Perfect Victim (11 page)

Carlo said he would organise a website and also help with the posters. Tate, a friend of Carlo’s who led youth discos and knew gang leaders of street kids, said he would see if they had heard any whispers. I was not aware that a lot of street kids hung around in gangs, providing a network of comparative safety for themselves.

Then Carlo ordered in pizza.

We were sitting there in the comfort of Carlo’s living room. I remember thinking that I wished we’d known he’d lived so close to the dance school. It could have been a safehouse for Rachel. But then we didn’t know she’d needed one.

Carlo’s friends were preparing a fruit salad, tossing chunky pieces of fruit into a giant-sized glass bowl. The atmosphere was relaxing.

‘I suppose,’ said Carlo to Manni, ‘we should be asking, is Rachel pregnant?’

This comment was said in jest but I could sense a sudden change in Manni’s demeanour. He was sitting alongside Mike, on a cosy two-seater couch.

Manni’s pizza hovered in front of his opened mouth. ‘No,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘She couldn’t be.’

‘Why not?’ asked Carlo, completely unaware of Manni’s earlier interview with the police.

‘Impossible. We haven’t done it.’ He studied his piece of pizza.

This was not an ideal conversation to have in the presence of your fifteen-year-old girlfriend’s parents, particularly when sitting on a cosy couch with her dad.

Mike leaned across him. I thought, be careful, Mike.

‘Are you sure, Manni?’ he asked in a knowing but friendly manner.

‘Definitely,’ replied Manni.

‘Manni,’ I said, in the same tone as Mike. I placed my hand on Mike’s arm, cautioning him.

‘Are you absolutely sure, Manni?’ Mike asked again.

‘Never,’ said Manni, his face turning beetroot red.

Everyone paused, their attention suddenly on Manni. ‘Jeez, Manni,’ said Carlo, reading between the lines. ‘My big mouth. Sorry, mate.’

‘Manni, are you
absolutely
sure?’ persisted Mike. ‘Because information we have has it otherwise.’

Manni smiled nervously. ‘Really,’ he said.

We both nodded.

‘It’s okay, Manni,’ I said, trying to ease his embarrassment. ‘Normally I wouldn’t have been so impressed but …’

‘Only just,’ he blurted out. ‘It was protected, and … lovely.’

Every man in the room, even Mike, suddenly found themselves in Manni’s place. Everyone was waiting for Mike’s reaction. They didn’t expect what they got.

I started to laugh.

Manni was looking confused.

‘Elizabeth,’ said Carlo, ‘it’s not a laughing matter.’

I knew that, but sometimes laughter is very close to tears. Mike looked at me.

‘It’s okay, Manni,’ I said. ‘Really, look, we’re okay with it … now,’ and I thought, was I really? Or was I just trying to relax this incredibly embarrassed young man?

Mike put a reassuring arm around Manni’s shoulder. ‘Not fair, is it?’ he said, sympathetic. Mike knew how it felt.

‘N-no,’ Manni stammered. ‘But please don’t tell Mum and Dad. They don’t know.’

Everyone laughed then, with nervous relief. Manni must have been terrified about our reaction, but now he seemed more worried about what his mum and dad would say.

He really is a sweet kid, I thought.

Manni’s parents were unaware that Manni had been interviewed by the police at the dance school with his teacher. And they felt, considering he was under-age, that they should have been present, or at least contacted. And Manni had been nervous of the detective senior sergeant: he seemed to think Manni knew where Rachel was.

We left Carlo’s at about 10.30 because we were absolutely beat. We felt guilty about going home, but we needed rest.

There were a few presents for me on our return. One of them was a collage from Ashleigh-Rose with a ‘I miss you heaps from your
middle
daughter with love’ message on the back.

Shaun, Renée and Manni decided to continue with the posters. They went into the city and obtained permission to put posters up at the Moomba ticket offices and at all the rides. The annual Moomba festival, which covered the Labour Day holiday weekend, brought many thousands of people – tourists and families – into the city of Melbourne to enjoy the entertainment. The Moomba office advised security men to make sure none of our posters were pulled down. Shaun said one ride manager told him ten thousand people a day rode on his ride and would see the posters.

The Carella brothers continued working through the night as well. Frank said he was taken aback by the number of street kids he met. One said, ‘I hope you find her. She’s too beautiful to be on the streets.’

Any kid is too beautiful to be on the streets. I wondered how many of these street kids were listed as missing persons.

Into the second week there was so much knowledge about Rachel’s disappearance that if someone had recognised her they
would
have reported it. It seemed that every second person the Carellas spoke to knew of her story.

My brother Drew arrived this Sunday afternoon and sent Mum home for a rest, but she was back the next day. Drew added more phone messages to Mum’s list. Our former neighbour Gail had rung in the morning, distressed by Rachel’s disappearance, and offered to help. And at 9.15 p.m., although I was not aware of it until much later, Gail’s eldest daughter, Caroline Reid, had also rung and left her silent number.

11

E
SCORT
A
GENCIES

Day 7: Monday, 8 March

The beginning of the second week. Our obvious defeat was disillusioning. I had to act positive. I could not help Rachel with a defeatist attitude. I still couldn’t sense Rachel’s spirit so I chose to believe she was alive, being held captive.

It was decided that Renée, who was a catwalk model, should pretty herself up and walk around the streets of Richmond, trying to entice the woman who had followed the dress-shop girl off the train. Obviously this woman didn’t work for the Daily Planet, but she was working for someone. Thankfully, though, Renée in the end didn’t need to offer herself as bait.

On the Sunday or the Monday, against my better judgement, Mike visited Rachel’s old dance school in Prahran and left a poster. (We all decided that when Rachel was found safe we would distribute ‘I HAVE BEEN FOUND’ posters to celebrate and thank people for their support.)

Then Elaine, a secondary school friend of mine and Rachel’s godmother, rang to say she had some thoughts about the
old female friend
. ‘Elizabeth,’ she said, ‘this friend could not be a school, church or dance friend, because Rachel would have said – old school, church or dance friend.’

She was right. Why hadn’t we thought of this? So, who were we looking for then? A friend of the family? A friend of a friend? Perhaps someone more distant?

Mike and I were at Carlo’s when a phone call came through from Drew. The mother of two of Rachel’s past dance school friends had rung. The older girl, Alison, had arrived home from work to hear her younger sister, who had been in the same class as Rachel for six years, say, ‘You’ll never guess who’s gone missing! Rachel Barber. She was last seen in Richmond at 5.45 p.m. last Monday.’

From a very early age Alison was known to have an almost photographic memory and she could remember seeing Rachel on the same night, Monday 1 March. Rachel, she said, had climbed quite happily onto the number 6 Glen Iris tram, at the intersection of Chapel and High Streets at about 6.40 p.m., with another girl. Drew said that Alison had reported this sighting to the police.

I rang Alison’s mother immediately. Mike and I would go and speak to her. We had not seen each other for about two years, but it felt as if little time had passed. The younger sister had been one of Rachel’s closest friends at the old dance school and quite often I drove both sisters home.

‘How sure were you that it was Rachel?’ I asked Alison.

‘I saw her last week at the Princess Theatre, and anyway I couldn’t mistake Rachel for anyone else. I couldn’t get over what she looked like.’

I felt a bit embarrassed because I thought she was going on about how scantily dressed Rachel may have been. ‘Didn’t she have a windcheater on? I’ve told her time and time again to wear something over her dance top when she leaves the school. The students don’t realise how “undressed” they sometimes look.’

‘She was fine. She had a little top on. I meant, she looked beautiful.’

I realised she would have thought nothing of Rachel’s little top because she was dressed in very similar clothing.

‘Who was she with?’ asked Mike. ‘Can you give a description?’

‘For starters, I couldn’t work out why Rachel would be with her. Although they were very chatty, and obviously knew one another. And I don’t like saying this about people but the girl was heavy set and not attractive at all. Very plain. She obviously wasn’t a dance student.’

‘Where did they get off?’

‘At the corner of Williams Road and High Street. They stood outside Honda for a while.’

‘I’ll just ring Carlo,’ I said. He would meet us there shortly.

‘I met Rachel at the “hire a crowd” night at the Princess Theatre,’ said Alison. A number of dance schools had been approached because a crowd was needed for a show by an American choreographer. ‘I don’t know whether I should say this or not, but I think Rachel got tipsy that night,’ she said.

‘Tipsy?’ I said. I found it very surprising and felt further embarrassed. I had never seen Rachel tipsy, although I suppose there is always a first time.

‘Well, she was all over her boyfriend.’

‘No, she wasn’t tipsy,’ I scoffed, remembering that Rachel had come home about 9.30 that night, with an empty bottle of soft drink. She’d kept the bottle because of the star logo. She’d gone to Planet Hollywood for a little while with some friends, before being brought home by Domenic and Manni. ‘It was Rachel being Rachel,’ I said, and reminded her how over-the-top Rachel could sometimes be. ‘Yes, Rachel was very giggly this night, but no more giggly than usual. She was being happy. Exuberant with love.’ I found out later, much later, that she
was
tipsy that night. One of her friends had put some vodka in her soft drink, and with her knowledge. Oh dear.

Alison told us the number 602 bus travelling down Williams Road ended up at Brighton. Perhaps they had caught this.

We finished our tea and thanked her for contacting the police. Perhaps the police should now be looking for two missing girls? Surely with all the posters around the other girl must have seen at least one. Why hadn’t this other girl come forward?

We arrived at the corner of Williams Road and High Street and were met en masse by Rosa, Robert, Manni, Kylee, Shaun, Carlo, Tate and Richard.

Carlo and Tate had arrived first to scout around. Tate considered there was a suspicious-looking business in the middle of the shops because the inside was screened off and there were cameras pointing out, not in. We went around the back, where Mike started opening dump bins again. I hated him doing this but he reminded me that he was looking for Rachel’s dance bag.

He disappeared into the darkness, down a narrow walkway behind the shops. I started to follow, sliding my hands across the wooden fence as I groped along. My open sandals standing on rubbish I could not identify. Used syringes? Don’t think about it, I thought.

Memories of Saturday night returned.

I could just make out Mike’s shadow when I saw him stop suddenly. Was there another figure in the shadows? I stood very still. What were we dealing with here?

Mike and Tate came towards me, laughing. Tate had already been investigating the back and was returning when he walked into Mike. They had both received a fright.

‘There’s definitely something going on here,’ said Tate. ‘The back entrance to the shop has a very high fence. I couldn’t even jump to see over the top.’

‘Snoop,’ I said, jesting.

‘Elizabeth, it’s the only high fence. What are they hiding? She could be in there,’ said Tate. ‘Have you thought that the person Rachel was with on the tram could be the person recruiting from Richmond?’

‘It’s a possibility,’ said Mike.

‘Too right it is,’ answered Tate, excitedly.

‘No, the girl Rachel was with is too young, and Alison felt Rachel knew her.’

Tate and Mike weren’t listening. They had found a rubbish bin and were taking it down the walkway to stand on and peer over the fence.

This was a silly game, very nearly dangerous.

I don’t know how many rolls of thick tape we used putting up more posters. We put them on the traffic lights so they could be seen in every direction. We walked down Williams Road and High Street in all four directions. We walked down neighbouring streets. Normanby Street. Newry Street. Trinian Street.

Mike was told by two local business owners that the business we were interested in was fairly new. ‘Telemarketing agency,’ they said with a smile.

‘Corporate business?’

‘Telemarketers, you know, escort.’

‘You mean, women?’ I said.

They smiled again.

‘See, I told you,’ said Tate.

We gathered around the corner to discuss what our next move should be. Contact police? And say what? No, we would keep watch. Richard excused himself and said he’d keep an eye on the website that Carlo had set up.

Manni and Kylee disappeared into High Street. We couldn’t believe it. Kylee climbed onto Manni’s shoulders and, as he ran past the business, she jumped up so she could see inside. They wanted to look like two kids larking around.

‘Hardly an undercover surveillance,’ said Rosa.

Robert started keying in car numbers on his mobile phone. It became evident that there was a steady flow of female traffic. As the night progressed women were being escorted elsewhere, and later returned. We must have staked out this corner for three hours or more.

Rosa and I decided to drive to a local petrol station and look through the
Yellow Pages
for the names of escort agencies. The young attendant asked us what we were doing. I told him I felt my daughter was being held captive in an escort agency and I needed to find out the phone numbers and addresses of agencies in the area.