The Devil's Garden by Debi Marshall Page B

goes missing.

18
    Terror now replaces fear. It is unbelievable. How could another beautiful young woman simply vanish into the night when there is such a strong police presence in the area? Ciara Glennon, a feisty, spirited Irish woman with a gentle lilt, her face framed by a mass of dark curls streaked with blonde, had only returned a week before from a year-long backpacking trip around the world. It was dangerous, at times, but this willow-limbed, petite woman – only 152 cm tall – who hitch-hiked through Egypt, North America and Europe, had the gift of the gab, a way of engaging people with a smile. Born in a Zambian bush hospital when her parents worked for a Catholic mission, even as a young child Ciara drew people to her.
    A lawyer who had majored in and spoke fluent Japanese, Ciara was friendly, fun-loving and extremely popular with her peers. Sporty, she excelled in ballet and had been excited about being the bridesmaid at her sister Denise's wedding the following weekend – a black-tie affair with 200 guests at the Royal Perth Yacht Club. Just five days before Ciara had started back with the law firm she had worked with prior to going overseas. At a quarter to five on Friday afternoon, her mother Una speaks to Ciara. She is feeling tired, Ciara says, but is expected to go for after-work drinks. 'Do you have to go?' Una asks. Ciara pauses, briefly.
    'Oh yes, I'd better.' Una doesn't ask her what time she may be home: a 27-year-old who has been around the world can make that decision herself. But she is expected home.
    'Have a good time,' Una says. 'And be careful.'
    Ciara had done her law articles at the firm in which Neil Fearis is a partner. He has known Ciara's father, Denis, for 16 years and it was always understood that Ciara would practise in corporate and commercial law at Fearis's firm when she became a fully-fledged lawyer. She proves herself acutely intelligent, a gift to the firm. Six months earlier, whilst Ciara was travelling overseas, Fearis had met up with her in London for dinner. Travelling hasn't changed her, he notes: she is as engaging as ever and over drinks after work that first Friday night back, she proves to be still the same. But Fearis, a conservative man who is the Western Australian chairman of Australians for Constitutional Monarchy, is tired. He has returned from Singapore only late that afternoon and is not up for a late night.
    At 10.45 pm Ciara and her group, including Fearis, move to the Continental Hotel in Claremont for drinks. The Continental; two blocks away from the four-lane Stirling Highway and 150 metres from the next Claremont nightclub, Club Bayview. It is St Patrick's Day, time for a traditional Irish celebration, but Ciara is also weary. The Continental is only the next suburb from her home and she drifts around the crowd, chatting to people she knows. Neil Fearis yawns and looks at his watch. It is just after 11 and he needs to get some sleep. He slips out of the pub quietly without saying goodnight.
    Ciara's bed is empty Saturday morning. Una calls one of Ciara's best friends, who promises to ring around and call her back. She also calls Fearis. 'What time did Ciara leave the hotel? Have you seen her since she left?' He hasn't, he assures her.
    It is Denise's bridal shower that afternoon and Ciara has a hair appointment in the morning in preparation. She and Denise are very close friends; she would not miss today. There is an edge of panic in Ciara's girlfriend's voice when she calls Una back. 'Ciara went to Claremont and left the hotel around a quarter past eleven last night,' she says. 'She was only there for about 20 minutes.' Her voice is wavering, and she tries to control it with a deep breath. She has read the papers, knows what has been happening in Claremont. Everyone in Perth knows what has been happening in Claremont.
    Una knows instantly, with the innate, sick feeling that mothers possess, that her daughter is not going to be found alive. Claremont.