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Police and forensic investigators this morning continue to trawl through bushland in Kings Park in the search for missing mother-of-two Corryn Rayney.

Today marks nine days since Mrs Rayney disappeared after a bootscooting class in Bentley on August 7.

During guarded comments to waiting media yesterday, police admitted they had found “disturbed soil” in an area of Kings Park where an oil link from Mrs Rayney’s car lead them yesterday.


The story has been building up for days. At first she was just missing, mysteriously, after a Bootscooting class. And then yesterday her car is found in Subiaco. And then a trail of oil into King’s Park and recently disturbed soil.

It feels, reading the paper and listening to the news, that the media has this expectation: today there will be a body.

And Perth, voyeuristically, waits. I peer into King’s Park from the bus on the way to work, but I don’t even see any police cars. Somewhere in there, a body.

King’s Park seems a place for bodies. Recently, there were weeks of stories in the local paper about a missing Nedlands man. His poster was up at the local supermarket. He looked familiar; maybe I met him once. And then the postscript: a tiny article in the local paper saying that police had confirmed a body found in King’s Park was that of missing man and no suspicious circumstances were involved. Between the lines: a suicide, and, hence, thankfully, not a media fanfare. I felt so sad reading about it.

A few years ago, a homeless woman was found dead in King’s Park. She had no family.

King’s Park has taken on a sinister aspect in my mind. A place of secrets. A place of death.