Chapter Twenty-One

Emily leaned a shoulder on the wall while she chatted to her work friend Naomi, during her allocated telephone call time. Naomi made her laugh. She was good therapy for Emily.

‘Oh, I forgot to tell you, Em… You know that cop that arrested you…?’ Naomi asked, somewhat rhetorically.

How could I forget him? He’s the reason why I’ve spent over three months in jail. What she actually said was, ‘I do…’

Naomi continued. ‘He came into the office last week with a search warrant. He and Amanda went behind closed doors in Amanda’s office.’

‘A search warrant…? What would that be for?’

‘I spoke to Jenny, and she said Amanda told her over coffee that the cop was trying to find evidence on the bank’s computer system… Something about you accessing the bank accounts of the people they reckon you killed.’

Emily’s face tightened. ‘That’s absurd,’ Emily said. ‘I never accessed any accounts from those missing persons. In fact… I didn’t even know they were our customers.’

‘Don’t sweat it, Em…He didn’t find anything.’

‘That’s doesn’t surprise me. There was nothing to find…’

Naomi chuckled. ‘Amanda told Jen that the disappointed expression on the cop’s face was priceless when he realized he’d wasted his time.’

‘Good.’

‘You know what that means, Em…? He’s still looking for evidence against you to prove his case. That’s a good thing.’

‘It could be… I just worry that he—’

A hand reached from behind Emily and disconnected her call.

Emily’s jaw dropped. She turned to see who was so rude. Her frowning glare met the snarling scowl of Paris.

Shortly after she stole Emily’s sandwich earlier today, the guard on duty introduced this new arrival to everyone as Paris. A skanky name for a skanky girl, Emily thought at the time.

Paris was one of two current remandees living in the cottage with Emily, who was required by court order to attend compulsory drug rehab during their remand. Rumour through the cottage had it that Paris was a recidivist offender who had spent most of her youth in a jail of some sort.

Clearly she had no respect for anyone else. She was a bully. Emily was not one who sought out confrontation. If anything, she was a pacifist. But disconnecting the call while she still had time remaining was unacceptable. She had to speak out.

Before Emily could respond, Paris forcefully shoved two hands into Emily’s chest. Emily dropped the phone as she careered back into the wall. The dangling telephone receiver swung like a pendulum from the wall mounted base.

Paris caught the swinging receiver. ‘Time’s up, bitch…’ she blurted. She positioned herself in front of the telephone and punched in her PIN and reference number.

‘I hadn’t finished my call…’ Emily said.

Paris ignored Emily. She continued entering the numbers.

‘Excuse me…’ Emily stood with her hands on hips. ‘Excuse me,’ she repeated in a firmer tone. Emily stepped forward and hit the cradle to disconnect the line.

Paris glared at Emily. Her brow plunged deep into her face. Hypocritically, she appeared offended at Emily’s actions.

‘How do you like it…?’ Emily said, showing a bravado foreign to the Emily of old. Problem was, she was way out of her depth.

Without any warning, Paris struck Emily in the face with the telephone handset. A flash of white light momentarily blinded her vision. Emily’s knees buckled. She fell back into the wall and slid to the floor. The left side of her face throbbed. Her wide eyes glanced up at her attacker.

Paris glared at Emily as she stood over her. She jabbed an aggressive finger at Emily. ‘Touch my phone again and I’ll fucken kill ya…’ she said through gritted teeth. She returned to making her call as though nothing had happened.

Discretion was clearly the better part of valour for Emily. She slowly climbed to her feet. Her hand pressed against the side of her cheek, while her wide eyes closely watched her attacker.

Emily sleeked back to her cell to examine her injury. She splashed cold water over her face then examined the redness of her cheek. It was swollen and tender to touch. It would most likely bruise, but she didn’t think there was any other more serious damage.

Prior to Paris arriving, Emily never once felt threatened by the presence of another inmate. But now, Paris represented everything Emily feared about being incarcerated in a women’s prison; roughhouse bullying, stand over tactics and physical abuse.

Up until now, remand had been easy time. She did not want to spend the remainder of her remand time looking over her shoulder. She would do her best to avoid being anywhere near Paris.

Emily wandered from her cell into the common lounge area. Mandy passed Emily on the way. She stopped and lightly grabbed Emily’s forearm. ‘Are you OK…? What happened to your face?’

Emily touched the tender red mark on her face. ‘Paris…’ she said. ‘I was on the phone and she wanted it.’

Mandy’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re kidding. What… She just punched you because she wanted the phone and you had it…?’

‘Basically.’

Emily’s favourite guard, Clive happened by on his way towards the area of the cells. He smiled and nodded a silent greeting at the Emily and Mandy. He suddenly stopped and back stepped. He glanced at Emily’s face. ‘Are you OK? What happened to you?’ he asked.

‘I’ll be OK.’

Clive’s eyes flicked to Mandy. ‘What happened?’ He said. His questioning tone had firmed slightly, more out of concern than anything else.

Mandy jabbed her head towards Clive. ‘Tell him, Em,’ Mandy said.

Clive closely inspected Emily’s injury. Emily flinched slightly when he gently applied pressure to her cheek. ‘You’re gonna have a nasty bruise there,’ he said. He looked to Mandy. ‘Tell me what?’

‘It’s nothing,’ Emily said in her attempts to play it down. ‘Just a slight disagreement. It’s been sorted out.’

Clive held a firm glare at Emily. ‘Were you punched?’

Emily’s gaze flicked to Mandy. Despite being a relative new comer to prison life, she’d watched enough prison shows on TV to know that you don’t rat out your fellow inmates. She just wanted to do her remaining time with the least of trouble.

‘It’s nothing… really,’ Emily said.

As they chatted, Paris strolled passed after finishing her phone call. Emily’s body tightened in Paris’ presence. Her shoulders tensed while her eyes followed Paris as she walked by.

Clive must’ve noticed Emily’s body language. He jabbed a thumb at the passing Paris. ‘Did she do that?’

Emily held up a hand. ‘Look… it’s OK. I’ll heal.’

‘No, it’s not OK,’ Clive said. He glared at Paris as she shuffled away from him. ‘Because of her history of violence, she was supposed to do her remand in general population. There was no room in gen pop at the time she arrived, so they sent her here, against my wishes.’ He continued to glare at Paris as she moved into the lounge and slumped back in a chair. He shifted his gaze back to Emily. ’Did she do that?’ he asked, firmly.

Emily nodded once. In her mind that was not really telling.

‘Do you think you will require any medical attention?’

‘No. The swelling has already reduced. Honestly. I’ll be fine.’

‘OK.’ Clive marched over the Paris. His stride was long. ’He stopped in front of the lounging Paris and jabbed a finger at her. ‘You. In your cell. Now,’ he ordered.

Paris slowly stood from her seat and followed two steps behind Clive as they moved towards the cells. As she passed Emily and Mandy, she mumbled, ‘ya dog. You’re fucken dead…’

Emily’s jaw dropped. ‘Did you hear what she just said?’

‘I did,’ Mandy said. ‘I heard it quite clearly.’

‘Do you think she means it?’ Emily said. She watched Paris follow Clive into her cell.

‘I wouldn’t trust her, Em,’ Mandy said. ‘She lives by different standards to you and me.’

A short time later, Clive emerged from the cell and locked the door. Paris shouted expletive filled abuse at Clive, as well as comments that questioned his sexuality and manhood. Clive did well to ignore them, although he’d probably heard them all before.

As he marched passed Emily and Mandy back to his guard station, Emily said to Mandy, ‘I need a strong coffee.’

‘I’ll join ya…’

---

Mandy was unusually quiet during breakfast on Thursday morning. Long periods of silent contemplation replaced her bubbly personality and quick wit.

Emily sat opposite Mandy eating her Special K cereal. She regarded her friend with concern. For the most, Mandy stared off into the distance. She was not her usual pleasant breakfast company.

Emily could tell Mandy was worried about today’s court case. And rightly so. Today was the day that in many ways defined Mandy’s future.

‘Not hungry…?’ Emily said. She lifted her chin at Mandy’s untouched scrambled eggs.

Mandy shook her head. ‘No. I don’t have any appetite.’

‘Worried?’

‘Shitting myself, Em…I really am.’

‘That’s completely normal Mands…’ Emily said. She reached across the table and cupped Mandy’s hand, for reassurance. ‘It’s an important day for you.’

Mandy forced out a smile. ‘Thanks, Em. You’re sweet. But do you realise that regardless of today’s outcome, I probably won’t be coming back here…’

Emily withdrew her hand. Her face tightened as she sat back in her chair. ‘No, I didn’t realise that.’

‘If the court decided to release me for time already served, or give me a Community Corrections Order, then I won’t be back. If they further sentence me…’ Mandy’s eyes fell to the table. She lifted her welling eyes to Emily. Her lips quivered. ‘I’ll be sent to general population…not here.’

‘So, either way…this is goodbye?’ Emily asked. Her face tightened at the realisation.

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘I don’t want you to go, Mands. It won’t be the same without you here.’

‘I know. I don’t want to go, not if I don’t get released…’

Trevor, the morning shift guard, walked into the kitchen area. ‘You ready, Mandy?’ He checked his watch. ‘Your bus will be leaving in about twenty minutes. We better get you over there for processing.’

The bus Trevor referred to was the uncomfortable prisoner transport van with the hard metal seats inside those small pods.

Fortunately for Mandy, her case was being heard in Melbourne city. It was a much shorter drive than the Geelong courts where Emily would be attending in the coming weeks.

Mandy glanced at her plate. ‘I’ve just got to do my dishes before I go, Trevor.’

Emily waved a hand at Mandy. ‘Leave them… I’ll do them. You go.’

Mandy stood from her chair. Her lips quivered as she moved over to Emily’s side of the table. She held out her arms to Emily. Emily stood from her chair and the two friends embraced.

‘I’m gonna miss you, Mands…’ Emily said.

‘Me too,’ Mandy said. Mandy pushed herself away. ‘You make sure you look me up when you beat those trumped up charges and get out of here… Ya hear me…?’

‘I promise… I look forward to sharing a drink and laughing about old times…’

Mandy glanced at the waiting guard. ‘Gotta go, Em…’ Mandy said. She grabbed Emily’s hands. ‘You watch your back in here, babe.’

‘I will. Good luck with today. I’ve got a good feeling about this,’ Emily said. She punctuated her comments with a gentle squeeze of Mandy’s hands.

Mandy stepped away, still holding onto Emily’s hands until the grip slipped free. Emily watched Mandy leave the cottage with Trevor. A wave of sadness washed over her when Mandy stepped from view. That would probably be the last time she saw Mandy.

‘Now you’re all alone, bitch…’ A voice from behind Emily, blurted.

Emily tensed. She turned to see Paris with arms crossed, leaning a shoulder on the door way into the kitchen.

Emily ignored the taunts. She didn’t want any trouble from Paris. She scooped up their dishes and moved to the sink. While the sink filled, she scraped their plates clean.

Emily checked over her shoulder at various times while she washed the dishes. Paris had not moved. She continued to lean on the doorway glaring at Emily. She had an intimidating smirk out the side of her face.

‘Ain’t got no-one to protect ya now, have ya, dog…?’

Emily’s body tensed. The blood pumped in her ears. Paris was right. Trevor was escorting Mandy to the transport sally port and there wasn’t any other guard relieving him. She was all alone.

‘Because of you, they’re fucken movin’ me to gen pop,’ she said. ‘Because you opened ya mouth they’re gunna make me wear those shitty blue and whites…’ she said, referring to the DPFC prison uniform.

‘I never said anything…’ Emily protested. ‘Clive just saw the mark of my face.’

‘Listen to you…’ Paris said. She pushed herself from the wall. ‘Clive saw the mark on my face,’ she said, mimicking Emily. ‘Ya even call the fucken dog screw by his first name.’

Paris scooped up the knife Emily had washed and left to dry. She jabbed it at Emily. ‘I oughta pop ya eye from ya head, ya fucken dog.’

Emily backed away from Paris. Her wide eyes locked onto the threatening knife. She held up defensive hands.

Paris glared at Emily. ‘Ya don’t dog on another inmate, no matter what… You’re gunna have to learn the hard way, bitch.’

Emily’s mouth was dry. She couldn’t swallow. Her heart thumped. Paris was between her and the door from the kitchen, so she had no escape.

Emily was not a fighter. She couldn’t fight to save her life. The punch she received from Paris was the first time she had ever been struck.

Her eyes remained locked on the threatening knife, then briefly shifted towards the front of the cottage, hoping Trevor would return.

‘If they’re gunna put me in gen pop, then I’ll just have to give them a reason.’

Paris lifted the knife and forcefully thrust it down at Emily. Emily lifted her arms up in defence. The knife plunged into Emily’s left arm, just below the shoulder. It burned when it pierced her skin and dissected muscle and tissue.

Emily screamed in pain and in fear. Her knees went weak. Paris’ smiling face became blurry, then everything went black.

Twenty-two

Trevor strolled back into the cottage after escorting Mandy to her bus. He placed the paperwork he received for Mandy into a file on his desk. When his eyes lifted to the common area, none of the inmates were around.

Trevor frowned. It was too quiet for his liking. That was unusual for this time of morning. All inmates should’ve been up and showered, had breakfast and out of their cells.

He moved towards the kitchen. He glanced in as he passed, on his way to check the cells. His face froze as he stopped in his tracks. He moved back to the kitchen doorway. His jaw dropped. The colour instantly drained from his face.

‘Oh shit…’ he blurted, as he ran into the kitchen. ‘Oh shit…’ His panicked voice repeated. A large pool of dark red blood covered the floor, in the rear corner of the kitchen. Emily was sitting against the wall. Paris was leaning back against her. Both were unconscious and both were covered in blood.

Trevor squatted down beside Paris and checked for a pulse. His eyes locked onto what looked like the handle of a knife protruding from her chest. He gasped and pulled his hand back. Only a small part of the silver handle was visible.

He re-checked Paris’ pulse. There was nothing there. He checked Emily’s pulse. He couldn’t feel a pulse for her either. Trevor stood and ran a hand through his hair. ‘What the fuck happened…?’ he asked himself.

He ran to the rooms of the remaining inmates. Both cowered in their cells. They had seen the bodies in the kitchen and panicked and returned to their rooms. Neither could answer Trevor’s questions about what happened. They simply did not know. One inmate said she heard a blood curdling scream, but that was all she could offer.

He checked their hands and clothes for blood. They were clean. Trevor closed their cell doors, securing them inside. He had to lock down the cottage until investigators arrived.

Panic filled his face as he ran back to his guard station. He dialled a number. ‘I’ve got two bodies in the kitchen,’ he blurted into his phone. ‘I’ve got no idea. I escorted an inmate to the sally port for transport to court and when I came back, they were both dead on the floor. OK. I’ve locked everyone else down. I’ll wait until you get here.’

Trevor hung up the phone and moved back to the kitchen door way. As per the direct instructions from his boss, he didn’t re-enter the kitchen; it was now a crime scene.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the two bodies slumped against the rear wall. The blood pool had grown since he was last there and it started to congeal.

Trevor was on his haunches with his head in his hands when his boss burst into the cottage. He ran the whole way there. Trevor stood to greet his boss. He gestured to the rear corner of the kitchen. ‘They’re in there…’

The boss stood in the doorway assessing the situation. His chest heaved while he caught his breath. ‘Who are they?’

‘The one in front is inmate, Paris Spencer. The one behind her is inmate, Emily Davis. Inmate Spencer has a knife embedded in her chest.’

‘None of the others saw anything…?’

‘No,’

Both guards knew that even if the other inmates did witness what went down in the kitchen, the code among prisoners would prevent them from speaking out. The other prisoners couldn’t risk word seeping out to general population that they helped the screws.

Trevor’s boss ran a contemplative hand across his mouth as he regarded the bodies. His eyes lifted to the CCTV camera in the corner of the room. He gestured to the camera. Trevor’s eyes followed. Without comment, his boss moved to the guard station. He lifted the phone and dialled a number.

‘This is Allan Frost. I’m down in the remand precinct, cottage two. Can you key up the footage from the kitchen down here and get it ready for me…’ He checked his watch. ‘Go back about…one hour. I’m on my way up there now.’

He tapped the phone cradle to disconnect the call. He punched in another number. This time it was to the prison general manager. ‘Tammy… Alan Frost. We’ve had an incident in the kitchen at Cottage two, in the remand precinct. Yep. We’ve got two dead after what appears to be some sort of altercation. Looks like one was stabbed… the other possibly from head injuries. There’s a smeared blood trail down the wall behind her head. No, I haven’t yet, but I’m about to go there and review the footage, now. OK. I’ll keep you apprised.’ He hung up the phone.

‘I wouldn’t mind reviewing what happened. Is that a possibility? It is my unit and I’ll be preparing the reports,’ Trevor said.

Alan regarded Trevor in silent contemplation. He nodded as he lifted the phone and punched in an extension. ‘This is Alan Frost. I’m down in remand precinct, Cottage 2….can you arrange for someone to come down here and relieve Trevor. No, immediately. Thank you.’ He hung up the phone.

Once the relief arrived, Trevor and Alan made their way to the prison security monitor room located in the main building. They stopped at a nondescript door. Alan pushed an intercom and glanced up at the camera above the door. An electronic buzz resonated and the door unlocked. Alan shouldered the door open and they stepped inside.

The monitor room was a darkened room about the size of an average bedroom. A guard sat at a bank of six monitors on one side of the room, while on the other side, computer hard drives flashed and blinked from the rows of towers lining the wall.

Alan slid into the chair beside the camera operator and leaned on his elbows. Trevor stood behind watching on.

The camera operator gestured to the middle monitor. ‘This is what I could locate,’ he said. He pressed play.

The vision-only footage commenced with Paris standing in the kitchen doorway and Emily doing dishes at the sink. Paris lifted a knife and brandished it at Emily. Emily backed away with her hands in the air.

All those watching flinched when Paris stabbed Emily in the left, upper arm. Emily appeared to stagger. Paris raised the knife over head to stab Emily a second time, but Emily seemed to gain a second wind. She lunged at the raised arm, holding the knife, locking both her hands onto Paris’ wrist.

They struggled and wrestled as they moved through the kitchen. Emily forced Paris’ raised arm against the natural movement of the joint. This action caused Paris to pivot around, so her back was to Emily.

They continued to grapple for the knife. Emily managed to free the knife from Paris’ grip. With Paris leaning on Emily, facing away, Emily reached around from behind and plunged the knife into Paris’s chest. All those watching the review cringed.

With the knife visibly protruding from Paris’ chest, Emily forcefully hit her palm onto the end of the protruding handle, forcing the knife further into Paris.

Paris’s knees buckled. She fell back against Emily. Emily couldn’t handle Paris’ dead weight and they both crashed back into the wall, causing Emily to forcefully strike her head. Emily lost consciousness. Both women slid down the wall to the floor. Emily left a trail of smeared blood down the wall from the injury to the back of her head.

The footage continued until Trevor rushed into the kitchen. The camera operator paused the footage. ‘That’s everything,’ he said.

Alan rubbed a hand across his mouth. He exhaled heavily then turned to Trevor. ‘I see that as inmate Spencer attacked inmate Davis with a knife, stabbing her in the left upper arm. In defending herself, inmate Davis wrestled the knife from inmate Spencer and stabbed her attacker with it. Straight forward self-defence, for mine,’ Alan said.

‘Did Davis have to stab her, though…? Then force the knife further in?’ Trevor asked.

‘If someone comes at you with a knife, stabs you in the arm then raises it to stab you again, you act on instincts. If inmate Davis didn’t stop inmate Spencer, she would’ve have been stabbed a second time, possibly fatally. The only way to stop Spencer was to stab her with the same knife that Davis wrestled from her attacker. I don’t think she had much choice.’

Trevor glanced at the monitor on the right. Both bodies laid motionless against the wall. ‘A lot of good it did her…’ Trevor said. He lifted his chin to the monitor. ‘Split her head open when she hit the wall. She died anyway, trying to save herself. At least she took her attacker with her.’

‘Can we get a copy of the footage, please,’ Alan asked the camera console operator.

‘No worries. I’ll get it to you, Trevor,’ the console operator said. ‘I gather you’ll be doing the reports on this.’

Trevor didn’t respond. The console operator glanced back at Trevor to check if he heard his comment. Trevor‘s focus was on the two bodies in the kitchen, that appeared on the right hand monitor.

‘That monitor’s a live feed, isn’t it?’ Trevor said. He gestured to the right hand monitor. ‘The review was on the middle monitor?’ he said as a question.

‘Yeah, that one’s live. I brought the kitchen up live and put it on the right hand monitor, while we reviewed the footage here.’ He flicked a finger at the middle monitor.

‘Can you rewind that one?’ Trevor indicated the right monitor.

‘Yeah. Of course. What do you want?’

‘I’m not sure. I thought I saw something, but I can’t be certain. Can you go back about two minutes, or so…?’

The console operator rewound the live feed footage in fast review.

‘Stop. There.’ Trevor jabbed a finger at the monitor. ‘Play… Play from there.’ He leaned in to the review as it commenced to play forward.

A smile filled his face. ‘I knew I saw something. Did you see that?’ He tapped Emily on the screen.

Alan stared at the monitor with an open mouth. ‘Shit. She’s still alive…’

Trevor nodded. ‘I thought I saw her right arm move. She just grabbed her forehead, then her arm fell back to where it was. It was quick, but it was there…’

Alan placed a hand on the console operator’s shoulder. ‘Can you get onto the ambos… We need one down here, now.’ He pushed himself from his chair. ‘We’ve gotta get back down there…’

---

Emily blinked heavily when she opened her eyes. She scanned the room. This wasn’t her cell. This wasn’t her bed. Pale blue curtains hung on either side of her.

The sound of shoes squeaking on lino, monitors bleeping somewhere, that unmistakable antiseptic smell all meant she was in a hospital. But why?

She glanced at the clamp over a finger on her left hand and the IV line attached to a stand. She didn’t feel any pain, so why was she there?

Her hand found the bandage wrapped tightly around her head. When she lifted her left arm, a sharp pain caught her breath. She grunted and lowered her arm.

Emily closed her eyes. She tried to recall why she would be in a hospital.

A nurse appeared at the foot of Emily’s bed. ‘I thought I heard you,’ she said. The nurse checked Emily’s IV feed then proceeded to check all Emily’s vitals, recording them on Emily’s chart.

‘So, where am I and why am I here?’

The nurse flipped the overturned pages to the front and replaced Emily’s chart. ‘You’re in the medical centre,’ she said.

‘I sort of gathered that… But what medical centre…?’

‘The prison medical centre. You do know you’re in the Dame Phyllis Frost Centre?’ the Nurse asked.

Emily closed her eyes. Why can’t I remember anything? She opened her eyes to the nurse. ‘Do you know why I am in here?’

The nurse lifted Emily’s chart from the foot of the bed. ‘You suffered a stab wound to your left upper arm… Um…’ She turned a page. ‘You also suffered a contusion to the back of your head and severe concussion.’

‘Why can’t I remember what happened?’

’That’ll probably be because of the trauma you suffered to your head. Your memory should return with time.

‘You just have to rest up. You have got considerable swelling on the brain that needs to subside.’

The nurse flipped over the pages and returned the chart. ‘Use the call button there on your bed if you need anything,’ she said, then left the room.

Twenty-Three

For a medical centre, this was one noisy, busy place. Whenever Emily dozed off, something, or someone invariably woke her up; loud voices, someone screaming, or a nurse shining a torch light in her eyes. It was more peaceful back in her cell.

Emily found the light too bright, so she spent most of her time with her eyes closed. Sometimes she slept, other times she laid there listening to the sounds.

Voices whispering caused Emily to open her eyes. Two blurry figures stood at the foot of her bed. When her eyes focussed, she smiled.

‘If you wanted to get out of the cottage you should’ve just asked…’ Clive said. His smile illuminated his face.

Emily watched the nurse leave the room. ‘What are you doing here…?’

‘I was down here for some basic medical supplies…’ Clive said. He lifted his hand to show the plastic bags he carried. ‘So, while I was here… I thought I’d stick my head in and say, gidday.’

‘That’s very kind of you…’

‘How ya doin’?’ Clive said. He leaned on the end of her bed.

‘I’m OK. Things are slowly coming back to me,’ Emily said. ‘Oh. How did Mandy go at court… I’ve been so worried about her?’

‘Not as well as she expected, I think. She got four years…’

Emily’s eyes slammed shut. Her mind re-visited to Mandy’s smiling face. The laughs she had with Mandy and the worried expression on her face before she left for court.

Clive continued. ‘With time served, she’ll probably do about eighteen months, or so. She’s over in gen pop at the moment.’

‘Will she be OK over there?’

‘She’ll be fine. She’s a likeable type.’ Clive regarded Emily. ‘Do you remember much about what happened?’

‘Bits and pieces. I remember Paris stabbing me with a knife…’ Emily touched her left arm. ‘I remember how much that hurt. But I don’t remember too much after that. How is Paris?’

Clive checked over his shoulders. ‘Paris is dead, Emily…’ he said in a quieter tone.

Emily’s mouth fell open as she glared at Clive. ‘Dead…? What happened?’

‘After she stabbed you, you wrestled the knife from her and you stabbed her in the chest. She died from those injuries.’

Emily cupped her forehead. ’I stabbed her…?’ Emily asked. ‘I have absolutely no memory of that. I remember how much it hurt when she stuck the knife in my arm… But I don’t remember anything after that.’ Emily’s eyes flared. ‘Wait… If she’s dead and you said I stabbed her… does that mean I’m looking at—’

Clive held up a hand as he interrupted. ‘Self-defence,’ he said. ‘There was CCTV footage of the whole incident. The investigation found you acted in self-defence. Do you remember Trevor…?’

‘Yes. He’s nice.’

‘Well, he was on duty at the time. He left you and Paris in the cottage unsupervised while he took—’

‘Mandy to her court transport… I remember,’ Emily said, finishing Clive’s sentence. She was excited she could finally recall something else.

‘Well, they came down heavily on poor old Trev over what happened… Basically, because someone died… they sacked him.’

Emily rolled her eyes, then closed them. She felt sorry for Trevor. He was one of the nice ones. ‘What did he do wrong?’

‘Left his post. We can’t leave the cottage without someone relieving us first…’ Clive checked his watch. ‘Anyway. I must get back. I’m glad to see you’re doing OK. I’ll probably see ya back at the cottage, when you’re all better,’ he said. With a departing wave, Clive left her room.

Emily gently touched the back of her head. ‘Well… When I hit my head, I spilt it open on the solid wall. I received twelve stitches, or staples, I don’t know what they call them, here in the back of my head. And I’ve got six stitches here in my left arm,’ Emily said. ‘But I’m OK, now. They’re healing well.’ she reassured. ‘Just a little tender on both places.’

When Boyd heard Emily had been admitted to hospital, he wanted to visit his wife. Unlike hospitals on the outside, there were no visiting times in prison hospitals. He had to wait until she was discharged before he could travel up to see for his own eyes that she was OK.

Today’s box visit was Boyd’s first chance to see his wife after she was attacked almost two weeks ago.

‘You said the other woman, the one who attacked you, died…’ Boyd said. ‘How are you coping with that? That wouldn’t be easy having that on your conscience.’

‘I try not to think about it, Hun… She tried to kill me… It still makes me shudder. For some reason, I’m still here and she’s not.’

‘I’m so glad you’re OK. They wouldn’t let me talk to you. They wouldn’t let me come up to see you. I was going out of my mind with worry. They wouldn’t tell me what happened… only that you’d been in an altercation with another inmate and you were in hospital.’ Boyd’s eyes welled. His lips quivered. ‘I was so scared. I thought the worst, Em… I thought I was going to lose you.’

Emily placed her hand on the glass. Boyd did the same. ‘You’re not going to lose me, Hun. I’m still here,’ she said. ‘I’ve got too much to live for with you waiting for me… Besides, after next week when they throw my case out, I will be able to come home and we can get things back to normal again…’

‘You have no idea how good it is to see you, safe and well…’ Boyd said.

Emily smiled. She didn’t have to talk. She was happy just being able to look at her husband.

Boyd wiped an escaping tear. He sniffed. ‘While I think of it…’ he began. ‘I spoke with Duncan last week. He has reviewed the police evidence and he believes it is a weak case against you. He is going ask for the charges to be dismissed. So fingers crossed.’

‘Let’s hope so…’

Their visit time seemed to evaporate. It didn’t seem long before the knock on the door resonated within the small space and their time was over.

Emily and Boyd said their goodbyes and Emily left the box. She was buoyed by the thought that after next week this could all be over and she could return to her life.

---

Emily sat in a cell in the Geelong police station with her tear-streaked face buried into in her hands. Her reddened eyes and melancholic expression corroborated how the day’s events failed to go as planned.

When Friday morning arrived, the day of Emily’s committal, she rose early. Attending court intimidated her, but she was excited to get the case out of the way and move on with her life.

Certain it would be the last time, she even tolerated the prison van’s uncomfortable steel seat during the long ride down the highway to Geelong.

The committal started as Duncan had explained to Emily. The police presented their evidence first. It wasn’t strong and relied heavily on how Emily provided police with the locations of the bodies of the seven missing persons.

The police argued that only the murderer, or persons involved would know where the bodies were located. They questioned Emily’s claimed ability to be able to communicate with people who had passed on. They also challenged Emily and her defence team to prove such an ability existed.

The police did not call many witnesses.

When they were finished leading their evidence, it was Duncan’s turn. He initially moved to have the case dismissed through lack of evidence. The magistrate however, rejected that motion.

Duncan eloquently presented their defence to the court. He attacked the police handling of the case. He highlighted that the police case failed to link Emily to any of the seven victims.

He went to great lengths in his articulate manner, to highlight that Emily was never a suspect and in fact, police had never heard of Emily Davis before she provided them with her list of names.

When Duncan put forward to the court that the police only arrested Emily because she came forward to try and help the victims by providing the locations of where their bodies could be found, the magistrate gave his first indication that things were not going to end well for Emily.

‘I find the fact your client knew the location of all seven victims particularly relevant to the charges, Mr Jervis,’ the magistrate said. ‘Police allege the accused knew of these locations because she was the murderer. You claim she knew where the victims’ bodies were located because the victims themselves… or more appropriately, the ghosts of the victims, told the accused where their bodies were.

‘Unless you can demonstrate to the court today that your client has these psychic abilities you speak of… the ability to speak to people who have passed on, then based on the evidence presented before me today, I am prepared to send this case to trial in the supreme court, before a judge and jury. Are you able to demonstrate your client’s psychic abilities?’

Duncan’s gaze shifted to Emily’s big brown eyes staring back at him from the dock at the side of the court. She recognized that expression. It was his if you’ve got something, now is the time to say it, look.

She briefly shook a conceding head. She expected that moment was coming. She had discussed it with Duncan numerous times. He believed the only weakness in their defence would be if the court asked for demonstrated proof of her skills. If it was asked and they failed to provide the proof, they would be sent to trial.

Well the time had come. The court asked and they could not provide.

Duncan gave one last effort. ’I’m afraid that the proof you ask for, Your Honour is not tangible. It is not something that can be analysed, or weighed like a confiscated drug. It is not something one seizes, or photographs and it certainly cannot be sealed into an evidence bag and presented to the court.

‘We are talking about a level of consciousness through which my client communicates with persons who have passed on. How does the court expect us to demonstrate this unique ability when these events occur as cognitive activity through my client as a medium?’

’I take it then, Mr. Jervis that you will not be providing a demonstration of your client’s “unique” ability to this court today…’ The magistrate said.

Duncan gave it his best shot. The magistrate had clearly made up his mind. ‘No, Your Honour,’ Duncan said. He slid back into his chair.

The magistrate commenced his summary. ’The police have presented evidence to show that the accused had knowledge of the location of seven murder victims, each of whom were long term missing persons. Their evidence presented that only the person who took the life of each victim would know where their bodies were buried, or dumped, as the case may be.

’The accused knew the location of each of the seven victims. This was proven by a list she gave to the police. The police made numerous references to this list as, “Emily’s List”. This “Emily’s List” recorded the location of each victim’s body.

’The defence states that the accused is a psychic medium and has the ability to communicate with deceased persons. And it was through this psychic ability, she was visited by each of the seven victims, who in turn told her where their bodies were located.

’At the outset of this sentence, I used the word “states”, as in “the defence states”, because the defence has not presented any evidence to demonstrate the accused’s special abilities. If they had been successfully able to do so, I would have found in favour of the defence and dismissed the charges.

‘In the absence of any such evidence before this court to demonstrate the accused’s psychic ability, I have no option but to commit this case to stand trial before a judge and jury in the supreme court, at a date to be fixed. Remove the prisoner.’

That was what Emily had been reduced to in the eyes of society—a prisoner; a demeaning label to someone valiantly trying to defend her innocence. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?

Duncan and Emily discussed this outcome as a possible worst case scenario. Deep down she didn’t want to consider it. She focused on the positive outcome. She hoped the court would dismiss all charges and set her free to return to her life.

Instead, she would be returning to jail. Emily stood from her seat. Her hands covered her mouth as she burst into tears. Her eyes locked onto Boyd, who also stood from his seat.

The female corrections officer seated in the dock with Emily gently grabbed Emily’s arm. ‘Let’s go,’ she said. She gestured towards the door at the back of the prisoner dock.

Emily’s eyes remained on Boyd as she moved to the door. The tears in her husband’s eyes was the last thing she remembered before disappearing through the door.

Twenty- Four

After spending the balance of the day in the Geelong police station cells, then enduring the uncomfortable sixty minute ride on a cold steel seat, Emily returned to the one place she never wanted to see again.

Once she stepped inside the cottage with her escort, Emily ignored anyone in her path—including Clive on the front desk, as she stormed into her cell and flopped face down onto her bed. She buried her head into her pillow.

No longer could she fight the melting pot of pent up emotions consuming her. Overwhelming disappointment, fear, anger, frustration and embarrassment all flooded out with the salty tears being absorbed into her pillow.

Several hours passed while Emily remained in her self-imposed isolation. She’d rolled onto her back with her fingers locked behind her head, staring at the ceiling. All she could think of was the loss of the life and the freedom she once knew.

She thought about how a manifestly flawed justice system that locked away innocent people, had deprived her of precious time with her husband. She nearly lost him once to a horrific car accident. She didn’t want to come through all that only to lose him for something she didn’t do.

Emily’s focus shifted to Clive when he appeared in the doorway to her cell. He held a cup in each hand. ‘I thought you could use this…’ he said. He approached Emily. ‘White and none, if I’m not mistaken.’

Emily swung her feet to the floor as Clive approached. She accepted the cup. ‘You are so nice, Clive,’ she said, then took a sip.

Ever the professional, Clive remained standing near the cell door. To be seen sitting on a female inmate’s bed would border on inappropriate behaviour for the friendly guard, even though his intentions were nothing but genuine.

As it was, he probably crossed some sort of line making Emily a coffee and taking it to her in her cell.

’I’ve gotta say, Emily… I was a little disappointed when I heard you were coming back. I genuinely hoped for your sake that I never saw you again.’

Clive’s warming, heartfelt words were a silver lining to all her darkness. For the first time in a while, a semblance of a slight smile appeared on her face. ‘You are so sweet, Clive.’ She held her cup with two hands as she sipped her coffee.

‘Look,’ Clive began. ’He leaned a shoulder on the door frame. ‘For what it’s worth… I don’t know you very well… but, from what I’ve seen of you from your time in here, you don’t strike me as the type of person who was capable of doing the things they’re saying you did. You’re too kind, too genuine in nature. I’m telling you this because… I believe you will beat this at trial.’

Emily rolled her eyes. Her head lolled forward. She now had her doubts after losing today’s committal.

Clive continued. ‘Trials are completely different to committal hearings… They have a judge and a jury… People who just like you, have real emotions. The police have to prove to this jury, beyond all reasonable doubt, that you are guilty. I’m confident the jury will see what I see and set you free.’ He took a sip.

Emily’s welling eyes fell to the floor. Her lips quivered. Whether she realized or not, she needed to hear those words of comfort and reassurance. They gave her a glimmer of hope at a time she was at her lowest.

‘You’re way too kind to be a prison guard, Clive. I always thought prison guards were supposed to be tough and rugged and uncaring towards prisoners under their charge…’ Her glistening eyes moved to Clive. ‘You proved me wrong with that generalized impression. You are a genuine, caring person who is good at his job. Thank you so much.’

Clive pushed himself from the door frame. He held out his hand to Emily. ‘I’ll take care of that for you…’

Emily drained her mug and handed it to Clive. ‘Thank you. You have no idea how much you have helped me after today…’ Emily said.

Clive’s mouth straightened. ‘Glad I could be of help.’ With a nod and a cup in each hand, he left the cell.

Emily fell back onto her bed. Thanks to Clive’s kind words of encouragement, she now had renewed hope that this would all end favourably.

---

Emily’s long awaited trial began with jury selection. Duncan used his challenges—the option to exclude a person from jury selection, without reason, to try and select more women than men on the jury. He believed that women would be more compassionate to Emily’s plight.

Duncan also tried for younger aged jurors. It was his theory that the younger generation were more open minded to accept Emily’s psychic abilities, compared to the closed minds of the older generations.

The long process culminated with a jury of seven women and five men selected and sworn in. The average age of the jury was around late thirties to early forties, which Duncan was satisfied with, given the average was artificially bolstered by two jurors of retirement age.

A throng of television media recorded Emily’s arrival at court, as she stepped from the prison van into the court building. From there she was taken to a holding cell while waiting to be called into court. The cell was a stark room with no toilet, no bed and timber bench seats lining the wall.

Emily sat in the corner of the cell quietly passing assessing eyes over the other four people in there with her. There were three males and one female. Every one of them was heavily tattooed. To Emily, they all looked rough around the edges; people who had lived tough lives.

Most of them had poor dental hygiene. Numerous teeth were missing, while those teeth that remained, were crooked and heavily stained.

Their conversations bordered on moronic. None were foreigners to our shores, but many of them failed to articulate sentences remotely resembling the English language, as she knew it. Obtaining an education was clearly not the priority for any of these cell mates, she mused.

Emily was thankful to be the first from the cell to be called forward. A corrections officer escorted Emily through the inner bowels of the court building to a timber door. When the officer opened the door, bright light flooded in. Emily stepped into the prisoner dock located off to the side of the supreme court.

She passed a nervous, first-time glance around. The large open room was brightly lit with timber lined walls and high ceilings.

At the front of the room was the large elevated timber bench. An empty high-backed leather chair sat below a framed picture of a much younger Queen Elizabeth II.

Rows of empty chairs, provided for the public gallery, were positioned behind the bar table, which was currently occupied by numerous lawyers fussing about.

For Emily, it was like stepping back in time to the English 1800s. There were so many wigs and black robes worn by the legal counsels.

She had only seen Duncan wearing his bespoke suit at the magistrates court. Standing at the bar table with his colleagues, he now wore the uniform of the Queens Counsel, colloquially referred to as, ‘Silks’ because of the black full length silk robes they wore in the higher courts.

Duncan appeared so different to how Emily remembered him. He wore the barrister’s traditional off-white, horse-hair wig with tight curls and little pony tails hanging down.

He also wore the full-length black silk robe with a white jabot, which is a type of white bib with a plain collar and two strips of straight white fabric that Barristers wore around their neck.

As a first timer to this level of court, it was all very regal in appearance to Emily.

Emily took her seat in the dock. She didn’t like sitting over there. She was not the criminal they’d made her out to be, yet she was forced to sit in this open, timber enclosure with a corrections officer escort.

The whole process of being treated like a convicted criminal before her court trial, undermined her presumption of innocence.

The judgemental scrutiny Emily received from public and press as they filed into court offended her dignity. The whole process was humiliating. She was effectively put up on a pedestal for all to see and judge.

At the instructions of the tipstaff—the judge’s court room assistant—all present in court stood for the judge’s entrance. The judge ambled in through a door located beside his bench. Dressed in a regal red gown and white wig, the judge was an older man, probably in his mid to late seventies.

He instantly commanded a presence in the room. Following the standard bow, everyone sat. Emily frowned across at the empty jury box. Where’s the jury? I thought Duncan said they’d already empanelled a jury.

Duncan stood and introduced himself to the court. This was followed by the crown prosecutor doing the same.

Following conversations between the judge and counsellors at the bar table, of which Emily couldn’t follow, the judge asked Duncan for the defence’s plea.

‘How does your client plea to the charges, Mr. Jervis?’

Duncan jumped to his feet. His focus shifted to Emily. He gestured to her to stand, which she did. ‘Are you happy to accept the plea through me, Your Honour?’

‘Is your client’s ability to speak in some way impaired?’

‘No, Your Honour.’

‘Then I’ll hear the plea through the accused, directly.’

‘Very well, sir,’ Duncan said.

The judge’s firm glare shifted to Emily. ‘How do you intend to plead in relation to the charges against you?’

All eyes in the court were now on Emily. Her heart rate instantly rose. She rubbed her hands together as her gaze shifted to Duncan. Her eyebrows lifted. Is this where I say not guilty? Duncan gave a single nod of reassurance. That was enough for her.

‘Not guilty, Your Honour,’ Emily said in a firm tone. She wanted to sound convincing.

‘Ah, that plea applies to all of the seven charges, Your Honour,’ Duncan clarified.

‘Thank you. I have recorded a plea of Not Guilty to all charges.’

Duncan took his seat. He gestured to Emily to sit, which she did.

The judge instructed the tipstaff to bring the jury in.

A door opposite where Emily sat, opened. Emily watched the twelve people chosen to decide on her future, file in and take a seat in the jury box. Most glanced straight across at her. She felt them judging her.

The door to the rear of the court room opened. Emily smiled when Boyd entered, followed by her mother and father and Naomi. Trailing behind them was her older brother and his wife and her younger sister, who had flown over from Perth to show her support.

They moved to sit in the first row, behind the bar table. Emily smiled her welcome to each of her support team. But it was her husband she couldn’t take her eyes off.

The opening arguments were presented. The crown was first to summarize what they would prove to the court. A heavy focus was placed on Emily’s list and how the accused knew the location of seven missing persons, each of whom had been murdered.

The prosecutor briefly touched on Emily’s claim to possess psychic abilities, and how scientific theory questioned such an ability. He closed by adding a comment about when the jury learned that the accused failed to present any evidence to validate these psychic skills, they would have no alternative but to return a finding of guilty.

Duncan stood from his seat and addressed the jury. ’Throughout this trial you will hear evidence from the Crown about how psychic phenomena, in particular, the psychic ability to communicate with people who had passed on, is not supported by modern science. That is merely a heavily debated and inconclusive scientific finding.

’People in nearly every culture have believed that communication with the departed, is possible. Ghosts and spirit communication appears in classic literature, including mythology, the Bible and Shakespeare’s plays.

‘Some of you may have heard of an American woman by the name of Alison Dubois. Ms. Dubios is a psychic medium who studied to become a prosecuting attorney…’ he said, with a gesture towards the crown prosecutor. ’Until she decided she could offer more by using her mediumship abilities professionally.

’Today she is one of America’s most sought after mediums, regularly employed by law enforcement agencies to assist in solving crimes and locating missing persons. They even created a TV series about Ms. Dubois called, “Medium”. Some of you may have seen that show.

’You may be interested to learn that Ms. Dubois volunteered herself to be subjected to a variety of tests and experiments to prove her abilities. The results are all published and they demonstrated, not only did she possess genuine mediumship abilities, but these abilities were considered exceptional.

’But whether you are a believer, or a non-believer in psychic phenomena is irrelevant to these proceedings. You are not here to find on the existence of the afterlife, or one’s ability to communicate with the dead.

‘Your job is to decide on whether the Crown proves beyond-all-reasonable-doubt,’ he said with deliberate emphasis, ‘I’ll say that again…’ he paused to eye each of the jury members. ’The Crown needs to prove beyond-all-reasonable-doubt… that my client is guilty of these charges of murder.

‘If you remain impartial to your beliefs on life after death and find solely on the evidence presented to this court, you will find that the Crown has no evidence linking my client to the crimes for which she had been accused and you will have no option but to return a verdict of Not Guilty. Thank you.’

Duncan returned to his seat at the bar table.

Based on Emily’s understanding of court room procedure acquired from watching movies, most of which were US movies, they were standard opening arguments presented by each team.

Twenty-Five

Before commencing, the crown prosecutor asked the judge to direct all witnesses involved in this matter, be excluded from sitting in the court.

The judge responded by directing all witnesses to wait outside the court until called to present evidence. Emily’s disapproving gaze watched her husband and friend, Naomi exit the court room.

Once the last of the witnesses had exited, Detective Sergeant Max Higgins was the first witness to be called. The rear door opened and Max entered the court room. Emily watched the sergeant amble through the court and enter the witness box. The tipstaff swore him in.

Emily listened with interest as Max presented his evidence to the court. Not surprisingly, the evidence he presented was the same as what they presented at the committal.

The crown prosecutor stood at the bar table while Max gave his evidence. The prosecutor was a short, weighty man with a thick head of dark hair protruding from under his wig. He wore armless, narrow reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

Like Duncan, the prosecutor also wore the traditional horse hair wig and full-length black silk robe and jabot.

During his evidence, Max introduced how Emily attended at the Geelong Police station with a list containing seven names. He referred to it as Emily’s list.

‘What was so significant about that list of names the accused gave to police, Detective?’ The prosecutor asked Max.

‘It contained the names of seven, long-term missing persons I was investigating at the time, each of whom was suspected of having met with foul play… and it also contained the location as to where their bodies could be found.’

‘I see… So each person named on that list the accused gave to police, was deceased?’ He said, as a question, then glanced at the jury over the top of his glasses.

‘We were not aware at the time we received the list, but yes, when police later found each victim, they were deceased.’

‘How was it police found these seven bodies, Detective?’

‘As I said. The list the accused gave to police provided the location of where the seven bodies were located,’ Max said.

The prosecutor shifted his focus to the jury. He folded his arms across his corpulent stomach. ‘The list the accused gave to police provided the location of where the seven bodies were located,’ he repeated to the jury, for emphasis. ‘Did the accused explain how she obtained these names and whereabouts of these seven long term missing persons…?’

‘She did. She said she was a medium…’

‘A medium…’ The prosecutor said. ‘Like a psychic medium… Someone who claimed they could communicate with people who had died…?’

‘Correct. The accused said the spirits of each missing person came to her and asked her for help in locating their bodies. She said their spirits told the accused where their bodies were located. She said she later prepared the list to help police find the bodies.’

Max introduced Emily’s list and entered it as an exhibit.

‘That’s extraordinary,’ the prosecutor said. ‘Did the accused provide any evidence of this so-called ability to communicate with people from the afterlife?’

‘No. She said she was not able to.’

‘So… Even when faced with seven counts of murder… and the prospect of life in prison…’ The prosecutor cast his eyes over the jury. ‘The accused was unable to produce any evidence to prove she had this ability to speak to the dead?’

‘Correct.’

The prosecutor scanned the jury again. ‘I see… Could you please indicate on the large map on the easel beside you there, Detective, where each body was located.’

One-by-one Max used an extendable pointer to identify the location of each victim’s body on the map.

Max also presented photographs of the crime scenes, along with close up photos of the victim’s injuries that ultimately caused their deaths.

’As the investigating detective, prior to receiving this list from the accused… did you have any knowledge as to whether any, or all of these seven missing people were alive, or dead…

‘No.’

‘Yet the accused did, didn’t she? She even provided you with the locations of where to find their bodies.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘What did you conclude from the information contained in Emily’s list?’

‘Given the circumstances surrounding the murder of each victim, I formed the conclusion that only the person, or persons involved in the murders would know where the bodies had been dumped.’

Max glanced across at Emily. ‘From the information the accused provided on the list she gave to police, it was evident the accused knew where the bodies were located.’

The crown prosecutor returned to his seat.

Emily rubbed her perspiring hands down her thighs. Her eyes met her family gazing back at her. She forced out a straight-mouth smile. She’d heard it all before at the committal, but it was still overwhelming to listen to.

Duncan stood. He held an A4 sized, yellow note pad. He flipped a page and scanned it. He flipped a second page. He continued his theatrics by turning a third page on his note pad. ‘Forgive me, Detective… I must have missed some of your evidence…’ he said. He continued to scan his notes. He glanced down at the prosecutor seated beside him. ‘Can you remind me where your evidence linked my client to each victim?’ He said sarcastically.

Max attempted to answer. ‘The list your client gave to police provided the location of—’

‘Yes. Yes,’ Duncan interjected. He arrogantly waved the back of a hand. ‘I heard that part.’ He turned towards the prosecutor. ‘Surely you have more than a vague list…?’ he said, before returning to face the judge. ‘Surely you have some forensic evidence that connects my client to each of the victims.’ His tone was intentionally questioning and condescending. ‘DNA, clothing fibres, transfer, witnesses… anything?’

‘No. Just the list.’

‘I see,’ Duncan said. He placed the pad on the table and leaned on his hands. ‘You gave evidence that you located the bodies of…’ Duncan turned a page on his notes. ‘Brian Taylor, Jenny Cox and Malcom Denyer in a mine shaft near the town of Steiglitz.’

Duncan lifted the evidence bag containing Emily’s list. ‘Please explain to the court where this list stipulates those three bodies were in a mine shaft, at that location where you found them,’

Duncan approached Max and handed him the list. Max didn’t read the list. He placed it down on the front ledge of the witness stand.

‘The list doesn’t provide an exact location of where the bodies were located.’

On his return to the bar table, Duncan stopped and over dramatically pirouetted around to face Max. ‘I’m sorry. Can you please repeat that response, Detective…’

‘I said, the list doesn’t provide an exact location of where the bodies were located,’ Max repeated.

Duncan cupped his chin and scanned the jury while Max repeated his answer. He approached the jury. ‘The list doesn’t provide an exact location of where the bodies were located…’ Duncan repeated. He stopped in front of the jury box and individually met the gaze of each juror. He wanted them to remember that evidence.

Duncan’s focus remained on the jury while asked his next question. ‘Your evidence here today, Detective, was that only the person, or persons who murdered these victims would know the whereabouts of their bodies…?’ He turned and approached Max.

He gestured to Emily’s list. ’Yet that list you so heavily relied on for your evidence… does not provide any location for those three bodies in Steiglitz, does it?

‘I’m confused, Detective. If my client’s list didn’t lead you to the location of the bodies… How did you find these three bodies in the mineshaft near Steiglitz…?’

‘Like I said earlier, Malcolm Denyer’s mobile phone was found in his abandoned car. The police technicians used data from the phone, as well as the phone’s inbuilt GPS to triangulate phone towers in the area. From that they provided me with a general location.’

’Ah yes. Mr Denyer’s mobile phone provided you with a general location…’ Duncan repeated. ‘So… without Mr Denyer’s phone, you had no idea of the location of the three bodies, despite being in possession of what you referred to as Emily’s list?’ Duncan said as a question.

‘That is correct. The phone gave us an area to search.’

‘The phone gave us an area to search…’ Duncan repeated as he passed his eyes over the jurors. ‘Not Emily’s list…’

‘Well, the list sent us to Steiglitz, but the phone narrowed it down.’

Duncan held up a finger. ‘That’s not your evidence-in-chief, Detective…’ Duncan said. ‘Allow me to remind you of what you said.’

He quickly returned to his desk and flipped through the pages of his note pad. ‘My learned colleague asked you…’ Duncan read from his notes. “This list provided you with the whereabouts of each victim’s body”... You replied, “That’s correct”…’

Duncan moved to stand in front of the jury. He passed his eyes over each jury member, as he continued. ’But what you are now telling me is, in actual fact, the list did not provide you with a location of the victim’s bodies, did it, Detective…? Data extracted from Malcom Denyer’s mobile phone by police technicians provided you with the location of the three bodies in Steiglitz.’

‘Correct.’

‘Would you have discovered these bodies in Steiglitz without my client’s list, but by using Malcom Denyer’s mobile phone data?’

‘That’s hard to determine…’

‘Is it? I suggest it is straight forward, Detective. Did the list my client gave to police… this Emily’s list, provide you with the location of the victims’ bodies? It’s not that difficult of a question, Detective.’

‘No.’

’No… The list did not provide you with a location of the victim’s bodies…’ Duncan repeated for the benefit of the jury. ‘Malcolm Denyer’s mobile phone data did…’ Duncan flipped a page on his pad. He flipped a second page.

‘You seized my client’s mobile phone under search warrant, Detective. Did your IT technicians employ the same techniques used on Malcom Denyer’s phone, to place my client at the location where the bodies in Steiglitz were located?’

‘Yes.’

‘I see… And what did this technique conclude?’

‘There was no evidence that placed the accused in Steiglitz. But maybe she didn’t have her phone with her at the time.’

’I see. But we work on fact, not “Maybe”, Detective…?’ Duncan said. ‘I put it to you, your police technicians couldn’t find anything on my client’s mobile phone GPS because she wasn’t anywhere near Steiglitz.’

‘That is possible.’

‘Is it your evidence today, Detective that there was no evidence located through analysis of my client’s mobile phone’s GPS to place her at the Steiglitz location where the bodies were located?’ Duncan re-clarified for the benefit of the Jury.

‘Correct.’

‘Did you use this same technique of tracing movements through the mobile phone towers and GPS to try and place my client at any of the other locations where the remaining four bodies were found?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what was the outcome of this technical analysis of my client’s mobile phone GPS and other data, Detective?’

‘Same result.’

‘Which was…?’

‘There was nothing found that placed the accused at any of the locations where the remaining four bodies were located.’

Duncan glanced at the jury as he repeated Max’s comment. ‘There was nothing found that placed the accused at any of the locations where the remaining four bodies were located…’

Duncan moved to the large map on an easel. ‘It is your evidence that the body of Libby Vassilliou was located here in the Otways Forest.’ He pointed to the location on the map.

’I’ll refer you my client’s list in front of you… Please demonstrate to the court where Emily’s list directed you to that specific location.’

‘We only had a general location.’

Duncan over dramatized throwing his arms in the air. ’You only had a general location…’ Duncan repeated for the benefit of the jury. ’It was your evidence, Detective that my client’s list provided you with the location of all seven bodies… But that is not accurate, is it, Detective? My client’s list did not direct you to the three bodies in the Steiglitz mine shaft… Malcolm Denyer’s mobile phone did… And my client’s list did not direct you to where Ms Vassilliou’s body was located?’

‘No. But the list provided a general location,’ Max said. ‘From there we searched the area and located Libby Vassilloiu’s shallow grave.’

‘I put it to you, Detective, that the reason my client only provided a “general location” on her list, was because my client had never been to the place where Ms. Vassilliou was buried. I put it to you that through my client’s unique abilities as a medium, she was contacted by the spirit of Ms. Vassilliou… Ms. Vassilliou’s spirit only provided my client with the “general location” of her body… because Ms. Vassilliou didn’t know where she was buried… My client could only record on her list what she was told by Ms. Vassilliou.’

‘Your client failed to prove that to me…’

‘Isn’t the fact that my client assisted you with the whereabouts of the seven missing persons proof enough that she communicated with them?’

‘Not to me. She would know where they were buried if she killed them.’

‘But of course, you have no evidence of that, do you, Detective? You have not presented any evidence linking my client to these murders.’

Max didn’t respond.

TWENTY-SIX

One-by-one Duncan pointed to the locations on the map where each body was found. He asked Max to show where this location was mentioned on Emily’s List. Each time he received the same response; the list did not record the exact location.

’Your evidence today would suggest, my client did not provide you with the locations of any of the seven victims. Wouldn’t that be the case, Detective?’

‘The locations on the list were close to where the bodies were found.’

Duncan crossed his arms. ′Close to where the bodies were found…’ Duncan repeated. He moved to the large map. He pointed to the area on the Aireys Inlet coast line. ‘You gave evidence that Dale Cartwright’s body was located here. You initially searched this area way over here…’ He indicated an area several kilometres away, near Fairhaven.

’Because Mr. Cartwright’s mountain bike was found on a track in that area… Not because my client’s list sent you to that location. As a matter of fact, Detective, the location where Mr. Cartwright’s body was found was a distance of 3.8 kilometres away from where the mountain bike was located, wasn’t it?

‘I have no idea of the distances involved.’

‘In fact, the only reason you found, Mr. Cartwright’s shallow grave was because a dog uncovered Mr. Cartwright’s foot after unseasonal heavy rains… Not from information contained in my client’s list. Isn’t that correct?’

‘Correct.’

’So explain to the court how my client’s list provided you with a location that was “close to Mr. Cartwright’s body”?’

‘The list said the body was somewhere near Aireys Inlet and it was.’

‘I see…’ Duncan said. He cupped his chin. ‘Somewhere near Aireys Inlet…’ Duncan repeated. He approached the map and pointed to Anglesea. ’Anglesea is “somewhere near Aireys Inlet…” Fairhaven is “somewhere near Aireys Inlet…” Yet the distance between Anglesea and Fairhaven is some thirteen or so kilometres, Detective… Somewhere near Aireys Inlet is not directing you to the location of Mr. Cartwright’s body…’ Duncan lifted his note pad. ‘Did you execute a search warrant on my client’s former employer?’

‘I did.’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘I wanted to see if there was any evidence on banking records that connected the accused to any of the victims.’

‘I see. Why did you think there would be banking records linking my client to any of the victims?’

‘My inquiries showed that each of the victims was a customer of the same bank the accused worked for.’

‘I see.’ Duncan crossed his arms. ‘And did you locate any evidence from that search warrant executed on my client’s employer that connected my client to any of the victims?’

‘No.’

‘You looked, but you couldn’t find anything. Is that correct, Detective?’

‘Yes.’

‘So… let me see if I understand your evidence correctly…’ Duncan began. ‘You have not presented any evidence that places my client at any of the five locations where the victims’ bodies were buried or dumped.

‘You have not presented any evidence… forensic or through association… connecting my client to any of the victims… What you have presented is a list of missing persons’ names with very vague locations, as to where the victims were buried… A list my client prepared from the information she received from the victims themselves, through her mediumship abilities, and she voluntarily gave this list to the police. You formed the conclusion that because the accused knew the approximate whereabouts of these seven missing persons, then she must be the murderer…?’

‘Correct.’

‘Did you at any time consider my client may actually possess these mediumship skills, she so openly claimed to have?’

‘I required hard evidence, not psychic phenomena…’ Max said.

‘I see. So you’re a sceptic.’

The prosecutor leapt to his feet. ‘Your Honour, my learned colleague is—’

Duncan held up a conceding hand. ‘I’ll withdraw, Your Honour.’ He returned his focus to Max. ‘You mentioned that you required “hard evidence not psychic phenomena”… But you failed to present any such hard evidence, Detective…’ Duncan slid into his chair.

By the end of his cross examination, Duncan had grilled Max in the witness box for over three gruelling hours. He dissected and rebutted Max’s evidence to cast doubt over its accuracy and credibility.

All he had to do was create an element of doubt in the mind of the jury in relation to the crown’s evidence. He successfully achieved that.

When Duncan was done, the prosecutor jumped to his feet to re-examine Max, to try and counter the points raised by the defence’s cross examination. But the damage had been done by Duncan.

The message for the jury from this police witness was the police did not have any evidence connecting Emily to the seven bodies and Emily’s List they relied so heavily on, did not provide police with the exact location of the seven bodies.

Emily was happy with how that went. From her perspective, Duncan made the detective sergeant look a little foolish. She hoped the jury saw it that way as well.

Towards the end of the long day, Emily found it difficult sitting still for so long. Her bum ached. Even though this was her future playing out in front of her, on some occasions, her fatigued eyes closed; long blinks she called them.

The clock on the wall above the witness box showed 4.30 when the judge adjourned for the day.

Once the jury had filed out, the judge left the court room. The escorting corrections officer tapped Emily on the arm. ‘Let’s go…’ she said.

Emily stood from her chair and stretched into a long yawn. Her bum was stiff. She looked to her supporting family. Her dad gave her a thumbs up. He too must have approved of Duncan’s work.

Before stepping through the doorway, Emily paused and turned to her family. She blew her supporters a kiss. From court, she was escorted to a cell in the Geelong Police station, where she spent the night.

---

The following morning Emily woke early after an interrupted night’s sleep on an uncomfortable vinyl covered mattress in a cold cell.

A police woman brought Emily in a change of clothes in a sports bag she immediately recognised. The cop informed a surprised Emily that her husband provided these changes of clothes for her.

Day two of Emily’s trial heard evidence from prosecution witnesses. Most were from specialist groups within Victoria Police; forensics, search and rescue, police IT technicians. Duncan only cross-examined some these witnesses.

Late in the afternoon, the prosecution called their last witness, a professor of psychology and psychiatry. The prosecution clearly wanted this evidence to be the last presented, and therefore the last evidence remembered by the jury.

Professor Glen Schultz was called. A tall, lean built man in his mid to late sixties, dressed in a dark grey suit and striped tie, entered the court room. His distinguished silver grey hair and close-cropped beard reminded Emily of a skinny Sean Connery.

He strode with confidence through the court to the witness box. The tipstaff swore the professor in by affirmation; an alternative process for any witness without a religious faith.

The crown subpoenaed the professor as an expert witness to give evidence about his scientific tests disproving the existence of an afterlife and people’s ability to communicate with the dead.

The prosecutor stood from his seat to address the witness. He firstly qualified the witness as an expert. ‘Professor, please explain to the court your academic qualifications.’

The professor adjusted himself in his seat. His back straightened. It was evident he was comfortable talking about himself. ‘I am a professor of psychology, medicine, neurology and psychiatry from the Australian National University. I received my Ph.D. in psychology from Harvard University. I lectured at Australia National University and then Melbourne University for over twenty-five years as a professor of psychology and psychiatry. I have published more than three hundred and eighty scientific papers.’

The witness went on to provide evidence of what he referred to as “unbiased scientific studies” he conducted on one hundred volunteers, over a three-year period. Each volunteer claimed to possess psychic medium abilities.

He gave evidence how his tests concluded that there was no scientific evidence, or data to prove that a person had the ability to communicate with someone who had passed away, or that an afterlife even existed. His expert evidence was that any person who claimed to be a psychic medium, was a fraud.

The professor’s “fraud” reference caused almost every juror to glance across at Emily. To her credit, Emily remained unmoved. Her expression didn’t change.

The prosecutor gestured towards Emily in the dock. ‘What would you say if I told you the accused in this matter claims she spoke to seven different dead people, all of whom gave her the location of where to find their bodies?’

The witness scoffed. ‘I’d say given the lack of scientific evidence… anyone who is prepared to believe that assertion is foolish… and frankly, quite gullible….’

This time it was Emily who cast her eyes over the jury. This witness just challenged the impartiality of the jury. According to him, if any juror believed Emily was visited by the seven victims, they were ‘foolish and gullible’.

The professor continued. ‘Allow me to qualify my comments. I make those comments based solely on scientific fact, not personal bias. I don’t know that young woman over there and I don’t know the extent of the crimes to which she is answering here today… But my scientific tests prove that every person I tested failed to prove they could contact the afterlife.’

Duncan continued to monitor the jury while the crown prosecutor led the professor through his evidence. They all appeared impressed, with many scribbling notes.

When the prosecutor completed his questions for this witness, he returned to his seat.

Duncan stood to address the witness. He read from his note pad. ‘One hundred people over a three-year period…’ Duncan said. ‘I’m no expert on empirical studies, Professor, but is that number an adequate sample size from which to draw such a conclusion?’

‘It is.’

‘Wouldn’t such a small sample size return an unfair, or generalized result?’

‘It would return sufficient data from which to draw a scientific conclusion.’

’A conclusion based on only one hundred volunteers…′ Duncan reiterated. ’I put it to you, Professor that the sample size is far too small to be a credible scientific finding. All your tests have proven is those one hundred people failed to adequately satisfy your criteria for demonstrating they possessed mediumship skills.

The witness shrugged. ‘That’s your opinion, Counsellor.’

Duncan had to work to try and discredit the evidence provided by this highly qualified and educated witness. His esteemed qualifications provided the witness with instant credibility, even before he presented any evidence. It was time Duncan played his trump card.

‘Have you heard of Craig Elliott…?’

The professor lifted his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Not that I can recall.’

‘Allow me to remind you, Professor. Craig Elliott is a commentator and journalist specializing in psychic phenomena. You did an interview with him back in 2008.’

The professor grinned. ‘I have participated in many interviews over a number of subjects, Counsellor.’ He smiled confidently at the judge.

’This interview was conducted in your office at Melbourne University… Mr. Elliott interviewed you as a professor of psychology and psychiatry.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t recall that specific interview.’

Duncan approached the witness and handed him a number of pages. ‘I draw your attention to that document you are holding, Professor. That is a transcript of the interview between you and Craig Elliott, from 2008.’

The professor read from the document. ‘Ah yes. I remember this interview. He was very persistent, so I granted him some time.’

’So you were interviewed by Mr. Elliott in 2008?’

‘That’s Correct.’ The professor held out the pages to return them to Duncan.

‘Can I ask you to turn the page please, Professor and read out aloud the highlighted text. The first part is a question asked of you by Craig Elliott, and the second part is your answer. Start with the question please.’

The professor commenced to read out aloud. ‘ELLIOTT… Given your esteem qualifications and learnings, I am interested in your opinion in relation to the afterlife and the ability to communicate with people who had died…?’

‘Thank you,’ Duncan said. ‘Please read out your response.’

The professor continued reading. ’SCHULTZ… There has never been any scientific tests to conclusively prove someone living can communicate with someone who had died. And I think it is preposterous to suggest they could. All over the world thousands of psychics and mediums have been exposed as the fraudulent tricksters that they are.

‘I rely on fact and what can be proven, scientifically. I am proud to declare I am an evolutionist… and an agnostic. I do not believe there is any scientific evidence to prove the existence of a God. Consequently, I do not believe in the afterlife. I believe in finality. When we die, that is it. Over.’

‘Thank you, Professor,’ Duncan said. ‘I produce that document as defence exhibit ED4, Your Honour…’

Duncan continued with his cross-examination of the witness. ’That interview you read indicates that as far back as 2008 you held a strong belief against one’s ability to communicate with the dead. I put it to you professor that you didn’t believe in mediums then, and you don’t believe in them now. Therefore, your scientific study was not unbiased as you claimed, but was heavily biased against the abilities of mediums.’

‘That interview was conducted before I undertook my scientific research into mediums.’

‘I see. So what changed from 2008, when you openly disbelieved in the afterlife and mediums? The findings from your scientific tests actually confirmed the beliefs you held in 2008. Why would you suddenly become unbiased towards something that you strongly believed was preposterous to entertain…?’

‘As a scientist, I maintain an unbiased approach to all my research.’

‘I find it hard to accept, Professor that as a self-confessed agnostic, with a strong disbelief in the existence of an afterlife… that you would be able to remain impartial during your tests.’

‘That is your opinion.’

‘These tests you conducted, Professor… Were they all situations where a medium attempted to summons forward a spirit of someone who had passed?’

‘Correct.’

‘So, these tests would involve the one hundred volunteers conducting things like séances and Ouija boards… circumstances where the medium tried to conjure up a particular dead person’s spirit…?’

‘Correct.’

‘I see…. How many scientific tests did you perform where the spirit instigated the contact with the medium?’

The professor held Duncan’s gaze while several beats passed by. ‘I’m not sure I understand your question… The medium always attempts to contact the spirit.’

‘So, you have no scientific findings… No experience, or expertise in circumstances where someone from the afterlife contacted a medium, not the other way around?’

‘No. I’ve not experienced those circumstances, but I’m sure my findings could extend to cover such an instance.’

‘If you have not conducted scientific tests on this particular aspect, Professor… You are not in a position to conclude such a finding, are you?’

‘I suppose not.’

Duncan returned to his seat.

Emily struggled to contain the smile emerging out the side of her face. She glanced at the jury, then her eyes flicked to her family. Her dad smiled his approval back at her. She was confident Duncan showed the professor was biased. She hoped the jury saw that too.

The clock showed 4.45pm when the judge ordered the jury to retire for the day. Shortly after, court was adjourned.

Twenty-Seven

Day three of Emily’s trial commenced with the Duncan calling their defence witnesses.

First up was Boyd. When he entered the courtroom his focus moved straight to his wife. They exchanged a smile. Emily watched her husband stroll through the court room to the witness box.

She nestled her hands between her thighs as she prepared to watch him give evidence. It was so good to see him again, even if it was from across the room.

Boyd’s evidence was straightforward. Duncan first questioned him about how Emily reacted to her night visits from people she didn’t recognize.

‘She would wake in fright, yelling out…’ Boyd said. ‘She would hyperventilate. It took her some time to settle down and go back to sleep.’

‘So she was clearly intimidated by these visits?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘How many times did these night terrors, caused by these visitors, occur?’

Boyd glanced at Emily. She smiled reassuringly. ‘Too many to recall… Maybe…forty… fifty times…’

‘Overall, how did these night visits impact on Emily’s health?’

He again glanced at his wife. ‘She was a mess. It distressed her. She was always tired. Always on edge. She didn’t know who these people were, or why they kept visiting her.’

Boyd gave evidence of how he and Emily attended a medium seminar in Melbourne, as a way to try and learn what was happening to Emily.

‘What was the cost to attend this seminar?’

‘One hundred and forty dollars each…’ Boyd said.

‘You and Emily paid a total of two hundred and eighty dollars to attend a medium seminar, as a way to try and learn why Emily was receiving visits from people, in her sleep…’ Duncan glanced at the jury as he re-emphasised Boyd’s comments for their benefit.

‘Correct.’

Boyd gave evidence how the medium who hosted the event randomly selected Emily and invited her up on stage in front of everyone attending. He mentioned when Emily went up on stage the medium discussed Emily’s night time visits.

‘Did this medium appear surprised by what Emily told her about her visits…?’

‘Not at all. In fact, she explained exactly why my wife was being visited.’

‘What was her explanation?’

‘She said that Emily had a gift, which was the ability to communicate with dead people… and these dead people apparently know when someone has this gift and they seek them out…’

‘I see. Do you recall the name of the medium who conducted this seminar?’ Duncan asked.

‘No. I’d remember it if I heard it… But no, I can’t recall her name.’

‘Was it Molly Williamson?’

‘That’s her…’

Duncan informed the court how Molly Williamson video recorded all her seminars and made them available for purchase from her website. Prior to the court case, Duncan obtained a copy of this seminar recording. He played the excerpt to the court from where the medium invited Emily up on stage and questioned Emily about her night visitors.

Emily leaned her elbows on the front of the dock and watched the footage with interest. She had not seen this vision before, but she enjoyed watching it. Not because of some narcissistic admiration for how good she looked on stage. She enjoyed it because it went a long way to vindicating her in the eyes of the jury. The jury had the opportunity to see how Emily was genuine in her belief that she could see dead people.

When the playback of the interview ended, Duncan asked Boyd, ‘was that the seminar you referred to earlier in your evidence?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Davis.’ Duncan returned to his seat.

The prosecutor stood to cross-examine Boyd. His questions mainly related to Emily’s wake-in-fright reactions and how this could have been caused by nothing more than recurring nightmares that disturbed her sleep.

Boyd disagreed. The prosecutor pushed Boyd for a reason why he was so certain they weren’t just bad dreams.

‘Each morning, after Emily was visited by someone in her sleep, she described to me the person who visited her that night. I got to know from these descriptions, which one it was each time, who visited.’

‘How does that suggest they weren’t just bad dreams…?’

Boyd gestured to the eight by ten photos of the seven deceased on display. ‘Because the descriptions she gave matched them… The guy with the beard… The guy in the bike riding gear… The lady in the hiking clothes… Even the lady with red hair, pale skin and green eyes… She described them all and she’d never met any of them before.’

The prosecutor’s face tightened. He forgot the lawyer’s basic rule of cross examinations—never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to. He slid into his seat.

When Boyd was dismissed, he moved to sit in the public gallery with Emily’s family. Emily watched Boyd until he sat. They exchanged a smile. She was so proud of her husband. He handled himself well under what she could only imagine would’ve been terrifying circumstances.

Next called was Naomi. The basis of her evidence was to tell the court how she was the one who located the medium seminar online and suggested Emily attend. She told how Emily resisted at first, but later agreed to give it a try.

Naomi also gave evidence about how it was her idea for Emily to attend at the police station and tell them about the missing persons. Emily didn’t want to go at first.

‘Why was Emily hesitant to go to the police?’ Duncan asked.

‘She said if she told the police she’d talked to dead people, they would think she was a nut and probably lock her up…’ Naomi said. She glanced across to her friend in the dock. ‘She was right…’

‘Indeed,’ Duncan said. He too glanced across at Emily for emphasis. ‘Earlier, you referred to these people as “missing persons…” How did you know these people who visited Emily in her sleep were missing persons?’ Duncan asked.

‘I found them on the police missing persons website and I showed Emily. Well not all of them. I think maybe one or two weren’t on there, but most were.’

’So, just to clarify. It was you who located these people,’ he said. He gestured to the display of victim photographs. ‘On the Victoria police missing persons website, not Emily…?’

‘Correct.’

‘I’m intrigued. Why did Emily visit the police station, if she was worried about what the police would think of her?’

‘Partly because of my insisting… but mainly because she thought she would be helping the police locate these missing people.’

The prosecutor leapt to his feet. ‘Your Honour, this witness cannot possibly give evidence about what the accused was thinking…’ He whined, then slid back into his chair.

Duncan clarified. ‘Did Emily mention to you why she decided to go to the police station, to inform them of her night visitors?’ Duncan asked.

‘Yes. Emily told me she wanted to help the police locate these missing persons… for their family’s’ sake,’ Naomi said. She gave the prosecutor her ‘happy now’ glare.

Duncan slid into his chair.

The prosecutor did not have any questions for Naomi. She was excused. She exchanged a comforting smile with Emily as she moved to sit with Boyd in the front row. Emily watched Naomi sit then she exchanged a smile with her family, all of whom were gazing back at her.

She had no idea whether the case was proceeding favourably or unfavourably; that was Duncan’s area. She was just so happy to be able to see her family again, after spending such a long time away from them.

Max Higgins sat alone at the back of the court room monitoring proceedings. From his experience in these type of court cases, this was not going favourably for him. His biggest concern in taking this case to trial was his lack of evidence against Emily. The further the trial progressed, the more his concerns became reality.

No-one knew what a jury thought during a trial, not even the experienced Max. Given they were all legal novices, it made them all the more unpredictable when it came to trying to predict a likely decision.

If he had to make a call right now, Max predicted the jury would find in favour of the defence. He wasn’t happy, but he also wasn’t surprised.

The judge glanced up at the wall clock. ‘How many more witnesses do you intend to call, Mr. Jervis?’

Duncan stood. He flipped through documents on the desk in front of him. He accepted a document from one of his assisting colleagues. ‘Ah… We have one more witness… Possibly two more to call, Your Honour.’

‘Very well. We will continue with your final witnesses tomorrow. Remove the jury the please,’ the judge directed.

Emily watched with interest while the jurors stood and filed out—front row first, followed closely by the back row. These were the people who held her future in their hands. It was disconcerting that twelve people she’d never met, would eventually make a decision that would have little, to no impact on them individually, but would be life-changing for her.

Her wandering gaze landed on her family. They all looked back at her as she stood in the dock, about to leave. Each one had concern etched into their faces. Emily did her best to give them a reassuring smile, even though deep down, her stomach churned.

She blew Boyd a kiss and mouthed, ‘I love you,’ to him. He did the same back to her.

Once the judge exited, Emily gave a departing wave to Boyd and her family before she stepped through the doorway on her way back to the cells.

---

On the morning of day four, Duncan visited Emily in the court holding cell, to provide her with an update. He was dressed ready for battle, with the exception of his horse hair wig. Emily was the sole occupant of the cells at this time.

‘How are you holding up?’ He asked Emily, through the bars of the cell.

Emily leaned on the bars. ‘I doing OK. I want this to be over, though…’

‘I understand. That’s part of what I wanted to discuss with you this morning,’ Duncan said. ‘It would not be unreasonable to expect a murder trial to run for several weeks…’

Emily’s shoulders noticeably slumped at Duncan’s revelation. The last thing she wanted was to endure this process for two or more weeks.

Duncan continued. ’Your case however, is rapidly moving towards being the exception. The Crown had an unusually short witness list and moved through them very quickly.

‘We have one witness to call today… maybe two, if I decide to put you on the stand. I’m undecided about that at this time. So I would expect by the end of today we should be ready to present closing arguments… with a decision expected by the end of the week. The variable will be how long the jury take to decide.’

‘How do you think we are going? I find it so hard to read the jury,’ Emily asked.

‘One can never pre-empt a jury.’

Emily nodded her understanding, with a tinge of disappointment.

‘Having said that however,’ Duncan continued. ’I am satisfied with the state of proceedings to this stage. To use boxing parlance, we delivered some telling right crosses that buckled their knees.

‘We have them on the ropes at the moment… I need to continue that momentum and send them to the canvas with a precisely timed knockout blow… I’m hoping our next witness may do just that for us…’

‘I hope so.’

’Remember… All we need to do is create a reasonable doubt in the mind of the juror, Emily… It is the Crown that has to prove beyond all reasonable doubt.’

Duncan glanced over a shoulder at the male prisoner being escorted into the holding cell. ‘Looks like the prison bus has arrived,’ he mumbled. ‘Alright. I’ll see you up in court shortly,’ he said.

‘Thanks, Duncan.’ Emily watched him leave until he exited from her view. He didn’t give too much away, but her read on his poker face was that he was happier than what he let on. She wondered who the next witness was. I suppose I’ll soon find out.

Twenty-Eight

Following the swearing in, Duncan stood from his seat to address the grey-haired woman with the appearance of someone’s Nana, staring back at him from the witness box.

‘Could you state your name and occupation to the court please,’ Duncan asked his witness.

‘Madeleine Cartier. I am a Psychic Medium.’ Her voice was calm and reassuring.

‘How long have you practised as a Psychic Medium?’

‘Twenty-one years.’

‘What is your response to people… critics if you will, who say all mediums are fraudsters and con artists…?’

Madeleine sat with her hands clasped tightly on her lap. She was so relaxed in appearance, she could’ve been waiting for a bus. ‘I would say, sadly they are closed minded people,’ she said. ‘Look, there are unscrupulous people in every aspect of our lives. Unfortunately we do have those types in our industry and all too often, all we ever hear about are the ones who tried to defraud their clients. Fortunately, these people never last very long. But I stress, there are genuine and highly skilled mediums out there who possess a unique ability to be able to communicate with loved ones who have passed.’

‘Mrs. Cartier, as a Medium, have you personally assisted law enforcement in locating missing persons?’

‘Oh, yes. I have. But I must say, it is not as simple as it sounds, or portrayed in the movies. The cases I assisted the police with were decades old, suspected abductions and murders. I was able to connect with the spirits and receive impressions from them, which included their circumstances of death and their locations.’

‘Did police eventually locate these missing persons based on your assistance?’

’Yes, they did. But as I said… It was not straight forward. The type of impressions I received were vague and non-specific. They could actually match a number of locations. You see, we don’t lead the police directly to a location. We often have to work through the impressions to match the possible locations.’

’That is interesting. Let me see if I understand you correctly. When you connected with a spirit, the information they provided… these impressions, I think you called them… Were vague locations of where their bodies were located, not specific locations?’ Duncan said, as he scanned the jury. He wanted that question to resonate.

’Correct. Most times that is all we get…vague locations. You see, mediums receive impressions from spirits in three ways. Clairvoyantly—which is through clearly sensing, Clairaudience—which is clearly hearing and through Clairsentience—which is clearly feeling.

‘The information does not appear in our heads like a movie on a screen. Much of the information is general and non-specific. Sometimes, I can interpret a location from the impression, and other times it is too difficult, simply because what the spirits provide is too vague.’

‘Simply because what the spirits provide it too vague…’ Duncan repeated, while he eyed the jury. ‘If I was to tell you the accused in this case told police she was visited by the spirits of seven missing persons, would that surprise you?’

Madeleine glanced across at Emily. ‘Not at all… Why should it?’ she said firmly.

‘If I was to tell you that the accused told police the spirits of these seven missing persons provided her with vague locations of where their bodies were buried. Would that surprise you?’

’Not at all. In fact, what would surprise me would be if you told me the spirits provided her with exact locations of their bodies… That doesn’t happen, not in my experience.’

‘In your experience as a Medium, Ms. Cartier, would the accused be able to communicate with the spirits of these seven missing persons, if she did not have mediumship skills…?’

‘Absolutely not. mediumship is not entertainment. It’s not something you do for a party trick. You can’t learn it from a book. It is innate in a chosen few. The spirits know who among us have these unique skills and they often seek us out.’

‘Thank you, Ms. Cartier,’ Duncan said. He slid into his seat.

‘Ms. Cartier…’ The prosecutor, said as he stood. ‘With all due respect, Madam… Your evidence, while sounding interesting to those of us with no experience talking to dead people, is nothing but words… Words that don’t actually prove anything.’

The witness held her gaze on the prosecutor. She showed no signs of offence or anger.

Duncan pushed himself up from his seat. ‘Does my learned colleague have a question for this witness, Your Honour?’ He said then returned to his seat.

The prosecutor continued. ’I respect the fact that you think you can communicate with dead people… but we’ve seen no evidence today to support this claim. Have you conducted any scientific tests…? Have you published any papers on this subject?’

‘No. And I don’t believe I have the need to… The clients I have assisted, which include law enforcement, are well aware of my mediumship abilities.’

‘I see. But none of them are in court today to give evidence to that fact, are they…?’ The prosecutor asked knowingly, as he feigned glancing around the court. The witness did not respond to his rhetorical question. ‘What would you say if I asked you to provide a demonstration of your unique skills to the court…?’

The witness frowned. ‘I’m not sure I understand…’ she said.

‘I have an uncle who recently passed away… Could you prove your skills to the court here today by conjuring up my uncle and talking to him…?’

Madeleine’s mouth fell open. She was either offended, or stunned by the ridiculous question. Probably both.

Duncan leapt to his feet. ‘Your Honour, this is absurd. We are not running a side show here for the crown’s entertainment. Frankly, I find my learned colleague’s comments offensive towards this witness.’

‘I’m inclined to agree, Mr. Box,’ the judge said to the prosecutor.

‘I apologize, Your Honour. I’ll withdraw.’ The prosecutor flipped over a page on his pad. ‘Could the accused claim to have these unique skills you referred to… but in actual fact, be faking it? The defence has not presented any evidence to demonstrate she actually possesses these abilities.’

‘I do not know that woman seated over there… I have not met her, or spoken to her, so I cannot vouch for her mediumship skills. To answer your question… Yes, she could most certainly be faking it…’

The prosecutor smirked down at his seated colleague assisting. He cast his smug grin over the jury.

The witness continued. ‘But if the vague information that young woman provided to police, as given to her by these spirits, led the police to find these bodies, then I think you have already got your demonstration, Counsellor… The proof is in the finding.’

The prosecutor’s grin wiped. His shoulders slumped slightly as he dropped his pad on to the desk. He flicked a fleeting glance to his colleague, then slid back into his chair.

Duncan’s gaze met his colleagues seated with him at the bar table. He discreetly shook his head.

‘I wonder if I could have a couple of minutes to consult with my colleagues, Your Honour,’ Duncan said.

The judge extended a hand to Duncan.

Duncan and his colleagues huddled to quietly discuss the pros and cons of putting Emily in the witness box. By their collective opinions, the day went better for them than they expected. Duncan only planned to call Emily if the crown swung momentum back their way. He didn’t believe that was the case.

It was the crown on the back foot. If he didn’t call Emily, the crown couldn’t get a shot at her. That meant the crown’s evidence was done. The crown’s case was done. To Duncan, it was advantage defence.

Duncan stood to address the judge. ‘We reserved the right not to call our last witness, Your Honour… We are now exercising that right. We will not be calling on the accused to give evidence.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so, Mr. Jervis,’ the judge said.

Day four was adjourned for the teams to prepare their closing statements.

---

Five days after the legal teams opened their cases, they presented their closing statements, led off by the crown.

The closing statements were in essence a summary of the evidence presented during trial and way for the legal teams, through their powers of eloquence and persuasion, to have one last crack at swaying the jury their way.

The reality was however, after sitting through and hearing all the evidence, most jurors would have already been inclined toward one side, or the other. Truly undecided jurors were rare by this stage of a proceedings.

The court room’s occupancy was at its highest for the week. Family and friends of the seven victims, family and friends of the accused, curious onlookers, media and police all combined to occupy every seat in every row of the public gallery. Those who missed out on a seat, lined the rear walls. Anyone else waited outside.

Why are so many people here? Emily couldn’t understand the popularity of the case. In her mind, she hadn’t done anything. She was innocent.

Her isolation from access to mainstream media however, prevented her from learning the answer to her question.

The media wolves circled early on in the trial, labelling it as the “trial of alleged serial killer, Emily Davis”. The public, while abhorred at the actions of a serial killer, were also strangely fascinated, as evidenced by the strong following of Emily’s case in the media and by the attendance at court today.

A hush fell over the court room. All eyes were trained on the crown prosecutor, who stood to commence his closing.

With the delivery of an accomplished salesman, the prosecutor thanked the ladies and gentlemen of the jury, then he revisited and highlighted their salient points of evidence one last time.

Like their opening, the crown’s closing statement weighed heavily on the accused knowing the whereabouts of the seven missing persons; a fact he re-emphasized that only the killer would know.

The prosecutor re-visited the connection between Emily’s List and the locations of where all seven bodies were found.

He recapped the evidence by expert witness, Professor Glen Schultz and how his scientific examinations cast serious question over people’s abilities to talk to the dead. He stressed to the jury that if you remove the possibility that one can communicate with the afterlife, you remove the accused’s defence.

A little over forty-five minutes after he started, the prosecutor thanked the jury and returned to his seat.

A collective exhale moved across the room as people relaxed and fidgeted.

Duncan remained seated while he finalized his note taking. After allowing several seconds to pass, Duncan stood from his seat.

All eyes in the room were on him as he too commenced by thanking the ladies and gentlemen of the jury for their service.

Duncan was like an articulate story teller as he re-presented the relevant points from their evidence. He recapped how Mrs. Davis’s husband, Boyd, gave evidence about the forty, or fifty times Mrs. Davis woke in fright, hyperventilating because of visions of visitors she received while sleeping, from people she didn’t recognize.

He told how they spent almost three hundred dollars to attend a medium seminar, to try and find out what was happening to her.

When Mrs. Davis learned from the seminar she had a gift of being able to communicate with dead people, she began compiling notes, which later became Emily’s List.

He mentioned how she later learned the cognitive visions of people visiting her in her sleep were missing persons, only because her friend Naomi Johnson found these people of the Victoria Police missing person’s website.

He told how Mrs. Davis attended the police station, not because it was part of her elaborate plan to deflect her guilt, she attended because her friend Naomi Johnson talked her into it. Mrs. Davis went to the police against her better judgement because she wanted to help the families of the missing persons, by helping police locate their bodies.

He told the jury how they heard evidence from Madeleine Cartier, a Psychic Medium with experience in locating missing persons for law enforcement and how she gave evidence that the spirits of those passed, only provided vague locations, not specific.

Duncan reminded the jury that all the locations on Mrs. Davis’s list were vague; some completely missed the mark altogether because that was how the locations were told to her.

He wound up by re-emphasizing how the crown failed to connect Mrs. Davis, through evidence, to any of the seven bodies and by doing so, failed in their obligation to prove beyond all reasonable doubt Mrs. Davis was guilty.

He thanked the jury a final time and returned to his seat.

Emily rubbed her hands down her thighs. Her stomach started to churn. This was where it all got real. This was decision time for the jury. What if they find me guilty? Her wandering eyes found Boyd staring back at her. She held up a hand with crossed fingers. He lifted two hands with crossed fingers.

The judge presented the jury with their final instructions before retiring them to decide on a verdict.

’You are reminded, ladies and gentlemen, of the accused’s right to be presumed innocent of all charges and she should only be convicted, if you are persuaded, beyond a reasonable doubt, that she committed the offences for which she had been charged.

’The question you have to ask yourselves is, has the Crown established beyond all reasonable doubt that Mrs. Davis committed the relevant act, or acts that caused the death of Brian Taylor, Jenny Cox, Libby Vassilliou, Lance Edwards, Sarah Moon, Dale Cartwright and Malcolm Denyer.

‘If you believe the Crown has, then you are obligated to return a verdict of Guilty. If you hold a reasonable doubt that Mrs. Davis committed any, or all of the murders for which she has been charged, then you must return a verdict of Not Guilty for that charge.’

When he was finished instructing the jurors, the judge retired the jury for the weekend, to return Monday to consider their verdict.

Twenty-Nine

Monday morning was business as usual. After spending an uneventful weekend in the cells at the Geelong Police station, Emily was escorted up to her court room perch.

The only people in the room when she entered was the gathering of wigs and black silk robes of the legal teams occupying the bar table.

When the judge eventually entered, he formally adjourned proceedings until such time as the jury made a decision.

The wait began.

The legal teams moved to on-site offices. Emily’s family and friends waited in the foyer, or visited nearby cafes for coffee, while Emily was forced to endure the anticipated protracted wait in the holding cell beneath the court.

For some of the wait, simply for something to do, Emily paced the cell like a caged lion. The cell was six steps across. She even did it with her eyes closed to challenge her bored mind — four, five, six, stop. Turn.

The majority of the wait however was spent in a sedentary position, leaning against a wall with her knees pulled up to her chest for security.

The lack of oxygenated blood to her brain, from her prolonged inactivity, caused her to lapse in an out of a sleepy unconsciousness.

‘Emily…’

Emily’s eyes opened. Her head lifted from her knees. She scanned the empty cell while her brain reminded her where she was.

‘Emily…’ the voice repeated.

Emily’s gaze shifted to Duncan standing at the cells. ‘Oh, Hi…’ she said. ‘What time is it?’

Duncan checked his watch. ‘3.40.’

Emily stretched into a long yawn. ‘You’re not here to tell me the jury’s back, are you?’

Duncan grinned. ‘No. No. I’d be a little worried if they were back this early. I came down to give you an update of what is happening and what to expect.’

‘OK.’

’On occasions, the jurors require explanations on points of law, or clarification on some evidence. When this occurs, the jury will seek comment from the judge. This has happened twice today, so far.

‘What I expect will happen…’ he glanced at his watch. ’Around four to four thirty, the judge will send the tipstaff in to ask the jury if they are close to reaching a verdict. If they are, the judge will allow the day to continue in anticipation of a result. If they give an indication they are a long way off, the judge will adjourn for the day and we will be back here to do it all again tomorrow.

‘I’m betting we’re back here tomorrow?’ Emily predicted.

‘I’m with you. Actually, I’m betting we won’t have a result before Wednesday,’ Duncan said.

His news was far from welcoming to Emily’s ears.

‘Anyway, I’ll check in on you every now and then to keep you updated.’

‘Thank you.’

---

Tuesday, day two of jury deliberation, was groundhog day for Emily, spent like the day before; long hours waiting, anticipating a result that never came.

The worst part was, from deep within the bowels of the court holding cell, she didn’t get to see her husband. She didn’t get to see her family and friends.

The only company she had was the revolving door of other people in custody, or on remand being held in the cell, before leaving for their respective court cases. For the most, she spent her long days on her own.

The waiting for a result was a form of torture to Emily. With so much time, all she could do was think, but they weren’t positive thoughts. The longer the wait went on, the more her thoughts turned negative.

When Wednesday rolled into Thursday, panic replaced boredom. Emily started to self-doubt. What if they found her guilty? Would she ever hold her husband again? Would he wait for her if they unjustly sentenced her to a lengthy jail term? Could she appeal any conviction and sentence?

Her stress was compounded when during a visit, Duncan mentioned to her, the longer the deliberation went on, the more concerned he became.

Thursday came and Thursday went without a result.

When Thursday rolled in to Friday, Emily all but conceded a jury would seal her fate. She cut a lonely figure, sitting in the cell with her head buried into her hands.

Her nerves were at breaking point. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she prepared herself for the worst. She tried to imagine spending the rest of her life in jail, for something she didn’t do. It angered her.

Her teeth gritted as she questioned a legal system that held innocent people in jails for so long, only to force them to endure further incarceration, while the same broken system decided on whether they were actually innocent or guilty.

The sound of jingling keys caused Emily to lift her head from her knees. Must be lunch time, she assumed. She was wrong.

The corrections officer met Emily’s gaze. ‘The jury have reached a verdict.’

Emily’s mouth fell open. She wanted this, but now it was here, the unknown scared her. She stood from her seat and adjusted her clothes. She dusted off her jeans. Oh My God. This is it — decision time. Her empty stomach churned so much, she almost vomited.

Her legs wobbled under her first step. She nervously rubbed her hands together, waiting for the cell door to open.

The walk to the court room felt like it was up a steep hill. She so much wanted this to be over, but she feared an unfavourable outcome. She continued to rub her hands together.

All eyes moved to Emily when she entered the court. She stopped to scan the room. It overflowed with onlookers. Seating was at a premium. Those standing were tightly wedged shoulder-to-shoulder.

Her wandering eyes found Boyd and her family in the front row. She forced out a straight mouth smile as she took a seat in the dock. She rubbed her perspiring hands down her thighs as she tried to control her breathing. Her heart raced.

The court room was alive with anticipation. Most in the room had already declared their prediction of the jury’s outcome. In reality, nobody knew for certain.

Emily’s gaze met Duncan’s. She lifted up a thumb, then inverted it. Her unspoken question sought his learned prediction.

Duncan wouldn’t commit. He discretely shrugged and turned a palm upward.

Then came the order. ‘All stand.’

Emily’s stomach churned as she stood watching the judge amble in, bow and take a seat.

The judge directed the tipstaff to bring in the jury. Emily’s eyes locked onto the juror’s door. It seemed to remain closed for ever. Then it opened. Her pulse raced. She briefly looked to Boyd for support.

As the jury filed in and took their seats, Emily tried to gauge the expression on their faces. Her stomach sunk when all wore a face she had seen so often before at a funeral. Nothing about any of their expressions instilled confidence in her.

Duncan gestured to Emily to stand, which she did.

‘Has the jury reached a verdict?’ The Judge asked.

The jury forewoman stood. ‘We have, Your Honour…’

Emily noted that none of the jurors would look at her. Was it due to a guilty conscience?

Every set of eyes in room was directed to the left side of the court room, to the standing juror. A hush fell over the room.

‘On the charge of murdering Brian Taylor, how do you find the accused?’

Emily held her breath. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn’t watch. Her heavy eyes fell to her navel. Her shoulders tensed.

‘We, the Jury, find the Accused… Not Guilty.’

Emily gasped. The tension left her. Her knees weakened and she collapsed back into her seat. She buried her head into her hands as a wave of emotion engulfed her. She broke down, sobbing heavily.

Her family members cheered as they leapt to their feet. They embraced each another. Boyd held his arms up in a victory salute. Emily was finally coming home.

The judge allowed the interruption, while he continued. ‘On the charge of murdering, Jenny Cox, how do you find the accused?’

‘We, the Jury, find the Accused…Not Guilty.’

Continued cheering and applause filled the court room. People embraced. Journalist scribbled notes ahead of filing their reports. Boyd approached Duncan and shook his hand, then warmly embraced him.

Sitting in the back row of the court room, among standing revellers, Max Higgins smiled to himself as the verdicts were read out. He never wanted Emily to be charged and he never wanted her to be convicted. He had never celebrated a court loss before today. This would be his one and only exception.

The judge persisted with his questions of the jury while the rejoicing continued, despite the cheering and laughter drowning him out. On any other occasion the judge would insist on quiet, but not this time. He allowed the celebration.

‘On the charge of murdering Libby Vassilliou, how do you find the accused?’

‘We, the Jury, find the Accused…Not Guilty.’

‘On the charge of murdering Lance Edwards, how do you find the accused?’

‘We, the Jury, find the Accused…Not Guilty.’

‘On the charge of murdering Sarah Moon, how do you find the accused?’

‘We, the Jury, find the Accused…Not Guilty.’

‘On the charge of murdering Dale Cartwright, how do you find the accused?’

‘We, the Jury, find the Accused…Not Guilty.’

‘On the charge of murdering Malcolm Denyer, how do you find the accused?’

‘We, the Jury, find the Accused…Not Guilty.’

‘Those verdicts were reached unanimously among the Jury?’

‘They were, Your Honour.’

The judge turned his attention to Emily. ‘Please stand, Mrs. Davis.’

Emily’s head lifted from her hands. She wasn’t sure if she heard her name over the commotion. She glanced to Duncan. He gestured to her to stand.

Emily jumped to her feet. She sniffed and wiped escaping tears while waiting for the judge to continue. ‘A jury of your peers has returned a finding of Not Guilty on all charges laid against you. You are therefore cleared of all charges and released. You are free to go.’ Emily’s hands covered her mouth. ‘If I could ask you to remain momentarily while the relevant paperwork is completed,’ the Judge said.

Duncan stood from his seat. ‘Your Honour. Could I ask please that Mrs. Davis be permitted to leave the dock and wait with her family until such time as the paperwork has been completed?’

‘Of course. You are free to leave the dock, Mrs. Davis. This court is adjourned.’

Duncan and Boyd moved over the gateless dock and assisted Emily to climb over the front timber wall and slide to the floor. Her feet had no sooner hit the floor and she threw her arms around her husband. She held him tight for the first time in several long months.

Emily’s body shuddered as she sobbed heavily into his shoulder. Boyd also shed a tear as the united couple prolonged their loving embrace. She was finally coming home.

From Boyd’s loving arms, Emily moved to her family members and Naomi, where each one welcomed her back with a heart-warming embrace.

---

With the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted on the court documents, Emily was officially a free woman. She wrapped her arms around Duncan and hugged him tight, in appreciation. ‘Thank you so much, Duncan. You saved my life.’

‘You are very welcome, Emily.’

Boyd shook Duncan’s hand, then jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘A few of us are going for lunch to celebrate Em’s freedom…We would love you to join us,’ Boyd said. ‘Our treat.’

Duncan’s gaze flicked to Emily. Her pleading eyes sparkled with renewed life. How could he decline? ‘I would be honoured to join you.’ He gestured towards the court door.

A beaming smile filled Emily’s face as she and Boyd strolled arm-in-arm from the court room, trailed closely by her new hero, Duncan.

For the first time since she was snatched away from her life all those months ago, she walked free. It was a surreal experience. She wanted this day so much. She dreamed about this day so much, and now, it was finally here.

The heavy nerves in her stomach that plagued her throughout the trial, were replaced with nervous excitement.

When they reached the court building’s external door, Emily and Boyd paused at what confronted them. She quickly learned the extent of interest in her trial.

A large throng of people had gathered at the foot of the court steps waiting for Emily. Television cameras recorded, while reporters with microphones in hand awaited her exit from court.

In a celebrity-style reception, Emily’s supporters cheered and applauded when Emily and Boyd emerged from the court building, onto the front landing.

Emily’s hands cupped her mouth as she scanned the gathering. Happy tears welled in her eyes.

Journalists rushed Emily, shoving microphones in her face, while firing overlapping questions at her. Boyd and Duncan did their best to shield Emily, guiding her to a vehicle waiting to take her to their celebratory lunch with her family.

---

With so many well-wishers wanting to catch up with Emily to share in the excitement of her release and to welcome her home, Boyd and Emily hosted a celebration party at their Belmont home on Saturday night, the day after she walked free from court.

Even the weather was on her side. Saturday night was dry and balmy, as close to one hundred partiers filled Emily and Boyd’s sizeable back yard. Bass-heavy music pumped in the background, while the alcohol-fuelled revellers drank, ate and chatted the night away.

The large central fire pit was a favourite location among the group to gather and share a drink or three.

As the popular guest of honour, Emily spent all night moving among her family and friends, posing for endless selfies and regaling them all with stories about what it was like spending time in jail.

Following such a turbulent period in her life, the party was just the panacea Emily needed to aid her return to normality in her life.

Once the champagne corks were popped and the speeches and toasts were out of the way, the one hundred strong guests belted out three of the loudest cheers for Emily, then joined in a reverberating chorus of ‘for she’s a jolly good fellow’.

The party continued well into Sunday morning. Emily didn’t want it to end. Even the police turning up in response to a noise complaint, failed to put a damper on her night. This was the life she missed and she was so thankful to finally have it back.

After the taxi ferrying the last of their party guests home slowly rolled away from Emily and Boyd’s home at 5.30am, Emily stood on her rear deck surveying their now empty back yard.

A satisfied smile filled her face. The embers in the fire pit still glowed. The music was now silenced and the endless chatter had ceased, but the memories remained. Today was the first day of the rest of her life and she couldn’t wait to start living it again.

Thirty

Three weeks on from Emily’s court case, life for Max Higgins was no different. While he had located the seven missing persons, he was no closer to solving the mystery of who killed them. Their murders remained unsolved cold cases that would gather dust until new evidence could be discovered.

Friday had been a long day for Max. Normally he headed down to their favourite watering hole with his work mates for some end-of-the-week beers. Tonight however, he chose to work late to follow up on one of his other active cases. The person he wanted to meet with worked 9-5 in Melbourne and was not available until after 8.30pm.

It was 7.30pm when Max checked his watch. He decided to grab a quick bite on his way to his 9pm appointment. Witness statements took time to compile, so if he didn’t grab something to eat beforehand, he would more than likely miss out altogether.

Max parked his car on the street a few doors down from his favourite CBD café. As he strolled, he pondered the culinary preferences on offer.

Ten metres ahead of him, Emily Davis emerged from one of the stores and walked briskly towards Max. He initially felt a little awkward, given their recent history. As she approached, he smiled and said, ‘good evening, Emily.’

Max frowned at the lack of response. Her expression failed to show any recognition. She snubbed him, while holding a focussed glare straight ahead of herself.

Max watched her pass by and continue walking away from him. Maybe she’s holding a grudge.

The only other time he saw a similar expression on Emily’s face was on the CCTV footage the department of corrections gave him with their report from Emily’s stabbing incident, while on remand.

Emily held that same determined expression in the footage, as she wrestled the knife from her attacker and used it to stab her attacker to death.

Max glanced at the shopping bag she carried. His face tightened. He quickly ran into the homewares store Emily had just exited, and approached the young woman standing at the front cash register.

He held up his police ID to the woman. ‘I need to see the transaction receipt from that last purchase,’ he blurted while gesturing towards the street. ‘The woman dressed in black clothing, who just left the store,’ he added.

‘OK. Sure.’ The cashier pushed some buttons on the cash register. A receipt spewed out. She tore it off and handed it to Max.

‘Thank you.’ Max read the print out as he ran from the store, moving in the same direction as Emily.

Around ten metres along, Max stopped in his tracks when he noticed Emily climb into the driver’s door of a car about fifty metres up the street. She pulled out into traffic and drove towards him.

Max rushed to his car, nearby. The indicators flashed twice as he approached. He quickly jumped in and followed Emily. The experienced detective’s gut told him something was not right. He didn’t like the way she looked and he was concerned about what she purchased. All could amount to nothing, but he had to find out where Emily was headed.

Friday evening’s busy traffic provided the perfect cover for Max as he tailed Emily’s vehicle from four cars back.

Max called on his skills learned from earlier in his career where he spent many years as a ‘dog’; the affectionate name given to scruffy, undercover surveillance cops, whose job it was to follow suspects in vehicles and on foot.

Max was a master at surveillance, only ever being burned once in his decorated career.

Emily drove a lap of the outer perimeter of Geelong’s CBD, before driving out through the Eastern Gardens; an area of over eighty hectares of tree filled park land on the eastern fringe of the bay side town.

Max had to be careful Emily wasn’t employing anti-surveillance techniques. A switched on driver could easily spot the same set of headlights, following in their rear vision mirror.

Emily drove a slow lap through the Eastern Gardens. Max followed with his vehicle’s head lights off.

Where are you going…?

Max would be happy if she drove home. That would in some way explain her recent purchase. If she drove somewhere else however, that would concern the ever-vigilant detective.

Emily exited the gardens and travelled east. Max followed. Traffic was light, so he had to remain well back. Emily stayed on the same road for around fifteen minutes, until she reached a large roundabout. She took the exit towards Ocean Grove. Max followed.

Emily drove to the popular coastal town of Ocean Grove on Geelong’s Bellarine Peninsula.

After navigating a series of left and right turns through the neighbouring streets, she pulled over and parallel parked her vehicle in a quiet street. She didn’t get out.

Max parked in an adjoining street and exited his car. He monitored Emily from the safety of darkness, one hundred metres up the road. She remained seated in her vehicle. The longer this went on, the more he grew concerned. Why make that purchase and drive way out here?

After a wait of around thirty minutes, Emily alighted from her car. She secured the car and walked away from Max at a brisk pace. Unlike her driving earlier, now she moved with purpose. Max followed from the other side of the street, moving quickly in and out of the street light shadows.

At an intersecting street, Emily turned right and continued her brisk pace. Max jogged to the corner and peeped around a fence, to check it was clear. Emily was about fifty metres along, walking away.

His cop gut started to worry him. Why did she park so far away and walk? What is she hiding?

Emily checked her left and right then jogged across the road to the other side. She disappeared into the darkness. Max strained his eyes. He couldn’t discern if she entered a front yard, or was waiting on the street in the dark shadows. He risked being burned if it was the latter.

He switched to the opposite side of the road to Emily, to maintain a line of sight. Keeping close to the fence line, Max edged his way towards the area he last saw Emily.

Bright headlights from a vehicle entering the street illuminated the road way. Max took cover, while scanning for Emily. She was nowhere to be seen.

The vehicle passed Max and slowed. It turned into a drive way in the vicinity where Emily was last seen. Max crept closer towards the vehicle, now parked in a driveway.

As he neared, he saw Emily, but she didn’t see him. She was too focussed as she emerged from the shadows of the front yard where the vehicle was parked. She quickly moved around to the driver’s side and opened the rear passenger door and slid in to the back seat.

What Max saw made his heart sink. ‘Ah shit…’ Max blurted under his breath. He removed his service pistol and rushed to the stationary vehicle. Without pausing, Max ran up the drive to the driver’s side of the car.

He opened the rear door and levelled his pistol. ‘Put the knife down, Emily and slowly get out of the car…’ Max ordered.

With his pistol remaining trained on Emily, he tugged open the driver’s door. ‘I am the police. Get out of the car, now,’ he said to the driver. Max returned his focus to Emily in the back seat. ‘Get out of the car, Emily.’

The driver slid from the car and ran to stand behind Max. Emily failed to move. Max moved around to the door opening. He pointed his pistol at Emily. ‘I said… Get out of the car, now.’ Again, she failed to move.

Max reached in through the open door and grabbed a hand full of her clothing and forcibly dragged her out of the car. Emily wasn’t a big woman. She fell heavily to the ground.

Emily lay sprawled on the ground. She wore leather gloves and a dark balaclava. She held a large kitchen knife in her hand. If he was not mistaken, it would be the same knife she purchased earlier when he saw her in town; the same knife he now had the receipt of purchase for.

Max stood on Emily’s hand and forced her to release her grip on the knife. With the knife secured he said, ‘take off the balaclava…’ Emily didn’t move. She remained prostrate on the concrete drive.

‘It’s over, Emily… Take off the balaclava.’

‘Who the fuck is Emily?’ she snapped, in a voice he didn’t recognise.

Max frowned. He glanced at the man standing behind him. ‘What did she say to you in the car…?’

The man gestured to the knife in Max’s hand. ‘She stuck that knife in my neck and told me to drive. I asked where to, but thankfully, you arrived before she told me.’

Max dropped a knee into the centre of Emily’s back to secure her in place. He holstered his pistol and removed his cuffs from his belt then secured her hands behind her back.

As he stood back up, he grabbed a hand full of the balaclava and wrenched it off her head. Max rolled her onto her back. The scowling face of Emily glared up at him.

Max’s mouth fell open as he glared back at Emily. He was stunned. It was unmistakably Emily glaring back at him, but something about her expression was different to what he remembered.

‘Do you recognise this woman…?’ Max asked.

The man shook his head. ‘No. Never seen her before.’

Max removed his phone and called for assistance to transport Emily back to the police station.

While he waited for police units to arrive, the gravity of what occurred sunk in. Emily bought that huge knife from the homewares store in the city, drove out here and waited for this guy to arrive home.

She gave an order to him to drive somewhere, presumably a secluded location, where she would’ve no doubt slit his throat. Just like he now suspected she did to five of her seven other victims, whose photos grace his office whiteboard. But why this guy? She obviously knew his routine and waited for him.

He never saw that coming. He would never have picked this outcome. Emily fooled him from the start. She fooled the jury and she fooled her experienced lawyer, who fought so hard to secure her release.

---

Lines of concern etched into Boyd’s face as he jogged into the reception area of the Geelong Hospital.

Still dressed in his navy blue paramedic’s uniform, Boyd was in the middle of his night shift when he received a call from police.

Max and a doctor met Boyd at reception and escorted him through a number of doors, down several long passage ways, to a room. The words ‘Viewing Room’ were printed on a sign beside the door.

The doctor opened the door and they stepped inside. A large window overlooked the adjoining room. Boyd moved to the window when he saw Emily sitting on her own at a table in the other room. She wore a light blue hospital gown. Her wrists were restrained by a belt. She sat with rounded shoulders and a lowered head.

‘What the hell is going on here?’ Boyd asked.

‘My name is Doctor Spencer Green. I am a psychiatrist attached to the Geelong Hospital Psychiatric Ward.’ He gestured to Emily seated in the other room. ‘Things have quietened down. We have Emily sitting in there … I had the chance to meet her briefly before I came to meet you at reception…’

Boyd’s eyebrows plunged into his face. ‘What are you talking about? Of course that is Emily…’ His glare shifted to Max. ‘Why is she in restraints, Detective?’

‘I think you may have misunderstood me, Mr. Davis,’ the doctor said. ’That is Emily sitting in there now… but as much as thirty minutes ago that wasn’t Emily sitting in there.’ Boyd glared at the doctor. ‘Do you know, or have you met Felicity…?’

‘Who?’ Boyd’s face screwed up in frustration.

‘Do you know, Felicity? Have you met, Felicity before?’

‘Look, I’m a little over these questions, Doctor… Who the hell is Felicity?’

‘Mr. Davis, were you aware that your wife suffered from a dissociative identity disorder?’ Boyd’s gaze shifted to his wife. ‘It’s what we previously referred to as multiple personality disorder.’

Boyd slowly shook his head. ‘No. I had no idea.’

‘I appreciate you are a paramedic, Mr. Davis,’ the doctor flicked a finger at Boyd’s uniform. ‘So forgive me if I am telling you something you already know… but, dissociative identity disorder is characterised by the presence of two, or more distinct personality identities. Severe forms of dissociation produces a lack of connection in a person’s thoughts, memories, feelings, actions, or sense of identity.’

Boyd nodded his understanding. ‘I have a basic understanding of what it is, Doctor.’

’I have examined your wife for the past three hours and from what I can establish, Emily has the presence of one other identity… Felicity. Felicity is a much stronger personality and somewhat troubled, bordering on psychopathic.

‘Has there been any occasion where you have been talking to your wife and you thought she acted completely different…out of character to what you expect, say unusually violent…?’

‘Never. Why is she in here? What happened?’ Boyd looked to Max.

‘Around 9pm last night,’ Max began. ‘Your wife, um… er, Felicity jumped into a male’s car at Ocean Grove and held a large knife to his throat, telling him to drive to an undisclosed location.’

‘Is that man alright?’

‘Yes. He’s safe. Your wife… ah, Felicity, was interrupted before anything happened.’

Boyd’s focus shifted to his wife. ‘Does she know…? Does she understand why she’s in here…?’

‘At this time, I don’t think she fully understands, Mr. Davis,’ the doctor said.

‘Will she be charged, Detective?’

Max shook a firm head. ‘No. No we won’t be pursuing charges for last night’s incident. Your first priority should be to get Emily the treatment she deserves.’

Boyd nodded his understanding as his troubled eyes shifted back to his wife.

Thirty-One

Max peeled the seven photographs from his whiteboard and slipped them into their respective case files. Once he’d cleared the whiteboard of all records, he placed each of the seven missing person case files into a storage box sitting on his desk.

With the box lid in his hand, Max perched himself on the front edge of his desk. His face held a vacant stare into nothing.

Satisfaction of a job well done usually accompanied the finalising of his cases. This one however was bitter sweet.

He now knew the murderer of each victim, but that did little to comfort the victims’ families. They would never see this perpetrator answer for the murder of their loved one.

Max’s boss, Jeff Fry approached Max, while he was still deep in contemplation. ‘OK,’ Jeff said. He rubbed his hands together. ‘I’m clear of those meetings now… Run me through this one.’ He gestured to the box on the desk.

Max glanced over his shoulder at Jeff approaching. He pushed himself from the desk.

’It turns out that our murderer was Emily Davis after all…’ Max said. ‘But it wasn’t Emily Davis,’ he said deliberately being cryptic.

Jeff dragged over a chair from a nearby desk and slid into it. Max continued to stand. ‘You mentioned something about a split personality,’ Jeff said.

’Correct. The psychiatrist at the hospital diagnosed her as having dissociative identity disorder… Apparently there was another identity inside Emily’s head named Felicity.

‘But this Felicity was a friggin’ psychopath. Emily’s condition was such that whatever Felicity did, it occurred in complete isolation to Emily’s brain. They shared the same brain, but different thoughts and memories.’

‘So, Emily had no idea what this Felicity was doing, despite it being done in Emily’s body?’ Jeff said as a question.

’Correct. Felicity murdered each of the victims. Emily had no idea, despite her body actually doing the physical things. The doctor believed those night visits Emily received weren’t dead people contacting her because she had medium skills…

’He believed it was part of a memory being recalled from Felicity’s encounters… A piece of Felicity’s recollection slipped through the cracks into Emily’s recall, if you will.

‘Emily didn’t recognise any of these people and later believed they were dead people communicating with her from the grave. Sort of explains why, if she was a medium, these were the only people who had contacted her, doesn’t it…?’ His question was rhetorical.

‘I find it intriguing that one person can have two completely different personalities that live in isolation to each other, yet they share the same brain,’ Jeff said.

‘The brain is a powerful thing,’ Max said.

‘So, Emily is this sweet, likeable person who wouldn’t harm a fly, yet she had this alter who was a psychopath who killed seven people using Emily’s body…’ Jeff shook his head. ‘I just find that amazing.’

‘I never told you this…’ Max began. ’After Emily’s trial, I received a report from the department of corrections, sent to me for my information, you know, to attach to the case file. I also received copy of CCTV footage from inside the Dame Phyllis Frost remand centre kitchen.

‘Corrections compiled the report because an inmate with a knife attacked Emily… stabbed her in the upper arm. Emily wrestled the knife from her attacker and stabbed her through the heart.’

Jeff’s mouth fell open. ‘Shit…’ he blurted. ‘Was she alright?’

‘Emily was, but the inmate who attacked her died at the scene,’ Max said. ’Corrections didn’t take the matter any further believing Emily acted in reasonable self-defence.

‘When I first watched that footage… I was surprised at how effectively Emily handled herself when under such a violent attack. She was stronger than the other woman, yet she didn’t strike me as someone who could look after herself. I never gave it any further thought. But now…it all makes sense. Felicity took over and defended the much weaker Emily.’

‘We can’t even re-try Emily for these murders committed by Felicity, in the hope of obtaining a court order committing her to a psyche ward, because she’s already been acquitted of these murders,’ Jeff said.

‘Correct. But I don’t think we’re going to need a court order.’

‘No? But is she treatable?’ Jeff asked.

Max shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe…’ Following a quick scan of his desk to ensure he hadn’t missed anything, Max slipped the lid onto the storage box. ‘According to the doc, due to the severity of her disorder, she’s going to be in hospital for a very long time.’

He uncapped a permanent marker and wrote, “CASE CLOSED” across the box.