Rocking Horse Road by Carl Nixon Page A

his hands
and wrists were tanned, 'like a surfer or a Maori or
something like that', which really didn't tell the police
(or us) anything useful. He seemed to be talking into
Jenny's ear. Although she wasn't sure, Tracy thought
he might have been wearing a raincoat.
    But you have to hand it to her. Most girls (or even
boys) Tracy's age would have turned and run, hell
for leather. Later they might have justified it as an
attempt to get help, when actually the first impulse
is always one of survival, to get yourself out of there.
But being the youngest of seven kids makes you
resilient, and Tracy Templeton wasn't intimidated by
size. As Matt told us later his little sister had come out
of their mother's womb ready to battle for a fair share
of anything that was going.
    As the guy dragged Jenny, one hand now
burrowed under her skirt, Tracy followed them
through the bushes. She didn't try to kick him or bite
him or anything like that; she simply started screaming.
Apparently it was a technique she had used before in
her domestic battles. In our interview two weeks later
we asked for a demonstration and she was happy to
oblige. We were impressed by both Jenny's volume
and pitch.
    There are houses on both sides of the reserve and
cars were passing on the road. The guy obviously
thought Tracy's screaming would bring trouble for
him, and sooner rather than later. In one movement
he released his hold, turned and ran off towards the
pine trees and the estuary. Jenny sat down hard on the
ground and Tracy kept screaming until he was out of
sight, just to be sure.
    It took a little under half an hour for a police dog
to be brought to the reserve. There was a small crowd
there by that time and a number of rumours swirled
around about what had actually happened. Grant
Webb, on his way home from basketball practice,
reported seeing the police dog sniffing around the
base of the slide where the attacker may have waited
for a while, smoking cigarettes and going over his
plan. According to the official police report, the dog
lost the scent at the edge of the water. The tide was
high and the guy had been bright enough to wade in
and use the estuary to cover his tracks. He may even
have swum across to the other side.
    On Rocking Horse Road people were already
twitchy after Lucy's murder. One attack could be put
down to bad luck, a lightning bolt out of a clear sky,
the brakes that fail on the car you're driving home
from the showroom. But two . . . Everyone assumed
that the guy who attacked Jenny was the same person
who had murdered Lucy Asher. After that, Jenny and
Lucy were regularly spoken of in the same sentence.
How often did we hear our mothers say that it was
only luck that stopped little Jenny ending up like
poor Lucy Asher?
    The certainty arose that a predator was, if not
actually among us, then waiting close by. People
eyed the long yellow grass of the dunes as though
something crouched there. The darkness of the public
toilets became a cave.
    Some of us had sisters, and in later years we all
dated girls from down the Spit. Without exception
they could all recall the new rules and the lectures
from parents after that attack on Jenny Jones. It was
now dogma that they never talked to strangers. 'No,
not even "hello."
    'Keep your eyes down.'
    'Keep walking.'
    'Never ever get into a car!'
    Such instructions were issued in every home, to
girls as young as three.
    Always move around in groups. Don't get caught
out after dark. Don't go too far from an adult. Always
tell someone where you're going and when you're
due back and don't be late or we'll be worried sick.
Avoid playing near the bushes or in the trees. Mum
will be waiting for you at the school gates.
    Overnight, the boundaries of childhood had
shrunk.
    But of course kids have questions. Why? was
asked in a hundred different ways. What did the
man want with Jenny Jones? What's wrong with the
sweets? Are they poisoned like the apple in Snow
White ? What would the stranger do to me if he