Disappear (9 page)

She wanted to start again but it was so damn hard …

Much later, Todd crept from his room. The house was dark. He peered into his mother’s bedroom and saw that she was asleep. He watched the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, listened to her breathing, low and steady.

He returned to his room and called his father’s number on his cell phone. He glanced at his bedside clock as the dial tone hummed in his ear. It was 11.20.

Earlier, Lachlan had arrived home and listened to the TV news from the adjoining room while he fixed dinner in the kitchen. He lived in a small, one bedroom apartment, first floor, tiny balcony crammed with pot plants left behind by the previous occupant. Lachlan had made an attempt to look after the plants but he had no experience with gardening and he suspected they were beginning to wilt. It was a furnished rental, the furniture of a streamlined, angular style, considered modern ten years before. Now it looked dated, not to mention knocked about.

The news broadcast made no impact on him. The mystery of Brian Parkes’ corpse had been imbedded in his mind all day and it wasn’t going to go away, no matter how hard he tried to shut it out.

He decided on a treat for himself tonight and cooked a pasta, with meatballs, and tomato and basil sauce. He deliberately made it extra spicy. Lachlan had always enjoyed cooking. He found it satisfying and relaxing, the total antithesis of the stress in his job, and probably the last thing anyone expected of a homicide detective.

He’d always got a kick out of cooking for the family on weekends.
Yes, on the weekends when you’re home, hardly ever,
he could hear Marcia’s taunt, and he was filled with the same sense of sadness that he felt whenever his memories ran free. He thought: at least I didn’t run away for eighteen years like Brian Parkes.

But had Parkes run away? Lachlan fixed himself a Scotch and dry, while he waited for the pasta to boil. From the other room he heard the Channel Nine newscaster launch into a story on the fallen business tycoons from Australia’s history - Bond, Skase, Goward.

And now, post-GFC, the enigmatic Henry Kaplan.

Had Brian Parkes been in financial strife? Lachlan gulped down large mouthfuls of the Scotch and decided to make some garlic bread while he was at it - going the whole hog tonight.

He had put two separate streams of his investigation into place. The first was to find out where Parkes had been in the intervening years. That wasn’t going to be easy. All the items on the body suggested he’d simply stepped from the distant past to the present day in the blink of an eye, and been run down.

Lachlan had circulated Parkes’ photo to every police station in Australia and to the offices of Interpol overseas. If Parkes had been photographed by police for any reason over the years, regardless of what name he might have used, then the computers would match the photo to the police image they had on file. That would yield the first clue to his whereabouts.

If Parkes had vanished for criminal reasons, if there was a side to him his wife knew nothing about, then possibly he’d been in trouble with the law at some time or other. Nevertheless, Lachlan knew it was a long shot.

The second stream of his investigation focused on the instrument of his death. The car. Lachlan was waiting for a detailed forensic breakdown of all substances found on Parkes’ body. A trace, however microscopic, of the car’s paint could help identify the make and model. The layer pattern of paint was often confined to just a few models manufactured between certain dates. The police laboratories kept those paints and patterns on file. Lachlan would then trace any such models stolen prior to the hit and run.

There was no certainty the car had been stolen, it was simply another angle to try. So far this case relied heavily, too heavily, on long shots and that fact made Lachlan wince.

Then there was the question of Parkes’ youthful appearance. So far he’d drawn a total blank on that. And the coroner’s office wasn’t going to be any further help. Without conclusive evidence, that was to be expected. But he wasn’t satisfied about the question of Brian Parkes’ age. And the out-of-date driver’s licence and the post-mortem incision played on his mind.

After his meal he fixed another Scotch and dry and listened to a retrospect of 60’s music on an FM station. So many evenings he should have spent like this with Marcia, feet up, listening to music, one or two drinks. He noted the bitter irony that now he’d left the narcotics work and was keeping more regular hours, he was spending the evenings alone in a rented flat in the inner city suburb of Glebe.

He looked forward to the weekend and his time with Todd - the one thing that would take his mind off the job, help him to relax. He missed Todd and the one thing he hated most, the thing that tore at his insides, was when he and his son parted again at the end of each of these alternate weekends. Lachlan tried to push away the memory of the last such time, but the image was too strong and once more it took centre stage in his mind.

‘Can’t you stay this time, Dad? Please.’ Todd’s voice was plaintive, touched by a sadness no ten-year old should feel.

‘Wish I could, tiger.’ Lachlan punched his son reassuringly on the shoulder.

‘Why don’t you talk to Mum, make up or something. Couldn’t you do that, Dad? Couldn’t you?’

‘We have talked, Todd. Too much water under the bridge. But I’ll see you at your soccer game next week, and the week after that for the whole weekend again.’

‘But I want you to stay with us now.’

‘I’ll always be around, Todd. Even though your Mum and I aren’t together, we’ll always be your parents, we’ll always be there for you.’

‘Todd?’ From inside the house came Marcia’s voice. Footsteps. The exterior light flooded the front porch, and the door opened.

‘Hello, Marcia.’

‘Hello, Neil.’

All so formal now, Lachlan thought, like two acquaintances whose children happened to go to the same school.

‘You take it easy, tiger,’ he told Todd. ‘I’ll see you later.’ Their eyes connected, a mutual resignation between them, and Lachlan left, waving to both of them. In the car, driving home, he fought back tears.

He felt tears well up in his eyes again at the memory. These past few months had been the only times he’d come close to tears since his childhood. The one thing, in all these years, to cut him so deeply was the sad, lost little boy who didn’t understand, nor accept, that he couldn’t have both his parents with him, as a family.

And it’s all because of me, Lachlan thought.

Lachlan was sipping a late night Scotch when the phone rang. At 11.15 at night he didn’t expect to hear his son’s voice on the other end of the line.

‘Dad?’

‘Todd? What’s up?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You sure? It’s very late for you to be up, making phone calls. Where’s your mother?’

‘She’s asleep.’

He sounds distressed, Lachlan thought, and he realised he wasn’t helping matters. He wondered whether his words were slurred. ‘It’s always good to hear from you, tiger, no matter the hour. But I get the impression something’s bothering you. Can I help?’

‘Mum says I can’t spend the weekend with you and it’s our turn, y’know.’

‘I know. Why did your mother say that?’ Lachlan tried to sound positive, assured. His kid needed at least that much from him. But deep inside he was feeling the same as Todd. He didn’t want to miss out on his weekend with his son. What had Marcia cooked up this time? Why was she doing this more and more lately?

‘We’re going to Brisbane to see Grandpa. He’s sick. Mum says he’s in the hospital.’

There was a lump in Lachlan’s throat. ‘I’m sorry to hear that about Grandpa. Your mother’s right about going to see him, he’d love to see you both right now …’

‘But we’ll miss being together.’

‘These things happen. Sometimes we just have to put up with them. I’m going to miss you like crazy, sport.’

‘But why can’t Mum and I wait ‘til Monday? It’s only a few more days.’

Lachlan wasn’t sure how serious the matter might be. He hadn’t heard from Marcia with regard to her father. ‘I’ll tell you what, tige, how about you and I have two weekends together after this, to catch up?’

‘You said that last time and Mum said no.’

‘Yes, but that was then. This is the third time we’ll have missed our weekend, so I’m sure we can work something out.’

‘No, you won’t!’ Todd was on the verge of tears, the rage building within him. ‘You never do ‘cause you don’t want to have more arguments with Mum, so you give in. And Mum will say no, I know it, I know it!’

‘Todd, mate, listen …’

‘No, I don’t want to listen to you any more!’ The crash of the phone being slammed down boomed in Lachlan’s ear.

He hung up, feeling helpless. There was no point calling Todd back; there would be no talking to the boy while he was like this. He wanted to talk to Marcia about the situation. No doubt she would have phoned him the following morning, but Todd had beaten her to it. You wouldn’t think a quiet night at home could be so lousy. He decided to pack it in, knowing he needed to sort out the problem as soon as possible the following day.

Hours later, though, he still lay wide-awake in bed. His temples ached. He longed to hold Todd close, comfort him, tell him everything was going to be okay.

But it wasn’t.
Nothing
was okay. The future was uncertain, his son was hurting, and his sense of failure was like an anchor, pulling him down.

You never get used to the sight of a dead body. Joe Caseli’s first sergeant had told him that. Now a sergeant himself, Caseli had been called to the scene of a murder only a few times in his twelve-year career but on each occasion he remembered those words. They were the truest he’d ever heard.

He and Constable Lewis Harrap strode across the leafy reserve in the northwest suburb of Dural. The path circling this reserve was a popular one with runners and another jogger named Cal Birkenshaw had made the discovery. Birkenshaw had brought the local police to this spot, but stood back alongside the police car, pointing in the direction where he’d seen the body.

He didn’t want to go near the corpse again. His pale face and watery eyes were testament to the fact he might throw up at any time.

Not in the squad car for Chrissakes, Caseli had thought on the drive over to the park. He wondered whether his own appearance became pasty on these occasions.

The woman lay face down in a manner Caseli had seen before. He glanced across at Harrap, a solidly built nugget of a man the other constables called Bulldog. Caseli noted that he didn’t look like a bulldog now. He looked the same as any young cop who’d seen his first murder victim. Ashen faced. Nauseous.

‘You gonna be okay?’

‘I can handle it, sarge,’ Harrap assured him.

Caseli knelt beside the body. The woman was sprawled like a broken doll, arms all askew. Her shorts and panties were down around her ankles. Caseli didn’t need a forensic report to tell him that the victim had been viciously raped as well as garrotted.

He turned to Harrap. ‘Get the area cordoned off,’ he said. ‘But first, call the lab. Tell ‘em to get their boys over here.’ He turned back to the body, checked the pockets of the shorts. ‘No ID. We’ll be relying on missing persons reports to identify her.’

‘I’ll make sure a bulletin goes out on that, sarge.’

Harrap was a good man, Caseli thought. Solid. Reliable. And handling this well. It didn’t change Caseli’s opinion, minutes later, when he saw Harrap vomit into the bushes on his way back to the patrol car.

The previous morning, Trent Dowding had woken with a start at 7.45.
Damn! I’ll be late for work.
He shaved and dressed quickly, wondering why Trish hadn’t woken him when she’d come in from her run. He was in such a hurry he didn’t notice the telltale signs. Normally, when Trish returned from the run, she left her sports gear on top of the bed.

The shorts and tee shirt weren’t there that morning.

Trent couldn’t understand why Trish hadn’t woken him. Getting even with him for not getting up earlier as he’d promised? Perhaps, but that wasn’t really like her. She didn’t have a cruel streak. He pondered the question on the train as he headed for his clerical job in the city.

Later than morning he phoned Trish’s place of work. Alarm bells rang in his head when he was told that Trish hadn’t arrived. Had she come in from her run after he’d left? That was it. She was feeling ill and she’d stayed home. He phoned the apartment and allowed the ring to continue for several minutes.

Where the hell was she?

‘Probably gone home to mother,’ one of his workmates said cheekily. ‘I’m only surprised it took her this long, after six months with a slob like you.’

‘Very funny,’ Trent said, but silently he worried that there might be something in it. Was Trish pissed off with him over something? Would she up and leave like that without a word?

Arriving home that evening, he spent two hours phoning her parents, her friends, a few of her workmates. All to no avail. Trish’s parents were concerned and began making phone calls themselves to Trish’s friends.

None of Trish’s friends were too concerned. Maybe she’d simply tired of Trent and was returning to her older, wilder ways. She’d been one hell of a party girl a few years back. They considered Trent Dowding to be, in one girl’s words, “wishy washy”, but they didn’t say too much to Trish about that. They didn’t want to spoil her happiness. Despite these comments, Trish’s parents weren’t convinced.

That night, Trent lay awake for several hours, agonising over whether or not to call the police. He would look bloody silly if he did, and then Trish turned up.

He searched his mind - had Trish told him she had something else planned for a day or two and he’d simply forgotten? She was always complaining that he didn’t listen properly to her, and she was right. He made a mental note not to make that mistake in future. He didn’t want to lose Trish Van Helegen. He was in love with her.

By the time he reached the office the following morning, he knew the only option was to call the police. His mouth went dry when the Dural police sergeant, Joe Caseli, told him that his description of Trish matched that of a young woman whose body had been found earlier. Caseli asked him to come in to the station as soon as possible.