INFRINGEMENT OF CIVIL LIBERTIES
(© 1987) by KAIN MASSIN
The sun dropped below cloud level as I turned off, and bright, yellow light softened the dreary evening. It was a welcome change and a smile crept up on me. The playing-fields on my left looked so fresh and green, even though long fingers of shadow lay across the grass. The light, shining through the passenger window, warmed my hands.
Up ahead, the panel van had stopped by the kerb, its back window propped open. Both men were at the back, finishing the act of placing some heavy object inside. I coasted along, hoping they would leave soon, since that was where I wanted to stop.
They saw my approach and the passenger hopped in, while the other tried to push the window shut. It seemed to jam, and he became frantic, pushing with increased effort. Darting a glance in my direction, he gave up, ran to the front and jumped in. That was the first time I noticed that both front doors had been left open.
Blue smoke burned off the rear tyres as the car squealed away, and I remember thinking: "they must have left the engine running". By this time, my momentum had brought me quite close to them, and I could see the passenger in the back. He appeared to be struggling with something. I caught a flash of blue on red. There was something familiar about it....
Something was odd.....
Where are the girls!
Somewhere in my mind, a dirty window shattered, giving me a clear view. I had been looking without seeing, but now, with a painful jolt, I could see.....
...that the playing fields were deserted, that everyone had gone home...
...that the two men had been furtive and desperate in their movements...
...that the flash of colour I had seen was the sleeve of Alison’s parka...
...that the two dark bundles on the kerb were the girls' sports-bags...
...that the panel van was turning right at the next corner...
The girls are gone!
For a long moment I was paralyzed, looking around helplessly as my car rolled on. I passed the discarded sports-bags and could clearly see "Alison Johnson" written in blue texta. In that moment, a thousand possibilities flashed before me and I shuddered at the thought of what might happen. This is, after all, Adelaide; the home of the Truro serial killings. And the Snowtown Bank Vault Murders.
(story continues)