The Missing

  Contents

  Title Page

  Foreword

  Missing - Melbourne

  Missing - DC

  Ending 1

  Alternate ending

  The Missing

  by PD Martin

  © PD Martin 2012

  Published by Murderati Ink

  Cover design by KatsieDesign

  THE MISSING

  PD Martin

  These two short stories were written soon after the release of Body Count, the first novel in the Sophie Anderson series.

  The first story goes back to Sophie’s roots in Australia, with her working as a homicide detective for the Victoria Police.

  The second story was written for the Australian Women’s Weekly and published in the March 2006 edition. I wrote two endings for the second story, and while Ending 1 was chosen for the magazine, I’ve included the alternate ending in this collection.

  Missing - in the beginning

  “Anderson, I’m pulling you off the Johnstone case.”

  “What?” I can barely hide my disappointment. Have I failed Detective Inspector Morelli in some way? This is the biggest case of my career.

  “There’s an abduction I want you to work on,” he continues, unperturbed.

  Again I have to keep my emotions in check. Abduction? This is career murder if ever I saw it. And what’s Morelli doing with a missing persons? Unless they’ve found the victim, dead, it’s not Homicide’s baby.

  He hands me a file. “A nine-year-old was taken two days ago from her home in Elwood. The abduction happened between 12am and 4am. Forensics, detailed reports, everything you need is in there.” He nods at the file.

  “Ransom note?”

  He shakes his head and his eyes drop to the ground.

  I sigh. No ransom note is bad news — it means it’s more likely the motives are sexual rather than financial. Perps like that are a special kind of psycho.

  I stare at the manila folder, hesitant to open it. At the moment, the girl’s just another case — nameless and faceless — but once I open the file, it’s a different story.

  I take a breath, hold it, and flip the folder open. The first thing that hits me is the photo. She’s a beautiful kid. The pic looks like it was taken at her last birthday party. In the background is a mound of presents and a flame dances in the corner — a birthday candle. The girl smiles, wide and innocent, revealing straight but narrow teeth. She has two small patches of freckles on either side of her nose and longish dark brown hair in natural-looking, loose ringlet curls. Her eyes are dark, soulful.

  I don’t want the case, and it’s not just because it’s a step backward in my career — I have personal reasons…it’s too close to home. But the girl’s sucked me in and I want to help her.

  I look at my watch — 2pm — and start doing the calculations. But Morelli’s already done them for me. “Sixty-two to sixty-six hours.” He looks tired.

  That’s cold for an abduction. The first twenty-four hours are the most important.

  “I know, time’s against us, but I want you to put a profile together. You’ll be working with Missing Persons on this one.”

  I shake my head. Great. Off a high-profile murder case, on a kidnapping case that’s probably going to end bad — in all sorts of ways I don’t even want to think about — and I’ll be treading on toes. Morelli must have it in for me.

  I stare at the photo again. “She’s pretty.”

  Morelli nods. “Yeah.” He pauses. “This is temporary, Anderson. I can’t spare you for more than twenty-four hours.”

  But that’s only part of the reason. The reality is, if we don’t find Anna in twenty-four hours her chances of being found alive are slim. The longer an abduction lasts, the more likely it is that it will end in murder.

  “If you get this girl back…” He trails off and stares out the window. A few seconds later his eyes return to me. “It’s a personal favor, Anderson.”

  Now I’m curious.

  “Anna’s the daughter of an old school friend.”

  So this isn’t punishment. It’s a compliment. “I’ll do my best, boss.” I twist my ring around my little finger. I don’t want to fail Morelli — or Anna.

  “Like I said, Anderson. You do this…” He pauses again. “Well, that course you’re so keen on at the FBI would be on your training plan this year, that’s a promise.”

  I smile. The FBI Academy in Quantico runs an International Training Program and I’ve been bugging Morelli to send me for months.

  *****

  Two hours later I’m sitting at my desk, flicking through the file for the third time. I haven’t spoken to anyone from Missing Persons yet. I want to make sure I’m informed before I infringe on their territory. Anna’s the only child of Bruno and Linda Gatto. The family went out for its usual Tuesday night dinner at Brighton Baths Restaurant and were home by eight. Half an hour later Anna was in bed. Bruno and Linda watched a movie and then went to bed at about eleven. Neither of them noticed anything strange until Linda woke up, uneasy, just after 4am. She went to check on Anna and found her missing. The police were called immediately. Forensics found no fingerprints, but there was a shoe print outside Anna’s window. The shoeprint will be good evidence if we can get a suspect — it’s been identified from the database as an ASICS Gel 1100.

  “It’s someone they know,” I say out aloud. It’s a hunch, gut instinct. I ring my contact.

  “Hi Logan, it’s Detective Sergeant Sophie Anderson calling from Homicide.”

  “I know who you are. Hi.” His voice is a little gruff, but I wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee.

  “I’d like to go to the Gatto house, check out the crime scene first hand and chat to the parents.”

  “When?” No hint of interest in his voice.

  “Now.”

  Silence. Then: “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Logan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m only on this case for twenty-four hours. Let’s play nice and see if we can’t bring Anna home.”

  “I always play nice, that’s why you got me.” The line goes dead.

  Twenty minutes later my phone rings. “Anderson,” I say, still staring at the photo of Anna and absorbed in her innocence, her beauty. I’ve already started imagining what that would feel like for him, for the perp.

  “It’s Logan. I’ll pick you up out front in ten.”

  I’m waiting in front of our St Kilda Road headquarters when an unmarked grey Ford swings out of the garage and pulls up on the curb. The driver stands up, but doesn’t get all the way out of the car. “Anderson?”

  I nod and walk toward the car.

  Logan is five-ten, in his late twenties and sports flaming red hair. His body is mostly hidden by the door, but I can tell from the arm that hangs across the door frame that he’s skinny.

  I jump in the passenger side and Logan sits back down in the driver seat.

  “Logan.” He extends his hand and manages a small upturn of his lips. His pale blue eyes fix on me.

  “Anderson.” I take his hand and give it a firm shake.

  “Let’s get to it.” He puts the car in drive and pulls out into the traffic, heading down St Kilda Road.

  “So, how are the Gattos handling this?” I ask, interested in finding out everything I can about the family. Even something seemingly minor could give me a clue about the perpetrator and why he targeted Anna.

  “The mother’s a mess, the father’s being stoic.”

  Logan takes a right into Nepean Highway and then another right into Barkly Street.

  “So, tell me about the male family members and friends. Anyone stand out?”

  “Not really, no. There are lots of potentials though. Cousins, nephews, uncles, brothers.” />
  “Shit.” Sounds like lots of suspects to eliminate in twenty-four hours. “Anyone you like for it?”

  “I think the nephew, John, was hiding something when we questioned him,” Logan says, but without much conviction.

  “Interesting. Age?”

  “He’s eighteen, just finished VCE.”

  “And his relationship with Anna?”

  “Everyone says they’re close. He baby-sits regularly.”

  “It’s not him.”

  Logan whips his head around to me, then focuses on the road again. “You haven’t even met the boy.” Sarcastic disbelief.

  “Our guy needed to get close to Anna. John could be close to her any time. If he was going to…interfere with her, he would have done it during his baby-sitting shifts.”

  Logan pauses. “Makes sense.” He seems reluctant to admit it. “So, you’re going to do a profile?”

  “Yeah.” Profiling is an area I’ve been obsessed with for a many years but I’ve had little formal training in the area. It’s another reason I want to go to the FBI, to hear about profiling from the pros first-hand.

  Logan nods his approval as he hangs a left into a side street. He takes another left before pulling into a driveway. “This is it.” He shuts the engine off.

  The house looks new, perhaps only a couple of years old. It’s a single-storey house, bagged and painted white, with two bay windows on either side of the front door. We cross the perfectly manicured front lawn and Logan rings the doorbell.

  The door is opened by an older woman, no doubt one of Anna’s grandmothers. The woman looks drawn and her eyes are red and puffy. Despite the fact that I’ve seen it many times before, my stomach still clenches. Grief is one of the most powerful emotions, uncontrollably affecting and infecting.

  “Detective Logan,” she says with a hint of an Italian accent. “You have news?”

  Logan shakes his head. “I’m afraid not, Mrs Gatto.”

  She nods slowly.

  Logan takes a breath. “This is Detective Sergeant Anderson. She’s just been assigned to the case.”

  The woman nods, opens the door and steps back.

  I force a smile and return her nod. I notice the alarm keypad on the wall as I enter. The file said it was definitely on while the Gattos were out at dinner.

  Mrs Gatto leads us through a cream marble entrance hall and into the living room. “I’ll just get my son and daughter-in-law.” She continues down the hallway in her grief-induced daze. From the back room I can hear the sound of many voices speaking in hushed, serious tones.

  Within a minute Bruno and Linda appear, thankfully by themselves.

  “Mr and Mrs Gatto, I’m Detective Anderson. I’ll be working on your daughter’s case.” I don’t tell them it’s only for twenty-four hours. It doesn’t seem long enough when some bustard’s got their daughter.

  We all sit and Bruno speaks. “You work with Morelli.”

  “Yes.”

  “He speaks very highly of you.”

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I’m going to draft a basic profile of the offender. Using the information you give me, plus the police files and evidence, I’ll put together all the elements of your daughter’s disappearance to get a picture of the man responsible for this.”

  Mrs Gatto visibly shudders — as any mother would.

  I move it along. “Tell me about your daughter. What’s she like?”

  The victim can tell you a lot about the perp. Why was Anna picked out of all the other nine-year-old girls in Melbourne?

  “She’s a very happy child,” Mrs Gatto starts. “Active.”

  “Ballet.” I’d read that in the reports.

  Mrs Gatto nods. “Yes. Ballet. And she’s also on the school’s tennis team. She’s only young, but already loves keeping physically active.”

  “Friends?”

  “She’s in grade four at school and has a few good friends.”

  “Any of those friends have older brothers?” I ask, again thinking of possible predators that she may have been exposed to.

  “Her friend Simone has got a twelve-year-old brother.”

  “But no one older?” The footprint outside is a men’s size eleven.

  Mrs Gatto shudders again and her husband places his hand on her knee.

  “No,” he says.

  I shuffle through the papers in the file. “You’ve given us a list of all trades people who’ve been around in the past few weeks. What about before that?”

  “I…” she trails off. Silence.

  “I know it’s hard to think about these things now, but I believe Anna knows whoever took her. And you probably know them too or have at least met them.”

  Mrs Gatto nods slowly and I notice Mr Gatto’s fists clench. White patches gleam on his knuckles. I don’t blame him. Someone had been in his house, targeted his daughter and come back to claim her. “Why do you think we know him?” he asks.

  “Anna was targeted. If it was just any girl he wanted, he would have picked someone off the street. This is different.”

  He nods, but I can tell he’s still unable to accept that someone he knows took their baby girl.

  “Think about it and let me know if some more names come to mind.” I stand up. “I’d like to take a look around for a few minutes if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.” Mr Gatto gets up.

  “Bruno will show you around.” Linda Gatto excuses herself and retreats to the voices.

  We start at the front door, with the locks and the alarm. The house looks secure from the front. We move through the hallway. On the right is the living room and to the left is a partially closed door.

  Mr Gatto opens it. “This is our room.”

  I walk in and glance around, but nothing in the room interests me. The next door on the left is Anna’s room. This room does interest me. The walls contain just a hint of purple and on the ceiling I can see the faint outlines of glow-in-the-dark stickers. The window is opposite the door. It’s a single window, but quite large. I look out of the window he looked in. I move closer and look down. The police tape still marks the footprint, but one decent rain and it will be gone. Looking around the room, I soak up the ambiance and get a feel for Anna.

  “Was she shy?”

  Mr Gatto lets out a small laugh that’s quickly silenced by reality. He shakes his head. “Anna’s more extroverted. And stubborn. She is an only child, after all.”

  I nod. It’s getting interesting. The crime scene doesn’t fit with my picture of Anna. A stubborn, outgoing child – where’s the evidence of a struggle?

  Eventually we move back into the hallway and continue our way toward the rear of the house. We keep moving, until we reach a large kitchen/dining area. Linda Gatto sits at the table, with relatives and friends gathered around her. She forces a half-smile my way. Others are busy in the kitchen, cooking and talking.

  The kitchen/dining area is open plan, and leads out onto the back yard. Large floor-to-ceiling windows and French doors make it an ideal place for a perp to watch, and to gain entry.

  This was where they think he got in. No glass was broken, but a door had been jimmied open. Still, it would have made some noise.

  I look back down the hallway. Neither bedroom is far away.

  “Are you deep sleepers?”

  “I am, but my wife is a very light sleeper.”

  I nod. Surely she would have heard him, then? Unless that’s what woke her up at 4am and the perp only just made it out with Anna before Linda Gatto got up. But that seems unlikely. He had to get in, get Anna, and get out. Too long.

  “And Anna?”

  “She takes after her mother — in looks and sleeping patterns.” He smiles.

  Alarm bells ring again. Why didn’t Anna wake up? Scream?

  We move outside, onto a paved area that’s covered by a shade cloth.

  “I’d like to go around the side.” I motion toward the side of the house, and Anna’s bedroom window.

  Mr Gatto nods. �
��Sure,” he says but doesn’t move. “I’ll be inside when you’re done.”

  I guess he doesn’t want to stand where he stood, looking in at Anna’s world. Logan and I pick our way through shrubs to Anna’s window, careful not to disturb the soil. Even though forensics has already got everything they need, including a cast of the footprint, it still seems wrong to contaminate the area.

  Standing further away than the perp did, I look in the window. I imagine him standing here, probably at night. He would have been able to see everything, without being seen. I stand for several minutes absorbing the scene, imagining the killer.

  “Anderson?”

  “Sorry, yes?” I turn to look at Logan, still distracted. He was yelling my name, so I must have vagued out – a regular occurrence.

  “You done?” he asks.

  “Almost.” I walk toward the front of the house. A small gate blocks off the side area from the front garden, but anyone could have jumped over, or even leaned over and slid the lock across. He’d probably been watching Anna for weeks or even months.

  I look around one last time and we head back to the rear garden.

  “Well?” Logan interrupts my thoughts.

  “Anna’s stubborn and fit. I think she would have struggled. Cried out even.”

  He shakes his head. “No sign of a struggle.”

  “Exactly.”

  Logan looks at me quizzically.

  “He sedated her.”

  “What?”

  I can tell Logan’s not convinced. I throw him another curve ball. “I think he knew the alarm code too.”

  He shakes his head again. “No, the door was jimmied.”

  “Yes, but Mrs Gatto and Anna are light sleepers. I think they would have heard something if it happened while they were asleep.”

  Logan nods as the penny drops. “You think he got in when they were at dinner?”

  I nod. “Got in the back, disabled the alarm, and then waited for them to come home. My money’s on forensics finding something in Anna’s closet.”