I savoured the last moment of hot water before turning off the taps. I had successfully snuck into the station without anyone noticing that I had arrived and headed straight to the showers to enjoy the warmth I had been denied earlier.
"Shit, Sarah!" I said as I pulled back the cheap plastic shower curtain. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"
"Looking for some action, I'd say," Glen taunted, grinning as he braced himself against the doorway to the changing rooms, wearing only a towel around his waist. He pushed his overweight body past Sarah, purposely brushing his hairy potbelly against her arm. The towel that only just fit around his considerable girth dropped to the floor, and he stepped into the cramped cubicle next to me. Glen paused for a moment, exposing his full-frontal nudity before pulling the curtain across.
"In your dreams, pal," I called out to him.
"Ew, please no. Don't encourage that fat prick," said Sarah, clearly grossed out by the suggestion of making a cameo in one of Glen's distasteful erotic dreams that he so freely recounted, in nauseating detail, around the office.
I started to feel the coldness that I had been trying to vanquish seep slowly back into my bones. "Towel," I directed Sarah, indicating to where my things were piled up on the bench in front of the shower.
She reached out and quickly grabbed the white towel, clearly wanting to get going with something. "Hurry up, you'll want to hear this," she said, shoving the towel at my carefully buzzed, but still furry, chest.
The three other officers and I in the changing room, didn't make any attempt to disguise our staring at Sarah's firm butt as she walked past the row of lockers and out through the doorway into the corridor. My hungry gaze lingered on the closed door until the slight thud of a cake of soap falling to the bottom of the shower next to me broke my trance. I watched as the soap slid out from under the curtain, stopping near my feet.
"Piss off, Glen," I said as I walked to my locker, leaving the soap where it lay. Glen let out a hearty chuckle, which echoed out of his cubicle and around the changing room. I found it so creepy, it made my freshly clean skin feel dirty again. Glen really was such a pervert that he was almost a caricature. It was ridiculous. If he ever laid a finger on Sarah...
"Glen again?" Sergeant Charlie Claiborne asked, standing over me and interrupting my idle thought of beating Glen to within an inch of his life.
"He's all yours, Sergeant," I offered.
"Get your clothes on, Detective Jenkins. Detective Lahey is right. You're going to want to hear what this woman has to say," Sergeant Claiborne said sternly as he turned to leave the room. He strode purposefully away, before stopping dead in his tracks outside the cubicle in which Glen was showering. He paused for a moment, seemingly in thought, before rapping hard on the cubicle wall, eliciting an amusing squeal of surprise from its occupant.
"Detective?" he called out, with an air of authority that superior officers seemed to affect as they climbed the hierarchy.
"Yes, Sergeant?" came Glen's meek reply.
"You have precisely two minutes to get your ass parked at your desk or so help me it will be graveyard shifts for the rest of the week. Understood?" barked Claiborne, turning to smile ever so slightly in my direction.
He must have overheard Glen being a dick, I thought, grinning wryly back at my boss. Serves him right.
"Y-Y-Yes, sir!" stammered Glen, as frantic scrubbing sounds began emanating from his cubicle.
"Now hurry up, Jenkins," the Sergeant said to me, as he walked quickly out of the changing rooms. "I wanted you in that interview room ten minutes ago."
Slowly, I leaned forward as the Sergeant disappeared around the corner, resting my still slightly sore forehead on the top of the metal locker’s frame. Why today? I asked myself pitifully. Hastily pulling my clothes on, I watched in amusement as Glen tried to dry himself in three seconds flat. As Glen rushed out of the changing rooms, belly rolls visibly wobbling, still dripping wet with traces of shampoo in his hair, I swallowed a couple of headache tablets and prayed to any god that was listening that I'd be able to focus enough despite my hangover to actually get through the shift.
I walked the full length of the corridor, each step feeling heavier than the last. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, still trying to latch onto the seriousness of the situation. The corridor seemed longer than usual, the familiar sights and sounds of the station now distant and muffled, as if I was moving through water.
Stopping outside the interview room, I saw the Sergeant waiting. Sarah was there too, her impatience palpable. She tapped her pen against a pad rhythmically, a clear sign of her eagerness to get things underway. The sound was like a metronome, ticking away the seconds, each tap a reminder of the urgency and my own unpreparedness.
"She's in there," Sarah said, her voice firm, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. She steered me closer to the door, her hand on my arm guiding yet assertive. "You ready for this?” There was a challenge in her eyes, a silent questioning of my capability in that moment.
I nodded in response, more out of reflex than confidence. My throat felt dry, and my head still pounded. As I moved towards the interview room door, bracing myself for what lay ahead, the Sergeant suddenly intervened.
His hand slammed hard into my chest, a sudden and unexpected barrier. The force of it knocked the breath out of me, halting my advance abruptly. I stood there, stunned and gasping for air, a mix of surprise and unease washing over me. The Sergeant's eyes bore into mine, examining each carefully in turn. His gaze was piercing, searching, as if trying to gauge my readiness, or lack thereof.
"I'd normally tell you to go home," the Sergeant said, his voice firm and unyielding. "But she has a unique story to tell, and she's determined to tell it to you, specifically." There was a gravity in his words, a seriousness that underscored the importance of what was about to unfold.
The Sergeant removed his hand, and his next words were a clear directive. "Now, don't screw it up." The weight of his expectation hung heavily in the air.
Nervously, I swallowed hard, the bile in my throat a harsh reminder of my physical state.
"I'll be watching you closely," the Sergeant added, his glare sharp and dangerous. Any humour that might have come from the usual banter with Glen was now completely absent. This was serious, and the stakes were high.
I knew the gravity of the situation. If I messed this up, it wouldn't just be my promotion on the line – it could be the very trajectory of my career. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I tried to calm the storm of nerves raging inside me.
Detective Lahey opened the door to the interview room, and we filed inside, one after the other. I stepped into the room, acutely aware of the Sergeant's eyes on me, the weight of the responsibility I was about to shoulder pressing down. It was time to prove myself, not just as a senior detective, but as someone worthy of the trust and expectations placed upon me.
"Louise Jeffries?" The words left my mouth in a mix of disbelief and surprise as I took in the sight of the woman sitting at the interview desk. The years had etched new lines onto her face, lines that spoke of hardships and sleepless nights. Her expression was solemn, almost haunting, as if she carried a weight far too heavy for one person to bear. She didn't speak, but the silence between us was loud, filled with unspoken words and memories.
"Oh my God! It is you," I couldn't help but exclaim, my voice tinged with a sense of incredulity. The last time I saw Louise, years seemed to have been a lifetime ago, in a past that now felt both distant and painfully close.
"You two know each other?" Sarah's voice cut through my thoughts, snapping me back to the present.
"You could say that," I answered, my voice a soft murmur. Memories of Louise and me, from a time long gone, flickered in my mind like old film reels. "How have you been?" I asked her, though the question felt hollow against the backdrop of her pained expression.
Louise's face remained unchanged, her features set in a mask of quiet resolve. "Please, Karl. Sit," she insisted, her voice steady yet carrying an undercurrent of urgency.
A sense of dread began to creep into my stomach, an ominous feeling that grew with every passing second. I pulled up the chair opposite her and sat down, my movements mechanical, driven by a growing apprehension.
"I've already told most of this to your colleague here," Louise said, nodding towards Sarah. "But I wanted to tell you directly." Her voice was steady, but I could sense the effort it took her to maintain that composure.
A cool gust from the air conditioning unit swept through the room, sending a shiver down my spine. The chill seemed to accentuate the gravity of the moment, heightening the tension that hung in the air.
"I'm listening," I said, striving to keep my tone serious, to maintain a professional demeanour despite the turmoil brewing inside me. My eyes locked with Louise's, urging her to continue. I was acutely aware of how my emotions might be betraying me, the concern and anxiety likely evident in my gaze.
Louise's gaze held mine with a directness that was both familiar and unsettling. The intensity in her eyes spoke volumes, reflecting a turmoil of emotions. As she paused, a weary sigh escaped her lips, betraying the effort it took her to maintain composure. The news she was about to deliver hung heavily in the air, a foreboding sense that it would alter the course of things. "My son, Kain, is missing."
The mention of Kain sent a flicker of memory through my mind. I vaguely remembered him – a young boy with a well-set frame, honed from years of high school football. His youthful face, marked by the innocence of adolescence, now seemed to loom in my thoughts. I recalled the time when Louise had come to me, desperate for help after Kain got caught underage drinking. I had pulled some strings back then, a small gesture of repayment for the countless ways Louise had been there for me in the past. A wave of unease washed over me at the thought that she might have revealed our past dealings to Sarah... about everything. But as I studied Louise's face, her efforts to keep her emotions in check apparent, I realised she hadn't said anything. Our secret remained just that.
"And so is my brother," she added after a long, heavy pause.
"Jamie?" The name came out cautiously from my lips. Jamie – her brother, another figure from my past, who had moved back to Tasmania thirteen years ago. Despite the occasional sightings around town, we hadn't spoken since that fateful day – a day etched in my memory with a mix of regret and unresolved questions.
"Yes," Louise nodded, confirming my fears.
"Are you sure?" I pressed. My voice was steady, but inside, a storm of emotions raged. Jamie’s disappearance wasn't just another case. It was personal, deeply intertwined with a past that never seemed to let go. We may not have spoken for nearly two decades, but the mystery surrounding Jamie, the cause of his fear, had never ceased to haunt me. It had torn apart a bond of fellowship, a connection that I hadn't been able to replicate with anyone else since. The thought that something might have happened to him reignited a sense of duty and urgency within me, a need to uncover the truth that had been left buried for too long.
"I haven't been able to contact him for several days now. He hasn't answered any of my calls or responded to any of my texts. I've driven past his house a few times and his car is still in the driveway," Louise's voice trembled slightly as she explained, her words painting a picture of growing desperation and concern. The thought of Jamie, once so integral to my life, now possibly in trouble, sent a jolt of anxiety through me.
"Have you knocked on the door?" I asked, my forehead creasing with worry. It struck me as odd that she would only drive past without attempting to make direct contact.
"I didn't at first," she replied, her eyes welling up with tears. "Maybe if I had, Kain would still be around." Her voice broke as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, the gesture one of frustration and regret.
"I'm confused, Louise. You said you didn't knock on his door at first. But you have now?" I needed her to clarify, to understand the sequence of events. My mind was already racing, trying to piece together the scant information, to form a starting point for the investigation.
"Yes," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "But he didn't answer. I only spoke to Luke."
"Who is Luke?" I interjected, a frown settling on my face. The name didn't ring any bells, and it felt like a crucial piece of information I was missing.
"Luke Smith," Louise said, pausing as if the name held a significant weight. "Jamie's partner."
"Oh. I didn't realise," I admitted, feeling a pang of surprise. How had I not known about Jamie's partner? We had been so close back then, practically inseparable. It was disconcerting to realise how much had changed, how distant I had become from a young man who had once been my closest confidant.
"It's okay," Louise's voice carried a tone of understanding, perhaps even forgiveness, for my ignorance about Jamie's life. Her words offered a small comfort, but my mind had already shifted gears, moving past personal embarrassments and focusing on the unfolding situation.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders. I needed to piece together the scattered fragments of information, to form a coherent picture of what had happened. "Louise," I began slowly, deliberately. "I'm still quite confused. Please, start again from the beginning," I requested, my voice steady, yet filled with urgency.
"The beginning?" Louise echoed, her eyebrows knitting together in surprise.
"Just of the disappearance," I quickly clarified. The last thing I wanted was for her to delve into the history of twenty years ago. That was a chapter of my life I wasn't ready to revisit, not here, not now. Or ever, for that matter.
Louise took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as she gathered her thoughts. "It's been four days since I've been able to get in touch with Jamie, and it's unusual that he doesn't answer my calls. I'm concerned about his relationship with Luke, so I sent Kain over to their house to check on him. But I haven't heard from Kain since."
As she spoke, I could see the struggle on her face, the effort it took to keep her emotions in check. Her lower lip trembled, a physical manifestation of the fear and worry that gripped her.
"I'm really worried that something terrible might have happened to them," Louise said, her voice strained as she fought back tears. The vulnerability in her eyes was palpable, the glimmer of unshed tears reflecting the room's dim light.
Moved by Louise's evident distress, I reached across the small interview table, my hand enveloping her trembling ones. It was a gesture meant to offer comfort, a tangible expression of support in a moment charged with fear and uncertainty. "When did you send Kain?" I asked, my voice soft yet underscored with the insistence of a detective needing vital information.
"Two days ago. It was first thing in the morning," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've contacted Kain's friends, but nobody has seen or heard from him since he left our house. Kain's fiancé swears to me she hasn't heard from him either." Her words painted a picture of a widening circle of worry, a network of people touched by Kain's unexplained absence.
"So, after driving past Jamie's house several times, I finally decided yesterday morning—" Her voice hitched, choked by the emotions she had been battling to keep at bay. I felt her hands tremble more violently under my grasp. Squeezing them gently, I tried to offer reassurance, my own mind racing with questions and theories. I needed to hear the rest, to understand the full scope of what we were dealing with.
"I decided," Louise continued after a moment, gathering herself with visible effort, "That I'd go and knock on the door. I pulled into the driveway, but I didn't get a chance to knock. Luke was already walking out the front door." Her recounting of these details was methodical, each word laced with the weight of her worry.
"I asked him about Jamie, and he told me that they were having relationship issues and he had gone to Melbourne for a few weeks to think things over." The revelation added another layer of complexity to the case. Jamie and Luke's relationship problems, Jamie's sudden trip to Melbourne, it all seemed to weave a complicated web around the disappearances.
I sat back slightly, the chair creaking under my weight as I processed the deluge of information Louise had just provided. My mind was racing, trying to connect the dots, to make sense of the jumbled timelines and tangled relationships. Kain's mysterious disappearance, Jamie's sudden and unexplained departure, their intertwined lives with Louise - it all seemed like disparate pieces of a puzzle that refused to align.
"And do you believe him?" I asked, my voice carrying a mixture of skepticism and concern. This was a critical question. The reliability of Luke's account was paramount in determining the next steps of the investigation.
"Well, he did seem to be pretty upset about it all," Louise replied, her voice tinged with doubt. "But even if it were true and Jamie had gone to Melbourne, that doesn't explain why he won't respond to any of my calls or messages."
"And did Luke say anything about Kain?" I pressed further, needing every fragment of information, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.
"Not really. He just said that Kain never made it around. He said he hadn't seen him since last Christmas."
"None of this makes any sense at all," Detective Lahey suddenly interjected, breaking her silence. I realised then that in the intensity of my focus on Louise’s story, I had almost forgotten about Sarah’s presence in the room.
"No, it doesn’t," I agreed with her, my thoughts already shifting to the next steps we needed to take. Standing up, I motioned for Louise to follow suit. "Thank you for coming in, Louise," I said, my tone professional yet empathetic. "Detective Lahey and I will write up our notes and open an investigation immediately. We'll keep you informed of our progress. I'm sure we'll be in touch very soon."
"Thank you, Karl," Louise said, her voice cracking slightly with emotion. Our eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, a torrent of shared history passed between us. I could feel my heart pounding, a stark reminder to keep my emotions in check. I had to focus on the task at hand – finding Jamie and Kain.
"Detective Lahey will take you to a more comfortable room where you can write up your formal statement," I continued, maintaining a steady voice despite the turmoil inside me.
Louise cast a quick glance at Sarah, then back at me, her expression slightly rolling her eyes, clearly not thrilled at the prospect of recounting everything again to someone she didn't know.
A twinge of guilt added to the burden I was already carrying. I placed a reassuring hand on Louise’s shoulder. "Don't worry," I said firmly, trying to infuse confidence into my words. "We'll find them. Both of them."
She gave a slight nod, her expression a mix of gratitude and worry. I watched sombrely as Detective Lahey escorted her out of the room, my mind already turning over the possibilities, the leads we had to follow, the questions that needed answering.
As soon as the room emptied, the Sergeant strode in with a brisk, purposeful gait, his presence filling the space with an air of authority. "So, what do you think of her story?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of skepticism. "Do you believe any of it?"
I found myself in a quandary, caught between my professional duties and the personal connections entangling me in this case. I have to tread carefully, I reminded myself, aware that every word, every reaction could be scrutinised. I shrugged noncommittally. "I don't know. It doesn't really make much sense at the moment." I paused, weighing my next words. "I'll do a background check on Luke Smith. See if I can find any connection with–" I stopped abruptly, cutting off the sentence before I ventured into territory that might be premature to discuss.
The Sergeant's eyes bore into me, scrutinising, searching for something unsaid. "I agree," he responded, his gaze unwavering. "You sure you don't think you're too close to this one, Jenkins?" His question caught me off guard, a jolt of alarm shooting through me.
Shit! Does he know? The thought was like a shockwave, sending my mind into overdrive. How could he know about my past with Jamie? It was impossible, wasn't it? We hadn't been in Tasmania back then, and I was certain no official record existed of those days long gone.
Eager to escape the weight of his gaze, I took a step toward the door. The Sergeant’s probing eyes and pointed questions were becoming too much, igniting a storm of anxiety within me. I needed space, time to organise my thoughts, to separate them from the emotions swirling dangerously close to the surface. After all, I reminded myself, I am Hobart's newest senior detective. I have to get this right.
"Be careful, Karl. These are dangerous times, and we have to deal with dangerous people," the Sergeant said, his voice low and measured. He extended his hand, clenched into a fist. My eyes fixed on his hand, a sense of foreboding growing within me.
Slowly, Sergeant Claiborne unfurled his fingers, revealing a small, torn, scrunched up piece of scrap paper. My heart skipped a beat as I recognised it, a flood of memories rushing back.
"Does Louise know?" I managed to ask, my voice strained as I struggled to keep the panic at bay.
"No," he replied softly, his head shaking slowly. The Sergeant’s subtle actions and the appearance of the scrap paper left me reeling.
