.

I touched cups. ‘Cheers.’

‘How ya holdin’ up, buddy…?’ Mitch said as his eyes fell to the empty seat.

‘It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be, mate…’

’I agree. Would you rather we just go…? I can catch the replay on Foxtel later tonight.’

‘No. No. I have to get used to this. I have to get used to dad not being here with us.’

‘You will, mate…’ Mitch said with a reassuring tap on my knee.

Even a 10 – 0 run from our boys failed to lift my spirits. Normally on runs likes this, dad, Mitch and I would be firing off high fives everywhere, but not tonight; maybe not ever again.

‘I meant to ask, Kado…’ Mitch began. ‘How’d everything go with your mum’s warrant?’

‘Went well… The lawyer successfully argued to have it withdrawn…’

‘I bet Vicky’s pleased…’

‘She’s rapt…’ I removed my phone and opened a text message and showed it to Mitch. ‘I received this from our lawyer today…’

Mitch accepted the phone and read the message. ‘Wow. Your lawyer must have them running scared…’

I accepted the phone back. ‘Hopefully.’

’No “hopefully” about it, bro… If the Managing Editor is prepared to meet with you over that article… I’d say they want to make this right. They want to fix it. It’s called damage control.’

I lifted my beer in a toast. ‘Let’s hope so, bro.’ I took a sip. ‘Let’s hope so.’

As is the norm for our home games, during the last minute of play, while the clock counts down, the 15,000 supporters stand and applaud the boys home to victory.

I stood. I applauded, albeit half-heartedly, but it was hollow. The 23 point ‘W’ had everyone in raptures. For me though, I wasn’t feeling it. I didn’t care about the game, or the result.

When the crowd started to file out of the stadium Mitch asked, ‘Do you wanna go down to the rooms…?’

’You know what, bro. ‘You go… I think I’m just gunna head home.’

Mitch raised his hands. ‘Not that important, bro… Let’s head back to yours for a beer.’

---

By the time we arrived home at mine it was 10 o’clock. It was still a balmy twenty-six degrees outside so we sat in the back yard under the stars, enjoying a quiet bourbon or three.

I’d just sparked up a jozza when my phone rang. I handed Mitch the stick while I checked my phone. ‘Fuck me…’ I rolled my eyes in disgust. ‘I think it’s Dawes…’

Mitch checked his watch. ‘What the…. It’s gotta be, what… 1am in Queensland… What the fuck’s he doing calling at that hour?’

I stared at the phone ringing and vibrating in my hand. After the night I just had, he is the last person I want to speak to.

‘Ya gunna take it…?’ Mitch asked. ‘Probably about the defamation letter you sent him…’

‘What do ya think…?’

‘Take it. Maybe he wants to tell you he is going to do as asked and apologize.’

‘I doubt it…’ I said as I answered the call then activated the speaker phone. ‘What the fuck do you want…?’ The time for pleasantries with this bloke has long passed.

‘Don’t be like that, Kade…’ The sound of his voice made my skin crawl. ‘Hey… Good win by the Wildcats tonight… Did you go?’

‘What do you want, Dawes? You’re calling me at 1am in the morning — your time… so, what is it?’

‘I received your lawyer’s letter and I’ve gotta say… I was little surprised.’

‘Surprised! You’re kidding, right?’

‘No.’

‘OK. Gotta go…’

‘Wait. Don’t hang up…I just want to explain myself…’

‘Explain it to the Judge…’

‘You don’t get it, do you? This will never get to court, Kade.’

‘We’ll see…’

‘Look. I’m a cop and I was conducting an investigation into a cold case abduction. What you don’t understand is… you can’t sue me for defamation for doing my job. I am entitled to form opinions and have suspicions. That’s how we roll.’

‘OK. Like I said… Tell it to the Jud—’

‘I’m trying to help you here Kade…’

‘Bullshit.’

’If this goes to court and when I win, the department will seek costs against you… You don’t want that sort of legal bill on top of your own… I’m trying to help you here…’

‘So… You won’t be apologizing and withdrawing your comments.’

‘Definitely not… As a matter of fact, that journalist misquoted me. She’s the one you should be chasing. I never made those comments about your parents. I suggested you were only suspects. So you see… You can’t sue me for defamation if I am misquoted by a journalist…’

‘You never told that journalist how you believe I am that missing kid and my parents took me and brought me to WA…?’

‘I did not. I told her I have my suspicions… nothing was said to her about it being factual. What she wrote in that article was not my fault…’

Maybe Dawes was right. Maybe I don’t have enough to pursue a defamation case against him. I looked to Mitch for assistance. All he did was shrug.

‘You still there…?’ Dawes asked.

‘What do you want me to say…?’

‘I want you to drop the law suit… I’m just a cop doing my job…’

‘It’s gone well beyond you “just doing your job”… Your relentless harassment of me and my mother has to stop… From where I sit, this lawsuit is the only way I can get you to do that…’

‘You’re making a mistake, Kade…’

‘So are you.’ I ended the call and dropped my phone to the lawn beside me.

’Do ya reckon he was misquoted?’ Mitch asked. He handed back the Joz.

I dragged in a lung full. ‘I’ve got my doubts.’ I exhaled onto the end of the Joz, then took another toke.

While staring at what was left of the Joz in one hand and the glass of neat Jack in the other, my reliance on these things, just to get by, was increasing. I can’t remember the last time I fell asleep without a toke, or a shot or three of bourbon; sometimes both.

My life was a mess but I realize this wasn’t because of dad’s passing. This reliance on mind-numbing substances is all attributed to my chance encounter with Detective Brent Dawes. That was the day my life changed. And it is phone calls like this with Dawes that suggests to me, it won’t be improving any time soon. I took a last toke and handed it back to Mitch to finish.

Chapter 26

The forecast of unseasonable torrential rains well and truly drenched any outdoor plans I had for my Saturday. Mitch’s timely text suggesting a few beers and dropping some coin on the interstate races was just the distraction I needed, to keep me from focussing on my hatred for Dawes.

My favourite water hole is less than one kay from mine, so normally I’d walk, but not today. The rain was sheeting at forty-five degrees with drops the size of five cent pieces.

I parked the car and sprinted to the pub’s front door. By the time I reached the entrance, water from my drenched hair dripped down my forehead.

The pub sparkled from its recent $3 million upgrades. Natural light flooded the complex. The fresh new décor, atrium style high ceilings, new and improved restaurant and expanded poker machine lounge were all courtesy of the pub’s hungry pokies, which through no coincidence, grew in number following the extension.

A symphony of sounds welcomed me on my stroll through the pub to the TAB at the rear; laughter and chatter, the side show-like warbling sounds of the pokie machines, footy commentators from game replays and the monotone race caller blaring from the sports screens spotted around the bar.

In the rear of the bar, small TV screens showed the field for the next race from Sydney, Adelaide and Melbourne, while Race two in Brisbane had already jumped.

Blokes of all ages, each holding a form guide, were glued to the televised call, but none of them was Mitch.

After a watching Scent of a Woman bolt home by three lengths, I ordered a schooner and leaned on the bar watching the 2nd at Randwick prepare to jump, while I waited for Mitch. I checked the time, then my messages. Nothing.

If Mitch doesn’t hurry up, we’ll only have half a card to bet on. While watching the favourite sneak home by a nose at Randwick, a voice from behind caught my attention. ‘Hey… you’re that kidnap kid…’

I glanced over my shoulder at the voice. Two t-shirt wearing guys in their early twenties, both with shaved heads, grinned back at me. Tattoo sleeves covered their exposed arms.

The taller of the two flicked a finger at me. ‘You’re that missing kid from the paper…’

‘I think you’ve got me confused with someone else, mate…’ I turned to check the odds. How could he possibly link me to that article?

‘Nah. It’s you… You’re the missin’ kid from Queensland all those years ago…I read about you in the paper.’

I shook my head, ignoring the comment. Fucken’ newspaper.

Both guys moved around and stood in front of me. The smart-mouth of the two leaned an arm on the bar and glared at me, grinning. Several seconds of silence ticked by. ‘Buy us a beer, kidnap boy…’ He eventually said. ‘Come on mate, you can afford two beers…’

‘Look, buddy… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m waiting for a mate, OK.’ I took a sip from my beer. It was my attempt at a passive action, to show I didn’t want any trouble.

‘Too good for us are ya…?’ he looked to his mate who nodded and grinned his support.

‘I’m not who you think I am. So give it a break buddy, OK.’ As I was lifting my beer to take another sip, smart mouth knocked the glass from my hand in a sweeping swipe. I never saw that coming. The aggressive action startled me.

The schooner flipped end-over-end spraying beer as it cart wheeled across the room and crashed to the carpet.

Smart mouth stepped right up into my personal space. His acne scarred face was so close I could clearly see the pitted pores in his skin. ‘Fucken rich pricks like you give me the shits,’ he said through gritted teeth.

As the bar man moved to our end of the bar, I raised my open palms to the smart mouth and moved back, creating more space.

Under ‘Blokedom’ rules, he who knocks a beer from your hand either apologizes and buys a new one, or gets sat on their arse by a right cross.

For me though, it was more a case of can’t be bothered with this shit, rather than being intimidated by these muppets. I wasn’t in the mood to throw down, so I tried the calm approach. ‘I don’t know where this is coming from, mate, but I don’t want any trouble, OK.’

The aggressor closed the space up again. ‘Well ya shoulda bought us that beer…’ He said with his nose almost touching mine. His pungent breath was a mix of stale beer and sardines.

I’m no different to the next bloke. I like a beer and a bet at a pub, usually with mates. But I prefer it to be without some piss-fuelled simpleton with an entitlement complex, hassling me. But continue to get up in my grille and we are going to have a problem. I’ve seen this scenario too many times before.

In a strange moment of clarity, it occurred to me that all the shit things happening to me lead back to Dawes. Now I have this tattoo covered piece of shit having a crack at me because the West Australian newspaper ran Dawes’ lies.

It was obvious where this was heading. This idiot was calling me out. It was the modern day version of a glove slap in the face, from eras gone by. It was a challenge.

Time has come to escalate this. ‘Get the fuck out of my face…’ I said through gritted teeth. I’m not a bluer. I don’t look for trouble, but I can handle myself. This guy is your typical bully and if he senses weakness, he’ll pounce. So I had to respond in a way that shows I’m not intimidated.

The idiot edged closer. ‘Either you buy us a beer, or I’ll knock ya out and fucken take ya wallet and buy it meself… your choice.’

It was evident smart mouth misread my inaction to this point as a sign of weakness. I quickly ran the various scenarios through my head. Option one – I can take a hit to my machismo and simply buy them a beer in the hope they will go away. Option two – start filling the air with upper cuts, or Option three…

‘OK. You want a beer…?’ I said. I eased myself back slightly and feigned reaching for my wallet. As soon as loud mouth’s eyes dropped, watching my hand, I snapped my head forward striking him across the bridge of his nose.

A crack resonated as the loud mouth’s head snapped back. The force of my head butt sent him and his blood splattered face reeling backwards over the top of a bar stool behind him.

While his mute friend watched his buddy crash to the ground, I snapped out a hand and grabbed his skinny throat. My hand tightened. He gasped and gurgled, feebly trying to free my grip.

Using all my body weight I forcibly shoved him backwards. As he stumbled and fell heavily to the floor, someone grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms in a crushing bear hug.

‘Not him…’ the barman said. ‘He didn’t do anything.’ He flicked a finger at the trouble makers on the floor. ‘It’s those other two on the ground.’

The pub’s 130 kilo islander security guard released his grip. He ‘rag dolled’ the last guy to hit the floor and dragged him to the entrance.

A second security guard lifted old mate loud mouth from the floor. Blood splatter covered his face. A two centimetre vertical split run up his swollen, clearly broken nose.

‘Maybe next time… buy your own beers…’ I casually said as security dragged him away. Loud mouth’s eyes fell heavily to the floor.

I didn’t have to say anything; probably shouldn’t have said anything. But adrenalin being what it is, I suppose I had to get the last word in. I had to rub it in that I didn’t start it, but I finished it.

Chapter 27

‘Can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I…?’ Mitch said as he approached.

With a roll of my eyes I said, ’now you turn up…’ I leaned my hands on the bar. I could’ve done with Mitch’s 105 kilo, 6-5 frame around a little earlier. Maybe none of this would’ve happened.

The barman lifted his chin to me. ‘You OK, bro…?’ he asked.

I nodded my confirmation. ‘Yeah. All good thanks, mate,’ I said. ‘Can we have two shots of Jack and two schooners of the good stuff, thanks,’ I said flicking a finger at the beer tap.

Mitch jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘What was all that about?’ He said. ‘I only caught the end of it.’

‘That…’ I said glancing at old mate and his friend disappearing out the exit doors. ‘Was courtesy of fucken Brent Dawes…’ Mitch frowned his confusion.

‘The one at the back there,’ I said lifting my chin to the exit. ‘Recognized me from the newspaper article. He called me “kidnap kid” and demanded I buy him a beer… When I refused, it escalated.’

’Arse ‘ole.’ Mitch shook his head in annoyance.

I watched the barman pour the shots. ‘The piece of shit knocked my schooner out of my hand…’ I jabbed a thumb towards the floor where it earlier landed. ‘Landed right over there…Worse part was…it was half full…’ The bar man set up the schooners. ‘Cheers, mate,’ I said to the barman. I handed Mitch his shot.

‘Made a mess of his face, bro. What did you do…Open the proverbial can of whoop arse on him, or something…?’

‘Cheers,’ I said then drained the shot of Jack. ‘Nah. Liverpool kiss…’ I said, chasing it with a swig of beer.

Mitch’s face distorted. ‘Ouch…’ he said, then drained his shot and chased it.

The barman hung around after setting our drinks. ‘Do you know those blokes…?’ the bar man said, draping a tea towel over his shoulder and leaning in his hands.

‘Never seen them before in my life.’

He shook his head as he glanced towards the door. ‘Nah, neither have I.’ The barman shifted his focus to Mitch. ‘Ya shoulda seen this guy…’ He jabbed a thumb at me.

‘These two idiots started hassling him…knocked his beer out of hand and everything…then wham,’ he said clapping his hands together for emphasis.

‘One of the best head butts I’ve seen and I’ve seen many in my time, I tell you.’

‘So I hear…’ Mitch said.

‘I wasn’t looking for any trouble, mate,’ I reassured.

‘I could see that,’ the barman said. ‘You took more than I would, before reacting. But they were looking for trouble and they found it, in spades. Well done, bro… Well done,’ he said, then tapped the bar twice before moving over to serve another patron.

‘I gotta tell you, bro… It’s all Dawes. None of this shit would happen if I’d never met him…’

‘I hear you, mate,’ Mitch said. ‘How’s the nerves, after those flogs…?’

Holding out a steady hand, I said, ‘all’s good, mate. I never let them get to me. And let’s face it… they weren’t the most intimidating, were they?’

‘Regardless, ya never know, bro… These dickheads who can’t fight usually carry knives and shit, so you have to watch out.’

‘It’s all good, mate. I was watching out for that. Hey…Have a look at this,’ I said lifting my phone and opening a text message. I handed Mitch my phone. ‘That’s from Sarah in Queensland…’ I said as Mitch read the text.

’So that article from the West Australian was on the news in Queensland quoting that you are the missing boy from twenty-five years ago…’ Mitch shook his head as handed back my phone. ‘Unbelievable. They’ll gobble that shit up. That missing kid case is legendary over there.’

‘Tell me about it. Anyway,’ I said lifting my chin to the TV screens. ‘Ready to get your bet on…?’

‘Let’s do it…’ Mitch said, ‘I’m feeling lucky…’

---

Neither mum nor I was in the mood for conversation during the drive out to Osborne Park, a suburb north-west of Perth.

This is what Dawes has reduced us to. Normally, we would openly chat about anything and everything. But when you add Dawes into the mix, all the life gets sucked out of the room. All I feel is the tension shared by both of us.

After parking mum’s car in the visitors’ car park, we met up with Miles waiting for us in the foyer of the West Australian newspaper. The Managing Editor of the paper requested this meeting after Miles served the newspaper with defamation papers.

We didn’t have to wait long before we were escorted to a large conference room on the ground floor, at the front of the building. As we approached the room, floor to ceiling windows revealed two people— a male and a female— seated at an oversized timber table, facing the open door we were heading towards.

The male, presumably the Managing Editor, stood and welcomed us as we entered. With his short stature, portly stomach, round silver framed glasses and advanced male pattern baldness, he was a dead ringer for George Costanza from the Seinfeld sitcom. He greeted us with handshakes and introductions.

‘Welcome. I’m Gary Dent. I’m the Managing Editor here at the West Australian.’ He gestured to the female seated to his right. ‘This is Christine Gould, one of our journalists.’

With shoulder length, light-brown hair, tanned complexion disappearing into a white collared shirt and piercing green eyes, the journalist was my age. She had a bright Hollywood smile.

Under any other circumstances I would have been suitably impressed at such a fit looking woman. But she paled into insignificance when I heard her name. In my mind she was the wicked witch of the west, and just as ugly.

My eyes narrowed at her. ’So, you’re the one who wrote that article…’ I said with a deliberate glare. ‘Finally… A face to the name of the fiction writer from this newspaper.’ I held my glare of disapproval.

Her confident smile wiped from her face. Her eyes lifted to her boss, standing beside her.

‘Please…’ Gary said. He gestured to our seats. ‘That is why we asked you to come here today.’

Mum and I exchanged glances as we took our seats opposite our hosts. Gary took his seat. He clasped his hands together in front of himself as he proceeded to explain why he requested this meeting. All I heard was the rantings of someone in damage control.

Miles articulated our position and why we believe our reputations have been damaged by the libellous article that contained baseless accusations about my parents and me.

He chaired the meeting like he was conducting a witness deposition as he directed his line of questions to the journalist.

‘It is apparent from your article that you had a conversation with a Queensland Detective by the name of Brent Dawes…’ Miles said, addressing the journalist. ‘Did he contact you, or you, him?’

‘He contacted me.’

‘Why was that…?’

She adjusted herself in her seat. ‘He said he had some news about a twenty-five year old missing person case from Queensland that he thought I would be interested in,’ she said in a voice lacking confidence.

‘Just so we are completely clear… The twenty-five year old missing person case you refer to was Jayden Evans, a three year old boy who went missing from his Robina home on 8th of May 1994… Is that correct?’

‘Correct.’

’Why did he think you would be interested in a cold case from Queensland…?’

’Because he said the missing boy now lives in Perth with the family who kidnapped him twenty-five plus years ago…

’He showed me a photo of the missing boy aged three and a police digital image prediction of what they estimated the boy could look like today.

‘He then showed me a recent photo of….’ Her focus shifted to me. She lifted her chin in my direction. ‘Of Mr Miller…’

‘And you thought that because of my client’s similarity in appearance to a digitally produced image of what the police “estimated” young Jayden would look like today, Mr Dawes must be telling the truth…’

‘The digital image and photo certainly gained my attention. Plus Mr Dawes was very passionate…very convincing…’

‘And very psychotic…’ I interjected.

Miles placed a silencing hand on my forearm, then he continued.

‘Convincing…? I hope your newspaper relies on more than “convincing” before you choose to publish such damaging articles…’ Miles didn’t wait for a response.

‘Tell me this… Did you conduct any research, or any other due diligence inquiries into this case, after your meeting with Dawes and before you ran your article, to verify the information provided to you by Mr Dawes…?’

‘I did…’ her nervous eyes glanced at her boss. ‘Mr Dawes showed me a number of records from his investigation. I also conducted my own inquiries into the case.’

‘What research did you undertake?’

‘I don’t think we need to treat this like an interrogation, Mr Davis,’ The Managing Editor appealed.

Miles shifted his firm focus to the interjector. ‘You asked for this meeting, Mr Dent, presumably to explain the newspaper’s position as to why you ran such a libellous article about my clients…’

‘That is correct, but I—’

‘Well, I am trying to find out what information you were provided by Mr Dawes and what due diligence inquiries, if any, the newspaper made as a result, before you decided to run your article full of untruths.’ Miles held his firm glare on Mr Dent. ‘May I continue?’

‘You may. But if possible, let’s make the questioning less like an interrogation.’

‘I won’t be apologizing for my directness, Mr Dent. You may be interested to learn that it was because of your newspaper article, the same one containing the false information about my clients’ family, Mr Miller here was accosted last Saturday in a Perth hotel. His attacker called him “Kidnap Kid”.

’Where do you think that derogatory name came from…?’ Miles asked rhetorically.

The Editor’s shoulders slumped slightly as he his eyes flicked to me.

Chapter 28

Miles shifted his focus to the journalist. ‘What research did you undertake before running that article?’

Her hands fidgeted on the table. ‘Mostly internet archives from the period the young boy went missing.’

‘And what did these inquiries reveal?’

‘Mostly background about the case… I wasn’t aware of the case, so I needed to research it further.’

‘And what evidence did you find from your internet research that convinced you to run with Mr Dawes’ outrageous assertions about my clients?’

‘It wasn’t just one thing…there were a number of things that corroborated the information provided by Mr Dawes.’ The journalist lifted a digital recorder from the table. ‘I have the full interview recorded here… I can play it for you, if you like.’

Miles lifted a hand. ’We’ll get to the recording later. Right now, I want you to tell me about your research.’

She returned the recorder to the table. ’I asked Mr Dawes, based on his years of experience as a Detective, if he was of the opinion that his evidence would sustain vigorous challenges and cross examination in a court trial.

’He told me that it was a lock. Those were his words, not mine. He said it was so strong you could put your house on it…’

‘I hope for your sake, you didn’t take Mr Dawes’ advice…’

The journalist’s face tightened, but she ignored Miles’ apparent flippancy.

‘Wait… Can I ask something…?’ I interjected. Miles’ frowning glare shifted to me. I lifted a reassuring hand.

‘It’s OK… I just want to clarify something.’ Miles extended a hand towards the journalist and sat back in his chair.’

‘When I spoke to Dawes about the article you ran, he claimed you misquoted him… He said that you were taking notes and you obviously misreported what he said…’

I flicked a finger at the digital tape recorder on the table. ‘But you said you recorded the conversation with Dawes…’

She placed a hand on the tape recorder, as if drawing energy from it. ‘That’s Correct.’ She now spoke with confidence. ‘I recorded the conversation, but I also took notes as well…’

‘Was Mr Dawes aware you were recording the conversation?’ Miles asked.

She scoffed openly. Her narrowing glare flicked to Miles. ‘Of course he was… I asked and received his permission, before we commenced.’

‘Just to be clear…’ I said, continuing. ’I asked Dawes if he told you that he believes I am that missing kid and it was my parents who took me and brought me to WA. He said he told you he had his suspicions… But denied he said anything about his evidence being conclusive. He said what you wrote in that article was not his fault… you misquoted him.’

Her lips tightened. ‘That’s very interesting…’ the journalist said.

She lifted the recorder and pressed a series of buttons to fast forward through the recording, stopping at various points.

After briefly playing some audio, she continued to fast forward, a process she repeated until she found what she was searching for. She played an excerpt from her interview with Dawes.

While the audio played she sat back in her chair and tightly crossed her arms. Her face wore a smug ‘believe me now’ expression.

The recording was surprisingly crisp and clear. That was unmistakably the voice of Dawes on the recording.

Just as the journalist earlier told us, in the recording she clearly asked Dawes if he was of the opinion his evidence would sustain vigorous challenges and cross examination in a court trial.

In a typical Dawes reply he said, “It is a lock… This case is so strong you can put your house on it…”

I was stunned, but not surprised. Dawes lied to me. The recording clearly proves the journalist accurately quoted him. It doesn’t justify what she published, but it does prove Dawes was equally responsible.

When an extended silence ensued from my lack of any further response, Miles continued. ‘Apart from your internet inquiries, Ms Gould, did you make any other inquiries about my client, Mr Miller?’

‘No.’ Her arms remained tightly crossed, as if waiting for an apology for doubting her.

‘No?’ Miles said in feigned surprise. ‘For a journalist, I find that astounding.’ He lifted my birth certificate from his briefcase and slid it across the table.

’If you had made, what I would suggest were the most basic of journalistic verification inquiries, you would have found that document.’

The journalist slowly unfolded her arms and lifted the document. She perused it in silence. Her boss leaned in from the side.

‘What you are holding is a birth certificate—A government record, the contents of which can easily be verified… You will note that it records that my client, Mr Kade Ross Miller was born in Karratha, Western Australia on 16 January 1991 to parents, Vicky Gayle Miller and Ross Murray Miller.’

The Journalist didn’t lift her eyes from the record. Her boss however rolled his eyes as he slumped back in his chair. He ran a hand across his balding head. Miles continued. ‘If you had that record, would you still have opted to run your article…?’ Miles’ question was clearly rhetorical.

Her eyes remained fixed on the birth certificate whilst the Managing Editor responded. ‘Clearly not. Look. I—’

Miles held up a hand. ‘I haven’t finished.’ He removed a number of family photographs and one-by-one, he slid them across the table to our hosts, who by now were squirming in their seats. ‘Those are family photos from the Millers’ —my clients’—family photo albums…’

While they perused the photos, Miles continued. ’You will note there are photos of my client as a new born in his father’s arms. There are also photos of him as a young infant with both his parents…You wrote in your article, Ms Gould that my clients, Vicky & her late husband Ross, unlawfully took… kidnapped, if you will, Kade when he was three years old.

‘I’m sure you will agree with me that these photos of Kade Miller clearly depict him with his parents at a much younger age than three. Which suggests they had their son long before young Jayden went missing from Queensland…’

The journalist held out the photos to her boss for him to look at. He waved a hand at her.

‘So my question to you, as a Journalist representing the West Australian newspaper is… given the evidence in front of you… How can my client, Kade Miller, possibly be Jayden Evans, the young boy kidnapped in Queensland in 1991, when he was born to Vicky and Ross Miller in WA…?’

The journalist didn’t respond. Her defeated eyes remained on the gathering of records in front of her. She now avoided any eye contact, which to me was a sign of embarrassment and acceptance of her error.

‘Had you conducted your own inquiries and contacted my clients to give them the right of a response, you would’ve found those records and prevented this entire embarrassment on my clients and in turn, your newspaper.’

Her lowered eyes welled with tears. I resented the journalist for writing that article, but even I started feel a tinge of sympathy for her.

To use a boxing parlance, we were deep into the last round and the journalist could no longer defend herself from Miles’ verbal beat down. This fight needed to be stopped. It was over. The white towel need to be thrown in.

The Managing Editor obliged. He scooped up the evidence and passed it back to Miles. ‘Mrs Miller… Mr Miller…’ he began in a defeated tone.

’On behalf of the West Australian newspaper, please accept our most sincere apologies for any harm or embarrassment we have caused to you and your family from the article we ran.

‘It was never our intention.’ He glared at his journalist with eyes that screamed disappointment. Her eyes remained lowered. ‘It is more than evident the newspaper was remiss when it published an article that contained inaccurate and incorrect information about your family’s involvement in the Jayden Evans case from 1994.’

Miles removed a copy of his defamation letter from his brief case. Gary held up a hand to Miles. ‘Look… I understand your position from your letter, but I was hoping we could settle this in a more amicable fashion.’

‘What do you propose?’ Miles said.

‘We will run a complete retraction of the article, along with a full apology to the Miller family. It won’t be one of those little apology articles sitting in the corner of a page… This will be a half page apology and retraction…’

‘Before we agree to anything, I reserve the right to sight the article, before it is published…’ Miles said.

‘Absolutely…’

‘And there’s a matter of costs…’

‘Of course. The newspaper will be prepared to pay an agreed amount of compensation to you both for the hurt we have caused you…What figure did you have in mind?’

Miles looked to mum & me for further instruction. He knows our position on compensation. Mum responded on our behalf.

‘We are not seeking financial compensation from your newspaper, Mr Dent…’ mum said. ‘All we require from you is an unreserved and heartfelt apology for getting it wrong and for the hurt and embarrassment your newspaper caused to our family and our reputation.’

‘Absolutely, Mrs Miller. That will be the least of what I am prepared to do…’

Miles continued. ‘There is a matter of legal costs involved in pursuing this matter. I’m sure my clients would be prepared to accept the newspaper covering their legal fees …’

‘Absolutely, Mr Davis. Please… Send us your invoice. We will absolutely cover these costs. It is, after all, the least we can do for you being so reasonable…’

‘I will require further instructions from my client, however I am of the understanding that if you publish the retraction and apology, as discussed,’ Miles looked to mum and me. ‘I suggest we will withdraw our civil action against the newspaper.’ I gave a single nod in agreement.

Once the meeting was over, Gary escorted us to the reception foyer. No further words were exchanged during the stroll through the building, only empty handshakes at the front door.

I can’t speak for my mother but a substantial weight lifted from my shoulders during the stroll back to our car. All we need now is the published retraction and apology and we can start to mend the damage caused by Dawes.

Chapter 29

From the meeting I drove mum back to hers, where my Ute was parked. Mum invited me to stay for lunch before returning to work. Of course I accepted.

I have never been able to knock back mum’s offer for roast beef and cheese rolls, warmed up in the sandwich press.

As we rolled along mum’s street, a police car cruised passed in the opposite direction. The cops slowed and obviously checked us out as we passed.

I watched in the rear view as they did a u-turn and quickly caught up to us. I parked mum’s car in the driveway, while the cops parked on the street, across the driveway.

Mum and I met them in the drive near the front footpath. ‘Can I help you?’ mum asked.

‘Are you Mrs Vicky Miller…?’

‘I am. What seems to be the problem?’

The cop shifted his focus to me. ‘And you are…?’

Annoyed by your intrusion. But what I actually said was, ‘Kade Miller. Why are you asking?’

The cop opened a folder and slid out some paperwork. He handed one to mum and the other to me. ‘Those are warrants issued by the Perth Magistrates Court. In essence, they are compelling you both to give DNA samples and to provide your medical records to police within eight days,’ the cop said. ‘Have a good day,’ he said in a matter-of-fact tone then returned to his car.

‘Are these warrants issued from Queensland?’ I asked following the cop to the street.

The cop stopped at the driver’s door and said across the car roof, ‘I don’t know anything about the circumstances, mate… I’m just executing the warrant.’ He opened the car door. ‘The informant’s name is on the warrant.’ He lifted his chin towards me. ‘I suggest you contact him, or your lawyer if you require any further information.’ He slid into the car and left.

When I turned back to mum her stunned eyes were reading the warrant. ‘Don’t worry about it, mum. I’ll speak to Miles.’

‘Dawes’ name is on this warrant as the informant,’ mum said.

‘Did you really need to read the warrant to find that out?’

Mum’s arms fell limp by her side. ‘Will this ever end, Kade?’ Her breaking voice oozed with desperation.

‘Look… We beat him on the last warrant and we’ll beat him on this one, OK.’

Mum pointed to the name on warrant. ‘This one is from the Perth Magistrates’ Court, not the Queensland court, like the other one.’

Her hand was shaking when I gently eased the warrant from it. ‘Don’t worry about it, mum. I’ll take care of it, OK?’ Her eyes welled with tears. Mum is a strong woman, but under these stressful times, she looks so frail.

It breaks my heart to see her upset by all this unnecessary stress Dawes has caused to our family and further fuels my anger and hatred towards him.

I put a comforting arm around mum and hugged her tight as I gently guided her inside her home for a cup of tea, or something harder.

Once inside mum made us both a cuppa, while I called Miles. He was still on his return journey to the city following our meeting with the West Australian newspaper. I activated the speakerphone for mum to listen in.

Miles said he wasn’t surprised when I informed him of the warrants. He said he expected Dawes to counter after the last warrant failed on a technicality.

’So this warrant is seeking both DNA and medical records…?’ Miles said, as a question.

‘Correct. DNA and medical records. From mum and me.’

Mum served me up a hot cuppa tea. I slid onto a stool at the kitchen bench. Mum remained standing on the kitchen side of the bench, holding her cup with both hands as she sipped on her tea. Her eyes were fixed into a blank stare.

‘That is interesting…’ Miles said. ‘I can understand his reasoning with your mother’s warrant. To him, Vicky is considered a suspect… But the logic behind your warrant escapes me.’

‘Could it be so he has my DNA to compare to mum’s?’

‘No. No… I understand that. That’s exactly why he has included you. But I don’t understand his logic. You’re not a suspect in his case… So therefore, such a warrant doesn’t apply to you.’

‘Oh, OK…’

‘I need to sight these warrants. Are you able to email them to me’, Miles asked.

‘I can do that.’

‘Great. I’ll call you back once I’ve had a chance to examine them.’ He ended the call.

Even though I have been dealing with Miles now for some time because of Dawes, I still find it hard to accept phone calls that end without a simple goodbye or speak to you later. In my world, saying goodbye at the end of a call is the norm; a common courtesy.

Miles however is a high-priced lawyer. Maybe that is the norm in his world. Maybe his time is valuable and banal niceties or salutations simply waste his time, or somehow distract him. He is always succinct and straight to the point. All his telephone calls end this way; abruptly without so much as a goodbye.

It could be because his overactive mind is considering his next move in this real life game of chess that is Dawes. Regardless of the justification, I still have to tell myself, he is not upset. He didn’t hang up angry. That is just Miles.

Mum’s eyes were still glazed into a fixed stare when I placed my phone on the kitchen bench. She was miles away. So much so, I had to summarize the call and the outcome expectations because she never heard any of my conversation with Miles.

‘I’m not sure how much more of this I can take, Kade. I feel like this man is killing me slowly from all the stress.’

I moved to mum’s side of the bench and hugged her tight. ‘I know it is easier said than done, mum… but you have to try not to let him get to you. Dawes has just about exhausted all his avenues of inquiry. Sooner or later, he will have no choice but to give up and walk away.’

Mum tightened her hug. ‘Thank you, Darling.’

I pushed myself away from mum and stared into her red eyes. ‘You OK?’

‘I am. Thank you.’

’Why do you think he is so hell bent on pursuing us over this? I mean… The evidence against his theory is overwhelming, but still he comes.’

’I don’t know, darling. Maybe it’s because his case has sat cold for twenty-five years and now he thinks he finally has a lead… Someone to go after.’

‘Well, he’s certainly going after us,’ I said, flicking a hand at the warrant on the kitchen bench. ‘Anyway, he’ll get his, once we have our day in court.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ Mum glanced at the wall clock. ‘Do you still have time for lunch…?’

I checked my watch. ‘Yeah, definitely. I’m looking forward to your tasty roast beef roll…’

Even though it was a little forced, mum’s smile was the first I have seen from her for some time now. I’ll take that, given the circumstances we find ourselves in.

Chapter 30

My favourite city café was busy with city workers on their morning coffee breaks when I arrived. The inside tables were occupied by suits holding one-on-one meetings and discussions, while a snaking queue formed from the coffee take away counter.

The alfresco tables on the front footpath—my preferred choice— were filled with a general mix of customers.

With my order number stand in hand, I weaved my way passed the table of women dressed in brightly coloured active wear and fashionable over-sized sunglasses.

Beyond them, I nodded a silent greeting to an older, retiree-age couple. Judging by the bags gathered at their feet, they were enjoying a break from their morning shopping.

I slid into a seat at a roadside two-seater table, beside a group of four tradies huddled around a table on their morning smoko. Each was wearing the trademark tradie yellow fluoro vest and camel coloured steel cap boots.

Mitch works as a Building Certifier and Surveyor in the city. His office is only a short stroll from the café, so whenever I have scheduled meetings, or any other reason to head into the city, I usually take the opportunity to catch up with him for a coffee.

The coffees I ordered arrived at the same time as Mitch. As he slid into his seat he apologized for being late. ‘I was just about to walk out the door and my phone rang. I should’ve let it go to voice mail…’ Mitch explained.

‘All good, Bro. These just arrived.’

‘Busy this morning, isn’t it?’

‘Best coffee for blocks. That’s why.’

‘True dat… Hey… Have you heard anything yet from Miles?’ Mitch said, then sipped his coffee.

It’s been four days since I called him over the warrants served on mum and me. I emailed him a copy of the warrants later that same afternoon however I am still yet to hear anything back.

‘Nothing yet,’ I said. ‘Which surprises me, a little.’ I sipped my coffee. ‘If she has to comply, mum has eight days to provide a sample to the cops…’ I checked my watch. ‘And four days have passed already.’

‘He’ll call, Mate. He knows what he’s doing.’

I checked over each shoulder then leaned in towards Mitch. ‘What do you know about the dark web…?’ I said quietly.

‘Not a lot, why?’ He took a sip while curiously regarding me.

‘You can just about get anything on there, can’t you?’

Mitch shrugged his indifference. ‘As I understand it. But I’ve never been. It gets a little scary when you start going down those sort of rabbit holes.’

‘Yeah. You’re right.’

‘Why the dark web…? What are you thinking of?’

‘Dawes…’ I held my stare at Mitch.

Mitch paused taking a sip. ‘Dawes?’ His brow furrowed. He lowered his cup then checked his surrounds. He leaned in closer. ‘What are you saying, mate?’

‘I hate this prick so much. When I see what he’s doing to mum.’ I shook my head. ’I gotta tell you mate… The world… our world,’ I emphasized. ‘Would be a better place without Dawes in it.’

Mitch sat back in his chair. His eyes firmly locked onto me. ‘Surely you’re not thinking…’ He cut himself off as he checked over each shoulder.

‘I don’t know what I’m thinking any more… I just wish he was gone…’ I checked my surrounds for prying ears. ‘Do you think there are people on the dark web who handle… you know… Such a situation, though…?’

‘Mate… I don’t even want to go there with thoughts like that. Look…’ Mitch checked the table of tradies as he leaned in closer. ’I can only imagine what Dawes is doing to your family… Hell, I hate him for it and I’m not on the receiving end of his crazy witch hunt. But what you’re thinking is nuts, bro. Get those thoughts out of your head, now… OK. That’s not you. You’re better than that.’

I rubbed a hand across my forehead. How could I argue with that? Mitch is right, it is crazy talk, but that is what Dawes is doing; he is breaking us.

‘I didn’t say I was going to do it.’ I rubbed a confused hand across my mouth. ‘I was just wondering if that type of service is available…’

‘Then you don’t need to know if it exists, do you? Forget it. It doesn’t matter if it does, or not. You’re not doing it, mate. Are we clear?’

‘I wasn’t—’

‘Kade…! Are-we-clear?’ Mitch emphasized.

‘We’re clear, mate.’ Mitch held an unconvinced glare. ‘No. It’s all good, bro, truly. We’re clear. I won’t think like that anymore, OK.’

Mitch nodded, albeit unconvinced. ‘Good. Good,’ he said. He sat back in his chair. He checked his surrounds. ’That is a world you do not belong in and you do not want to venture into, even if you are only window shopping… OK?’

‘OK.’

’Is it though, mate? Is it OK…? ‘Coz I’m just not sure.’

‘Seriously, mate… I’m good. That idea has been binned.’

‘Good. Coz from what I hear, the cops and feds continually monitor the dark web. For all you know, you think you are hiring a…’ Mitch paused to check the neighbouring tables. ‘…person to assist your cause, and they could be a fucking undercover cop mate.’

Mitch made his point. It was crazy talk that borders on levels of psychosis. But that is what Dawes is doing to me. ‘I’m not stupid, Mitch. I would never do it… I might think about it now and then… yeah sure. But never do it.’

‘You haven’t discussed this lunacy with anyone else… have you?’

‘Shit no, mate…’

Our discussion was interrupted when my mobile began vibrating on the table. The fortunate timing was not lost on me. I checked the screen. ‘Speak of the devil… It’s Miles,’ I lifted the phone. ‘Sorry. Do you mind…?’

Mitch extended a hand. ‘No, course not. Could be important.’

Consistent with most telephone calls I have with Miles, it was short and to the point.

‘Everything OK?’ Mitch asked, as I tabled my phone.

‘Yeah. Good. We have a hearing on the 28th to challenge these latest warrants.’

Mitch checked his watch. ‘The 28th… Next Thursday…’

‘Correct. Miles is confident we will get mine withdrawn, but he’s not so confident with mum’s warrant.’

‘Do you have to be there?’

‘He wants us to attend so… yeah, I guess we do.’

‘Is that an issue, though…? I mean… If the court rules that your mum has to provide her DNA… Would that really be such a problem? It will prove once and for all you two are related, then Dawes might leave you alone.’

‘I think it’s the principal of it, more than anything else, Mitch. I think mum is annoyed that this cop from Queensland can compel her to provide her DNA and medical records, when the fact remains, there is absolutely no reason justifying the request. It’s like a breach of her civil rights.’

‘I hear you, bro and I couldn’t agree more.’

‘Hey guys, what’s up…?’ A voice from the footpath called out. It was our mate, Doug Barnes. He dragged a nearby chair over and joined us at the table.

‘Hey, Barnsey.’ I gestured to our cups. ‘You up for a coffee?’

‘Nah. I’m good thanks. I’m just off to the bank,’ he said jabbing a thumb to his left.

‘You still on for Wednesday night, bro?’ I asked.

‘Of course. Must be close to my turn to win, I reckon.’

‘In your dreams, buddy,’ Mitch said. ‘You’re talking to the master here…’ He jabbed a thumb at me.

Wednesday night is poker night. Around eight of us get together at mine for Texas hold ’em and some beers.

We each chip in a twenty at the start of the night and the winner takes all.

‘How’s everything going with all that shit happening to you?’ Barnsey said. ‘I saw the retraction published in the West Australian the other day. Read pretty well, actually. Were you happy with it?’

‘Yeah. It was good, I thought. If nothing else, it clearly explained how the paper got it all so very wrong. It made mum feel that little bit better after she read it.’

’Still can’t believe you didn’t sue ’em, bro. You woulda got a packet out of ‘em for that,’ Barnsey said.

‘It was never about money, Barnsey…’

’Yeah, I get that… But I think you let ‘em off easy with their stuff up.’

‘You may be right… But we’re happy with what they published, so as far as we’re concerned… that’s the end of it.’

‘Fair enough,’ Barnsey said. He checked his watch. ‘Anyway boys… I must keep going.’ He punctuated his comment by a double tap on the table then pushed himself up from his chair. ‘See ya on Wednesday night…’

Mitch drained his cup. ‘I should get going to, Kado,’ he said. ‘OK mate.’ I stood from my chair and stretched my back. With a parting fist bump we continued on with our days.