‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry,’ the receptionist said, softening. ‘I’ll make a note on her file, so you won’t get any further correspondence.’

  ‘I’m wondering,’ Molly said, her voice faltering, ‘could you please tell me if this was her first appointment? The first I knew about this was when I saw the letter after she died.’

  ‘Let’s see.’

  Molly could hear the receptionist tapping on the keyboard.

  ‘No, this was going to be her second. She’d already been to one in our surgery here in Perth.’

  ‘Her second?’ Disbelief shot through Molly. ‘And she’d seen the specialist in Perth? When?’

  A few more taps. ‘Three months ago.’

  Three months ago was February. She raced through her memory to try and find a day that Iris hadn’t been home putting dinner on the table at 7 pm or feeding Life as the sun rose.

  ‘Okay, thank you.’ Molly put down the phone, staring into nothing. Her mum had been sick and she hadn’t even known.

  There would be something in her dad’s diaries for sure. She’d check the bedroom and shed, but she decided to tackle the bookshelves first, just in case. Molly went back down the hall, Life flapping behind her. She ran her fingers over the book spines, looking for anything out of place or that looked like a diary, but there was nothing.

  On her knees, she opened the cupboard underneath the bookshelf and took out some of the old games they all used to play together. Then she stopped as she saw a large plastic box.

  Blowing her breath out, Molly realised her heart was hammering, even though she knew this wasn’t what she was looking for. Inside were large scrapbooks, overfilled, the covers bulging. They were full of school memorabilia, drawings, birthday and Christmas cards, letters from Santa and the tooth fairy.

  Molly sat down on the floor and tugged at the lid. The album on top had 2018 written in black texta on the cover. She took it out carefully and opened it. A photo of Molly in her school uniform, on the first day of Year 12, was glued onto the first page. She’d still had braces then, but she was smiling happily at the camera.

  The second page had a class photo, the third a certificate of merit she’d received for topping her midyear biology exam.

  Molly put the scrapbook aside and reached for the next one: 2017. Then 2016, all the way back until she found her first year in Kalgoorlie: 2006.

  The photo inside that one showed a very different Molly. Her brown hair was swept up into two pigtails, sprouting out from either side of her head and curling down to her chin. Her eyes were solemn and sad and she wasn’t smiling.

  Molly picked up the scrapbook and went back into the kitchen, where she placed it on the bench. Flicking through the pages she looked at her classmates, her spelling bee certificates and her drawing of a family. Leaning in, Molly assessed the child strokes. A dad: tall like Eric, dark hair and blue eyes. A mother: short, bobbed blonde hair, a big smile and holding a cake. Definitely Iris. The child figure was behind the parents; all that could be seen of her was her head peeking out from behind the dad.

  Molly sat back, still staring at the drawing. She didn’t remember doing it, but she’d drawn it when she was five, so it was probably not that unexpected.

  Turning the page, she saw a photo tucked loosely in between some glued-in drawings. A photo that took her breath away. It was an image of Sammi with a very young Molly on her knee. Sammi was looking at Molly as if she was the best thing since sliced bread, while Molly was looking at the camera. She picked it up and turned it over. Unfamiliar writing on the back told her she was three at the time it was taken. Carefully, she put the photo aside until she could get it framed. Tash must have more of these photos; she’d have to remind her to have another look when they talked next. She sighed. This trip down memory lane was a distraction; it wasn’t helping her find the diaries.

  After putting the scrapbooks back in the cupboard, she stood in the doorway of her dad’s den for a moment before going back to the desk. She looked at every piece of paper and flipped through every notepad. His diary wasn’t there.

  In the bedroom, she tried his bedside drawer like Bev had suggested. Packets of Panadol, an old watch he didn’t wear anymore and some paper scripts from the doctor. Molly smiled as she put them back. Her dad hadn’t made the leap into the twenty-first century with eScripts.

  She riffled through a few more bits and pieces and was about to close the drawer when a key caught her eye. Bringing it out into the light, she turned it over and over, wondering what it was for.

  Then she knew. She ran out of the bedroom and down the hall, coming to a stop in front of the small cupboard that she’d only looked into once.

  ‘Reckon this might be it,’ she told Life, slipping the key into the lock. It slid in easily and turned.

  Molly held her breath as she opened the door, tensing in case there was another big huntsman.

  There wasn’t.

  The space inside was spotlessly clean – swept and clear of cobwebs just like the rest of the house. Molly could see a plastic box behind the hot water system, so she got on her knees and wriggled it around the large water tank, swiping at the sweat that was beginning to form on her forehead. Finally, she managed to get the box in front of her.

  Even without taking the lid off, she could see newspaper articles, some with underlined sentences and her dad’s handwriting.

  ‘Wow, Life,’ she said as the crow pecked softly at her back. ‘What’s in here?’

  Taking it back into the kitchen, she sat down, took off the lid and reached for the first article.

  POLICE OFFICER SLAIN IN OWN APARTMENT, the headline screamed.

  Molly took a breath. About five years before, Eric had sat her down at the kitchen table and told her he’d kept every newspaper article he could find to do with Sammi’s death.

  ‘You might want to read them one day,’ he’d told her. ‘Sometimes people who have been through big life events like to go back and look at it from a different perspective.’

  At the time, Molly had shaken her head. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she’d said, ‘but you keep them, I don’t want to look at them.’

  ‘They’ll be here when you’re ready,’ he’d said, with a sad smile.

  She still didn’t feel ready. And it wasn’t as if she’d been looking for them now. But here she was, reading underlined sentences about her mother’s murder:

  Senior Constable Sammi Walker was shot in her apartment two nights ago. The police are seeking witnesses.

  To her untrained eye it looked like Eric got the clippings out often. There were a few coffee-mug ring marks on some of them. He’d handwritten the date and the name of the newspaper at the top of each clipping. She picked up one of them and started reading.

  NEW INFORMATION IN THE KILLING OF CONSTABLE SAMMI WALKER

  The Free Press can reveal that there was a witness in the death of Constable Sammi Walker. At this stage no more details have been released, but an unnamed source from the homicide squad has told us that there was a person in the apartment at the time of the murder. That person has been and continues to be helping police with their enquiries.

  Constable Sammi Walker was found deceased in her apartment five days ago, shot in the head. She is survived by her daughter, Molly Walker, who is five.

  Alongside the article was a photo of her mother in police uniform, wearing her police hat. Her smile wide, eyes bright, face expectant. Clearly not knowing what was about to befall her.

  Molly put it aside, and picked up the next one.

  NO SUSPECT IN THE MURDER OF CONSTABLE SAMMI WALKER

  The homicide squad are seeking any information on the death of Constable Sammi Walker. Senior Sergeant Natasha Biggs has pleaded with the public to come forward if they have even the smallest piece of information.

  ‘Perhaps you saw a car parked in an unusual area or heard a noise you’ve never heard before, please call Crime Stoppers. At this stage we don’t believe there is any ongoing danger to the public.’

  A reward of twenty thousand dollars was offered.

  Twenty thousand didn’t seem like very much to Molly, considering there was a police officer involved. Especially since only recently a million-dollar reward had been offered for information leading to the arrest of a man accused of killing two police officers in an ambush. But this had been twenty years ago, she supposed.

  She moved to the next article and took a deep breath at the headline.

  DAUGHTER OF SLAIN POLICEWOMAN WITNESSED MURDER

  An unnamed source within the police force has revealed that Molly Walker, the five-year-old daughter of slain policewoman Sammi Walker, was hiding in the home at the time of the murder. Our source claims that Molly has been assisting detectives with the investigation and is believed to be in protective custody at this time. Police Media refused to comment on the rumour.

  What an attention-grabbing headline. And an awful thing for her to read even all this time later. She put the article under the others so she didn’t have to see it again, then went on to check the dates of the other stories. They were all written within ten days of her mother’s murder. The newsworthiness must have faded as the next crisis or political unrest came to light.

  A hot breeze blew through the window, causing a door at the back of the house to slam shut and the papers to ruffle and flick over. Before Molly could put her hand on the pages, a newspaper clipping fluttered to the floor. She reached down to pick it up and read the headline.

  SLAIN OFFICER UNDER INVESTIGATION FOR EVIDENCE TAMPERING

  For a moment, Molly couldn’t understand what she was reading, her mouth opened to say words that never eventuated. She sat down on the same bar stool Richard had sat on earlier and tried to read the article, but the words swam in front of her eyes. A deep breath . . . Lots of deep breaths. God, what would counselling be if all they did was tell their clients to take a deep breath?

  The deep breath didn’t work, so she blinked, trying to clear her eyes. The words finally came into focus and Molly started to read aloud.

  An unnamed source has revealed to The Free Press that at the time of her murder, Constable Sammi Walker was under investigation for evidence tampering. According to the source, Constable Walker had been questioned by Internal Affairs two weeks prior to her death. We have not been given the case in which the alleged tampering had taken place, nor have police confirmed the two events are connected.

  She searched for Eric’s neatly handwritten date at the top of the clipping, but it wasn’t there.

  She looked around for her mobile phone.

  Life jumped out of the way as she reached for it on the kitchen bench and selected Tash’s number.

  ‘Hello, Molly,’ Tash said in her ear.

  ‘Sorry to bother you again so soon. I need to ask you a question.’ Molly didn’t wait for Tash to speak. ‘Was Sammi under investigation by Internal Affairs before she died?’ She heard an intake of breath.

  ‘Why do you ask that?’

  ‘I’ve found a news article. It says she was being investigated for evidence tampering.’

  ‘What else have you found?’

  ‘As in newspapers? Just a whole box of them, each about Sammi. Dad kept them all. This was a tiny clipping, only a few sentences. Not a lot of information.’

  Tash sighed. ‘Bloody hell. Eric shouldn’t have kept that article.’

  Molly’s stomach dropped. She waited.

  ‘I was always hoping you wouldn’t ever find that out, Molly,’ Tash said. ‘But yes, Sammi was being investigated.’

  CHAPTER 18

  Jack opened the file on Constable Sammi Walker’s murder.

  The case number was 06-1407. The initial reporting officer was Senior Sergeant Natasha Biggs. The front page listed the address, date and time of death and Sammi’s occupation; a constable with the New South Wales Police Force.

  He read on.

  Senior Sergeant Natasha Biggs was first on the scene. Victim was found approximately 60 centimetres inside the front door, facedown, arms out from the torso. There was no sign of forced entry.

  No sign of forced entry. Jack made a note. Who had keys to the house? Was she expecting someone? Did she open the door?

  Jack went back to reading.

  The lights were on and no disturbance was noted in other rooms. Mobile phone was unaccounted for, laptop computer on kitchen table. Molly Walker, five-year-old daughter, was discovered hiding underneath victim’s bed.

  Jack read that line for a second time, then a third. ‘Poor girl,’ he muttered.

  Visible injuries: gunshot wound in between her eyes – probable cause of death.

  No other witnesses – still interviewing.

  Notes: Victim lived with five-year-old daughter. No history of domestic disputes, no security footage, not a closed apartment block. Anyone can enter. No love interests.

  Next actions: autopsy results pending, formally interview neighbours, work colleagues, assess work file, forensics pending.

  Jack turned the page and scanned the autopsy and forensics reports and was starting on the interviews when Angie gasped.

  ‘I’ve got something here,’ Angie said, pausing the video footage she was reviewing.

  Jack looked up at the sound of excitement in her voice.

  ‘I’ve watched the images eight times and I think I’ve got something,’ she repeated.

  ‘What’s that?’ Tim asked, without taking his eyes off his computer screen.

  Jack closed the file, got up and came to stand behind her. ‘Let’s have a look.’

  ‘Okay, this is where Eric and Iris refuelled at Southern Cross. From another angle of the cameras, you can see a different bowser. This woman is refuelling as well. I’ve seen her in five different locations, never very far behind Eric’s car.’

  ‘Okay,’ Jack pulled up a chair. ‘Coincidence?’

  ‘Firstly, look at the numberplate on the front of the car. See anything odd about it?’

  Jack looked carefully, then turned to Tim, who had come to stand next to him. ‘What do you see?’

  ‘Not what Angie is, obviously.’

  ‘Me either,’ Jack said.

  Angie pointed at the screen. ‘The numbers and letters on the rego plate aren’t the same distance apart. See here?’ She opened up a measuring app and placed the pointer at the top of one letter and then clicked on the bottom. ‘The height and width of letters and numbers on rego plates are standard and adjusted to the rego. You get what I mean? Some letters take up more room, which means the gaps are wider or narrower, but they have to be the same distance apart on the plate in question. This one has different gaps here . . . and here.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I see what you’re saying,’ Tim said. ‘You think the plate has been changed?’

  ‘Yep it’s been doctored, for sure. It’s the oldest trick in the book. Get some white electrical tape and place it over parts of a letter to make them look like a different one. E and F are easy ones to change. A T can become an I, L the same. An H an F, you see what I mean? And when they’re changed, the distance between the letters are larger.’

  ‘I didn’t even think to look at that,’ Jack said.

  ‘Can we run this plate through the system and see if it’s legit? My guess is that it won’t be.’

  ‘Hold five,’ Tim said. He went back to his desk and started tapping at the keyboard.

  ‘So you’ve seen this car five times? How close to Eric’s?’ Jack asked.

  ‘This one’ – Angie tapped the screen – ‘has been within a ten-minute distance behind Eric’s every time I’ve found it on camera. Do you think they might have been followed?’

  ‘Why, though?’ Tim asked.

  ‘Hmm, we might have stumbled onto another crime,’ Jack said, narrowing his eyes. There was something sitting in his gut that told him this was getting suspicious.

  ‘What’s the make and model of the car you’re looking at?’ Tim asked from his desk.

  ‘Late model Toyota Camry,’ Angie answered. ‘White. Just like forensics said.’

  ‘Yeah, well, the plate you’ve got there is registered to a 2002 Ford Focus. Red. So not the car you’ve found.’

  Angie zoomed in on the numberplate again. ‘Exactly as I thought then. The numberplate has been stolen and doctored. There’s another check you can do. This is a new car; the plate is new. But the one you’re talking about, Tim, it’s a 2002 model. So the plate would have stone chips and damage to it, rather than looking brand new like this one does.’ She paused, rubbing her temples. ‘Okay, let’s think about this; it’s the second letter that has a problem with the spacing and it looks like an I, so I guess we’ve got a few options. It could be a T, or an E. Perhaps an F or an L. Can you try those combinations and any others you can think of, and see what you come back with?’

  ‘Can you send that off to tech and get them to clean up the image?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I can’t, because I’m on mat leave, and I don’t have any logins anymore.’

  ‘Shit, I forgot,’ Jack said. ‘It’s like you’ve never left.’ He paused. ‘Maybe we’re looking at this accident from the wrong angle. We’ve assumed right from the start it was just that: an accident. Let’s change our thinking. Let’s look for the inconsistencies, the things that don’t add up. And we’ve already got some of them. Diary and phones not in the car. The officers have been back to the scene of the crash and searched again; there’s no sign of the missing items. Eric and Iris rarely left Kal, so why did they go this time? We haven’t found where they stayed but that will get cleared up when we get access to the credit cards and bank accounts. However, we now know there was another vehicle involved. There is enough here for us to question whether this was an accident or something more. Don’t you agree?’

  Tim looked back at the numberplate on the screen and nodded. ‘I guess so,’ he said slowly.

  ‘We don’t have the most important part,’ Angie said. ‘The why. If Eric and Iris were hurt on purpose, what’s the motive?’