Gladiatrix by Rhonda Roberts Page A

Jeremy Snelling was listed. He was in the Statistical Analysis Unit. The Institute was in San Jose, California. It had a phone number.
    I clicked back to the inquiry page and asked for a world clock. In San Jose it was just before eight-thirty at night. I looked at Snelling’s number. Hell, I might as well try it! If they were anything like the scientists I knew from uni, then Snelling could still be there.
    I grabbed the phone from the lounge room, and sat back in front of the StopWatch page. I punched in Snelling’s number and waited.
    It rang.
    And rang.
    And rang.
    I rang for fifteen minutes straight. No answer. There wasn’t even a cleaner there?
    I banged the phone down and stared at it.
    It rang. I jumped. ‘Hello?’
    It was Des. Big exhalation.
    â€˜Hi, Des.’ My mouth was speaking, but my mind was elsewhere. I was scanning the contacts page. There were other numbers at the Institute; surely someone was still there?
    â€˜Kannon …’ He was deadly serious.
    â€˜What? Australia can’t have lost the cricket already?’
    â€˜No. Well, actually they could have, but I don’t care. I just talked to Scott Turay.’
    The name sounded very vaguely familiar. ‘Turay? I can’t …’
    â€˜I met him on that training course. It was back in …’ He stopped. ‘Okay. You’re not going to remember, of course. It was before I moved down here.’ He took a breath. ‘Back then it was the CIB. They ran a training course in Sydney. For all the regional detectives.’
    â€˜Yeah, yeah. The CIB. The Central Investigation Bureau. I’m not too young to remember that …’ I’d met some of the detectives from CIB Homicide when I was eleven and they were following up a lead. One that led straight to me. ‘So Turay’s ex-CIB? Was he one of the …?’
    â€˜No, he wasn’t,’ Des bit out. ‘Just let me finish. He came over for the CIB training course. He was sent as a goodwill gesture from Sacramento. In California. There was some kind of exchange deal going between …’ He caught himself. ‘Anyway, that doesn’t matter. Scott came out and stayed with me and Cecilia, in Lithgow. I took him bushwalking. He’s kept in touch.’
    I could see where this was headed. ‘So you’ve just asked him if he can help? What did he say?’
    â€˜No. Actually I rang him yesterday when I couldn’t get hold of you.’
    My mouth hung open. He’d kept that secret well. ‘And? What?’
    â€˜He still has friends in Sacramento. Who have friends in the San Francisco PD.’
    Wooah! ‘And?’
    â€˜It’s not too good, Kannon.’
    â€˜What do you mean? In what way not good?’
    â€˜The San Francisco police told him that, as far as they’re concerned, Celeste was killed straight after shewas kidnapped. So whatever the media may say, the case is pretty much closed.’
    â€˜They have proof she died!’ So this was all just another dead end. I looked at the photo on the pin board. But it didn’t feel like one.
    â€˜No.’ In his best detective sergeant voice, he said, ‘They actually have no proof of that. At all.’ His training spurred him to add, ‘As far as Scott could find out.’
    â€˜So … what are you saying?’
    â€˜That the detectives on the case twenty years ago concluded she was dead. But, on questioning, it came out that they didn’t actually find a body. So it means nothing.’
    â€˜No.’ I knew when Des was trying to handle me. ‘It means that they had some reason to reach that conclusion. What was it?’
    He said measuredly, ‘You know enough about the way law enforcement works to guess that whoever Scott talked to was not interested in digging into a case this old. And especially not when it’s just a request for more information concerning a possible connection to an