TUNA LIFE (23 page)

It didn’t seem like anyone in the paper had bothered to ask him why he had written the article about a possible serial killer in the first place. They all just assumed it was a mistake that it had been published.

The paper wasn’t alone in their assessment. The rest of the world made the same conclusion. Where were the bodies? Where were the witnesses? Mark had a handful of missing girls and a drowning accident. Not exactly enough to prove that Hannibal Lecter had moved to the Gold Coast.

Scott had warned Mark, but he hadn’t listened. It was his own fault. But Scott also felt responsible. He had played along, stoked the fire. He had enjoyed the feeling of doing something more important than writing about pimply teenagers becoming millionaires building companies that didn’t make money. At least he knew who the management would blame. Scott Davis had sold the idea that he was going to be Mark’s mentor, the one who provided young Mark with advice and direction so that he would have a successful career at the Times. Yeah, that had worked a swell, he thought. A couple of months with Scott Davis as your mentor, and your career was dead in the water. They already made jokes about it in the office. Behind his back of course, but still.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Been better,” Mark answered. He seemed sad. Not depressed, but sad.

“So I guess I won’t see you at the strip club for a while,” Scott said to cheer him up.

Mark Moss forced a smile. “Thanks for everything you’ve done, Scott. You’ve been the only one to support me.”

“I don’t think that’s been so smart. Maybe I should have warned you instead? Things can be taken out of context. There’s a difference between having a theory and publishing it. What happened was an accident. Could have happened to all of us.”

“But it happened to me. I don’t even know why I wrote that draft.”

Scott Davis stared Mark straight in the eyes. “You wanted it to be true, so you wrote it down. I’ve been guilty of doing the same. Worked on articles that have never been printed. We probably have a dozen articles lying around on some hard drive, waiting to be released when the person in question dies. The difference is that the production desk doesn’t put them out there until they get the signal. It wasn’t your fault that article was published. It was a production error. Human error.”

“I don’t know what to do. Is my career over now? Should I look for something else to do?”

“No, whatever you do – don’t quit. Not over something like this. You’ve got talent, Mark. Don’t waste it.” Scott looked Mark in the eyes before continuing. “Whether you want to stay a journalist, that’s a different question. It’s an ungrateful occupation. But don’t quit over something like this. This will blow over.”

“Could you do me a favour?” Mark asked.

Scott leant back in the uncomfortable chair. He took a big drink from his coffee. He didn’t like to commit to something unknown. “What do you need?”

“Can you continue to look into the case?”

“The missing girls? You want me to continue looking into this case when the entire fucking management is on a war quest to figure out how we managed to claim that there is a serial killer on the loose, on the front page of our internet edition? Come on, Mark. You know I can’t do that.”

“I’ve never considered you as one who would let a bit of resistance stop him.”

Scott smiled. Mark looked up to him. Not only because he was a good reporter, but because he did what was required. He cut corners, he got shit done. But he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t put his job on the line.

“Sorry, Mark. Can’t help you. Vesna is on my back twenty-four hours a day as it is. I have to account for every single minute of my day. I simply don’t have time to follow it up.”

Mark nodded, it was a nod of defat. “Ok. Thanks for trying anyway.”

Scott studied his colleague. Maybe he wasn’t just sad. Maybe he was depressed?

“Do you believe in the story you wrote? That there is a serial killer on the loose on the Gold Coast?”

“I don’t believe,” Mark replied. “I am one hundred percent certain.”

50

Scott Davis logged onto the intranet as soon as he arrived back at the office. He felt sorry for young Mark. Mark was still a rookie, and all this attention couldn’t be easy for him. Sometimes it seemed like every young kid’s wet dream was to become famous, no matter what form or shape that fame came in. But they had no idea what they were wishing for. Some fame was no fun. In fact, most fame was no fun.

Scott stared at his computer screen. He had decided to have a look at Mark’s infamous article. It had of course been removed from the paper’s website. That had happened within thirty minutes of it being published. But thirty minutes turned out to be plenty of time in the new digital world, plenty of time to almost ruin a journalist’s career.

Scott searched for
Mark
Moss
on the intranet. The search resulted in a long list of articles Mark had either written, or was currently working on. Scott knew there would be an internal investigation at the paper – so he knew the article would still be there, hidden somewhere in Mark’s work-in-progress folder. They all had to put everything they worked on in the shared folder – they could after all be hit by a bus tomorrow. The Gold Coast Times had rules, and Mark was one of those who followed them.

Scott located the article, and double-clicked.

Is there a serial killer loose on the Gold Coast?

Four months ago Marissa Soo was an ordinary nineteen-year-old with big dreams. Friends and family describe her as a fun-loving kind person, a girl hungry for life, a girl who knew what she wanted. Marissa did well at school, but her passion was working with people. So she enlisted at TAFE and took various part-time jobs to help pay for her tuition. Her parents say that she was saving up for a trip to Europe. She wanted to see as much as possible of the world. She had big dreams.

Then four months ago those dreams were shattered. An arm and a foot washed ashore at the Spit. Marissa’s mother says she immediately got a bad feeling when she heard about the macabre find. And a few short weeks later the police knocked on her door, confirming her worst fears. The body parts belonged to her daughter.

It’s not an extraordinary event that a body, or in this case; body parts, wash up on our beaches. The Gold Coast has a long coastline, and unfortunately every summer a handful of people drown here. Some of them have been swimming at unpatrolled beaches, and their bodies may only surface several months after disappearing.

What is extraordinary in this case, however, is the police investigation of Marissa’s disappearance – or rather the lack of an investigation. Despite numerous attempts by Marissa’s parents to open up an investigation into her disappearance, the police have yet to take any action. They have simply written her off as deceased, as yet another victim of accidental drowning on the coast.

Despite the fact that they have never recovered anything more than a few body parts, they have dismissed any other theory of what happened to Marissa. They have simply concluded that she had an accident during a late night swim, or committed suicide. But they have no explanation of how she ended up in the water, or why only a few body parts have been found. No clothing belonging to Marissa has ever been found on the beaches either, making the theory of a late night swim, or a suicide, very unlikely.

In their defence, the Surfers Paradise Police claim that Marissa had a documented history of depression. But why did nobody see her going down to the beach the night she disappeared, and why does everyone who spent time with her that night describe her as happy and content? Something doesn’t add up, and Marissa’s parents are dead certain: Marissa would never have taken her own life. She had too much to live for.

In the weeks leading up to her disappearance, Marissa had gotten a new boyfriend, a boyfriend it has been impossible to track down. Who is this mysterious boyfriend, this new man in her life, and why doesn’t he come forward?

What is really interesting with Marissa’s case, however, is that it is not unique. The Gold Coast Times has reviewed all the missing persons cases on the coast during the last five years. It has been a time-consuming task. A surprisingly large number of people disappear every single year. Some out of their own free will; they chose to leave their old life behind and start anew somewhere else. Over the last few years this has become increasingly difficult to do, though. In a society that is more and more digitalised we leave traces wherever we go. There are still people capable of disappearing; most often though, they are incredibly determined people, people without great material needs, people who can live hand to mouth.

When we reviewed the list of missing persons, we discovered something interesting. Something we immediately brought up with the local police. It appears that there is a pattern in a number of the reported missing persons cases. Over the last five years, ten nineteen-year-old girls have disappeared from the Gold Coast. Most of them disappeared on their way home from a night out, they were all tall beautiful blondes, they all worked in the night club industry, and none of them has ever been seen since. This isn’t the normal list of people disappearing. They were all active young women, who liked to look good and enjoy life. We have interviewed parents and friends. None of them can envision any of these girls living a life without access to money, a life without shops or material goods. They were the very definition of young urban women, but our police force wants us to believe they have chosen a life as homeless people.

The following young women have disappeared from the Gold Coast over the last five years:

Heidi Voog. Born: 1990. Height: 1.68 m. Eye colour: Blue. Hair colour: Blonde. Reported missing: 15. December 2008. Last observation: Daytime, Surfers Paradise, two days prior. Wearing a white dress.

Katherine Gardner: Born: 1990. Height: 1.71 m. Eye colour: Blue. Hair colour: Blonde. Reported missing: 11. March 2009. Last observation: Surfers Paradise, night before. Wearing a green or light blue sweater, and blue jeans.

Ellen Anderson. Born: 1991. Height: 1.65 m. Eye colour: Blue. Hair colour: Blonde. Reported missing: 4. November 2009. Last observation: Tugun on the 2
nd
of November. Wearing a blue and red summer dress, with a flower motif.

Maureen Drake. Born: 1992. Height: 1.66 m. Eye colour: Brown. Hair colour: Dark blonde. Reported missing: 2. March 2010. Last observation: Surfers Paradise midnight on 27
th
of February. Wearing blue jeans, and a leather jacket.

Sandra Smisek. Born: 1992. Height: 1.65 m. Eye colour: Brown. Hair colour: Black (coloured light blonde). Reported missing: 23. June 2010. Last observation: Main Beach two days earlier. She was wearing black jeans, and a black jacket.

Jodie Harris. Born: 1992. Height: 1.65 m. Eye colour: Blue. Hair colour: Blonde. Reported missing: 20. December 2011. Last observation: Surfers Paradise 02:30 on the 20
th
of December. Seen stepping into a dark car. Wearing dark blue jeans, and a yellow sweater.

Belinda Pearson. Born: 1991. Height: 1.65 m. Eye colour: Blue. Hair colour: Blonde. Reported missing: 11. December 2012. Last observation: Surfers Paradise. Outfit unknown.

Michelle Palmer. Born: 1993. Height: 1.70 m. Eye colour: Blue. Hair colour: Light blonde. Reported missing: 3
rd
March 2012. Last observation: two days prior. Wearing clubbing outfit.

Marissa Soo. Born 1994. Height: 1.70 m. Eye colour: Blue. Hair colour: Blonde. Reported missing: 30
th
of December 2012. Last observation: Surfers Paradise at 3 am on the 29th of December. Wearing a black dress. Body parts, possibly wrapped in plastic, discovered at the Spit on the 11
th
of January 2013. Cause of death not determined.

Kylie Jones. Born 1994. Height: 1.68 m. Eye colour: Blue. Hair colour: Blonde. Reported missing: 14
th
of February 2013. Last observation: Surfers Paradise. Wearing black jeans, and black sweater.

Scott Davis closed his laptop with a bang. Not bad, Mark had completed a decent piece of work. It was, of course, all speculation, but speculations were often dangerous. The article would definitely tickle the curiosity of journalists from the national papers. They would condemn Mark publicly, but some of them would probably, in silence, start looking into the case themselves. Various internet forums were already buzzing with comments. Was the Gold Coast Times onto something? Reality was never exciting enough. People wanted conspiracy theories. Was there a serial killer on the loose on the Gold Coast? Was he being protected by the police? Was it quite possibly a policeman?

Scott had to laugh.

They had no idea.

They were like small headless chickens, these new internet journalists. No original ideas. It didn’t take more than an hour from when one site published an original story before most of the others had stolen the idea and published a copy. Copyrights on the net were only valid for half an hour, it seemed. Even though Mark’s story had been quashed in its infancy, it had opened up a can of worms. Journalists would start asking questions, the parents and next of kin of the missing girls would be interviewed, answers would be demanded from the mayor and the police. Even though he still didn’t realise, even though he still thought he was a victim, Mark Moss would soon be a wanted man. Scott knew. Scott knew, because he knew Mark was right.

There was a serial killer loose on the Gold Coast.

And he would kill again.

Scott checked that the keys were still in his pockets, and turned off the lights in the meeting room. There was something he needed to do. Something that had become somewhat a routine over the last five years. Something that still gave him joy, and also grief. He took the elevator down to the garage and located his car. He opened up the boot, and checked that it was still there, the black garbage bag he had placed in his car earlier in the morning. It was still there. He backed off a few steps, surprised by the stench hitting him in the face. He swore. He should have thought about that, that it would stink out the car.