Chain of Evidence

22

Katie Blasko had been taken to the Children’s Hospital in the city. Ellen waited through the long morning. When the call came to say that Katie was well enough to be interviewed, Ellen was in the CIU tearoom, rinsing her coffee mug and trying to think of ways to further deface the sign that read: ‘Don’t expect someone else to wash up after you-you’re not at home now.’ She shook the water off her hands, flipped open her mobile phone. ‘Scobie, we’ve got the okay. Meet you downstairs in five.’

She encountered Kees van Alphen on the stairs. ‘Take me with you,’ he said.

Ellen shook her head. ‘I need your eyes on the records, Van. Sorry.’

He scowled, stalked away, unaware of Ellen’s real reason for not wanting him with her when she interviewed Katie Blasko. Van Alphen was a prohibitive-looking man, and long estranged from his wife and teenage daughter: quite simply, Ellen felt that he would frighten the child.

She drove. Scobie Sutton could be an appalling passenger, given to outlining the daily inanities of his home life, but an even worse driver: slow, talkative and easily distracted. She was prepared to ask him to shut up if he got started, but he rode in silence that afternoon. He’s still shocked, she thought. He’s conflating Katie Blasko and his daughter.

She headed along the old Peninsula highway to Frankston, where the road widened, three lanes in and out, a ribbon of black bisecting hectares of low brick houses with tiled roofs. Frankston is Australia, she thought, with its modest, usually disappointed expectations and achievements, its anxieties and conservatism. We admire rapist footballers, own plasma TVs we can’t afford, grow obese and vote to keep out strangers. Our fifteen-year-olds get poor educations and move on to senseless crimes, addiction, jail time or death behind the wheel of a stolen car, and if they make it past fifteen they can’t find work. A great, banal sameness defines us, making us mostly soporific- but nasty if cornered. We’re vicious with paedophiles, probably because we produce them. Ellen felt sick and sour and an atmosphere built up in the car, as if they both felt it.

She made an effort. ‘It’s a pity Pam Murphy can’t be assigned to this. Good experience for her.’

Scobie stirred in the passenger seat. He wore old-fashioned aftershave, stale and dense in the confines of the CIU car. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he struggled to cross his long legs under the glove box.

‘Yes.’

Ellen sighed and drove on, through the endless suburbs, and then finally along the river, the glassy office buildings of the city centre now clearly visible. The traffic raced and darted, unnerving her. She edged across to the outer lane, took the exit that would lead her to the hospital.

They were shown to a suite intended to comfort children whenever the authorities were obliged to step in with questions, intervention orders or counselling. The surfaces were soft, the colours cheery, the light muted. There was a TV set, a sound system, plenty of books and toys. Donna Blasko was seated on a sofa, cuddling Katie. A paediatric nurse, smiling, bouncy, like a big sister, sat in the corner. Scobie joined the nurse, leaving the interview to Ellen.

The first thing Ellen did was separate mother and daughter. ‘Donna,’ she murmured, ‘I’d like you to sit with the others. That way Katie can concentrate for me, but know that you’re still in the room.’

Looking doubtful, Donna complied. Katie immediately reached out, alarmed, but Donna reassured her, saying, ‘It’s all right, sweetheart, I’m right here.’

Out of Katie’s direct line of sight, fortunately. Ellen smiled encouragingly at both of them. Katie swallowed, fighting down her panic, lost in a vast stretch of flowery upholstery. Donna said from her chair next to Scobie, ‘If Katie can’t hack it, I’m terminating. Terminating.’

‘Of course,’ said Ellen gently.

‘Sweetie, the police just need to ask you some questions, okay?’

‘Okay.’

Ellen smiled at Katie. ‘My name is Ellen. That kind man is Scobie. He’s got a daughter your age. And you know what? Yesterday she pretended to be you. We dressed her up like you, put her on a bike like yours, and she rode home from your school for us, to help jog people’s memories.’

Katie, mouth open, in awe as she grasped the significance of the police effort and her notoriety, risked a meek smile at Scobie. Scobie returned it, a huge, transfiguring smile, one of great sweetness. Katie relaxed further and turned her attention back to Ellen.

‘We want to catch the man who hurt you.’

‘Catch all the men,’ Katie said.

Ellen said carefully, ‘How many were there?’

‘I think four.’

Ellen closed her eyes briefly, opened them again. Her voice cracked a little. ‘Four men. Can you describe them to me?’

Katie grimaced, wiping her palms on her thighs. She wore a striped hooded top over a pink T-shirt and yellow cargo pants, the colours pastelly and new. Red canvas shoes. Pink ankle socks. Her fingernails were bright red, but chipped, and Ellen realised with a shock that the men had probably painted them for her.

‘They had grey hair and moustaches,’ Katie said. ‘And glasses.’

‘All of them?’

‘Yes.’

Disguises, Ellen thought. Anything else?’

Katie tossed in distress. ‘I was so sleepy. I could hardly keep my eyes open.’

Temazepam had been found in her system. ‘Let’s concentrate on something else,’ Ellen said. After school on Thursday you set out on your bike to ride home.’

‘Yes,’ whispered Katie.

‘What route did you take?’

Katie looked hunted. She swallowed and said, ‘I went past the Show.’

Donna attempted joviality, tut-tutting in the background. ‘Oh, Katie, we told you not to do that.’

The interruption had an unintended effect. Katie’s face grew stubborn, as though she were tired of being nagged, and this small rebellion made her stronger. Ellen stepped in, taking advantage. ‘I used to do that, when I was a kid. Did you ride past the Show every day after school?’

‘Yes.’

‘During those rides, did you ever see the man who kidnapped you?’

‘No.’

‘Did you ever see a white van driving or parked nearby?’

‘I can’t remember. Don’t think so.’

But the abductor and his van would have been nearby, Ellen was convinced of that. ‘Did you ever go into the showgrounds? Spend your pocket money on the rides, for example, or just wander around?’

With a look at her mother, Katie whispered, ‘Yes.’

Ellen nodded. She would make a public appeal asking Show visitors to hand in their photographs and video footage. They might get lucky and spot Katie, particularly Katie being followed or watched. ‘Describe what happened after you left the Show last Thursday.’

Katie took a deep breath and matter-of-factly described the man who had abducted her and the circumstances of the abduction itself. ‘Then I woke up in a strange house,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember getting there.’ She swallowed once or twice. ‘I hardly remember anything,’ she wailed. ‘I felt woozy all the time. My tummy was really sore, I was bleeding.’

Donna uttered an inarticulate cry; Scobie and the nurse murmured reassuringly. Ellen, trying hard not to weep, said, ‘But you’re sure that only one man put you in the van? There were no passengers inside it?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Did you recognise him?’

‘You already asked me that.’

‘No,’ said Ellen gently, ‘I asked if you’d seen that man in the days leading up to Thursday.’

‘I didn’t know him,’ said Katie. ‘He said my mum needed me.’

Again Donna wailed. Ellen said above it, ‘What can you tell me about the van?’

‘It was white.’

‘That will help us very much. Thank you. What about the inside of it?’

Katie cast her mind back. ‘It was white. There were these boxes and stuff, and plastic bags.’ Her mind cleared. ‘And this cute little dog. Sasha.’

Ellen beamed. ‘How do you know it was called Sasha?’

‘It was on her collar, this tag thing.’

‘Any other name?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘An address, or phone number?’

‘I don’t remember!’

‘That’s all right, you’re doing extremely well. That man made a big mistake, letting you read his dog’s collar.’

Katie gave an almost comical look of dismay. ‘Sasha wasn’t his. He was really surprised. Sasha must have jumped in when he wasn’t looking.’

There goes one line of inquiry, thought Ellen gloomily. ‘Did he let her out again?’

‘No. She came with us. We cuddled each other. She stayed in that room with me.’ Katie started to wail. ‘Then next day she was gone.’

Ellen knew she’d not get much more out of the child. ‘Perhaps she ran away.’

‘She was scared. They hurt her.’

‘Poor Sasha.’

‘Once she knocked over the tripod for the camera. Another time she bit one of the men when he touched me.’

She was deeply distressed now, suddenly gulping, and reaching for Donna. Donna shook off Scobie and hugged her daughter, too late to avoid a jet of vomit, but not caring about that at all, just as Ellen didn’t care.