Disappear (27 page)

‘You haven’t heard an early news report this morning?’ Lachlan asked as Jennifer opened the front door to him.

‘No. Why …?’

Lachlan followed her into the house. ‘Stuart James was run down and killed last night in the basement of his office building.’

Jennifer sat, ashen faced, as Lachlan relayed the events of the previous evening. ‘A businessman was seen on the stairwell by a cleaner, though he couldn’t give a good description. The general appearance, though, is of a man of average height and weight. I believe this to be the same person responsible for the deaths of the missing people.’

‘And who ran Brian down in Claridge Street last week?’ Jennifer wondered.

Carly came in with coffee for the three of them. ‘But why Stuart James?’

‘I expect the killer knew James was searching through Brian’s old files,’ Lachlan surmised. ‘And to have known that, he has to be someone close to either of you, or to someone else you told about James’ investigation.’

Lachlan didn’t like the vacant stare on Jennifer’s face.

‘If I hadn’t retained his services,’ she said, ‘he’d still be alive.’

‘You can’t blame yourself,’ Lachlan was quick to point out. ‘James knew the risks involved with private investigations.’

‘What could possibly be in those files?’ Carly said.

Lachlan told them about his conversation with James, and the facts surrounding Brian’s audit of Winterstone Pty. Ltd. ‘James phoned me from his car to say he had the files with him,’ Lachlan concluded, ‘but there was nothing in the wreck. I’m presuming the killer took the files.’

‘But Mr. James accidentally left some of those files here,’ Carly said. She brought the files over and she, Jennifer and Lachlan flicked through them.

‘Here,’ Jennifer turned up the file on Winterstone. ‘It seems this psycho lucked out on getting the file he really wanted.’

‘Roger Kaplan employed Dad to run the audit, didn’t he, Mum?’ Carly asked. Her mother nodded. Carly looked to Lachlan. ‘He should be able to shed some light on Winterstone.’

‘I’m heading into town now to interview both Roger Kaplan and Harold Masterton,’ Lachlan said.

‘Masterton?’ Carly’s tone was curious. ‘Why him?’

‘Because,’ Jennifer found the appropriate document in the file, ‘he purchased the Winterstone business and set it up as a small subsidiary of the Kaplan group.’

‘I have to stress,’ said Lachlan, ‘that the killer is very possibly someone close enough to either of you to have known about Stuart James being hired. He doesn’t want anyone to know about Brian’s suspicions regarding Winterstone. You could both be in danger.’

Jennifer’s emotions were doing backflips as she tried to grasp the situation. She was horrified by the manner of Stuart James’ death, and felt sick to the pit of her stomach. Neil Lachlan was certain this killer was someone who knew her. Who knew Carly. The blood drained from her face. Surely this couldn’t be? And yet, it appeared logical. How else could the killer have known about Stuart James or about the files?

Perhaps it was a passing acquaintance? Someone who’d been watching them closely? The thought unnerved her and suddenly she felt incredibly insecure. And afraid.

‘But this killer couldn’t know that Stuart James told you about the Winterstone file,’ Jennifer said to Lachlan, ‘therefore he doesn’t know Carly and I have been told.’

‘Exactly, and we need to keep it that way. So, you’re to discuss this with absolutely no one. Is that clear?’

Jennifer and Carly nodded in unison. Carly reached out and grasped her mother’s hand. Their eyes met. ‘It can’t be someone close to us, Mum. I mean … who..?’

‘I want to come with you to talk to Roger and Harold.’ Jennifer turned her attention back to Lachlan but he was quick to deter her.

‘Absolutely not. I’ll be questioning both of them about Winterstone. When I said no-one is to be aware what you and Carly know, I meant no-one.’

‘Surely you don’t suspect Roger or Harold,’ Jennifer protested, confused by the possible link between a Kaplan company file and this murderer.

‘I don’t have any suspects,’ Lachlan admitted, ‘but I don’t want any chance of this leaking out - through anyone.’

They saw Lachlan to the door. It was humid. There was heavy cloud and a light rain had started.

‘Looks like a storm could be brewing for later on,’ Lachlan commented, walking to the driveway.

‘Did I ever tell you,’ Jennifer said to Carly as they went back into the house, ‘there was a massive electrical storm the night your father vanished?’

‘No. Only that he went out to buy a packet of cigarettes.’

‘I wanted him to give them up,’ Jennifer recalled. In her mind’s eye she recreated the scene yet again.
Brian coming through the door. ‘Blasted train ran late,’ he said. His curly hair plastered down by water. ‘It only takes five minutes to walk to the shop, less if I run.’

There was something else.

One thing that had been just out of memory’s reach since the forensic lab visit the day before. Something to do with Brian’s clothes and personal effects. The comment about the approaching storm had pricked her memory. But the answer was still out of reach.
Damn
.

‘I’m heading to the flat for another change of clothes,’ Carly said.

‘You’re coming back later?’

‘If that’s okay.’

‘Of course it’s okay. I’d much rather have you here with me right now.’

‘I really don’t see how Detective Lachlan can be right, Mum, about this killer being someone we know. Do you?’

‘I … really don’t know.’

‘But you’re scared. I can tell.’

‘Yes. For both of us. But at least we’re starting to get somewhere.’

‘I might just as well be here while this investigation is going on. Otherwise I’ll phone up every five minutes to find out what’s happening.’

Jennifer wondered if that was the only reason, or whether Carly was avoiding Rory. Was she tiring of him? God, she hoped so.

Outside, the rain suddenly became a downpour.

‘Mind if I borrow one of your brollies?’ Carly asked.

‘Go ahead. You’ll find one in my bedroom cupboard.’ Jennifer waited by the door as Carly went to fetch the umbrella. There hadn’t been a cross word between them since she had been staying at the house. Was this the softening up Jennifer had longed for? Carly came bouncing along the hall and Jennifer caught just a glimmer of the carefree girl of yesteryear.

‘Back later.’

‘Okay.’ And then, as Jennifer watched her daughter step out into the rain, she remembered what was different about Brian’s belongings. She knew what had been missing.

Hans Falkstog did not believe in things supernatural, but he’d always felt he had something inside him that could sense trouble. He’d recognised the familiar sense of foreboding on many occasions. It had helped him avoid situations that were potentially destructive to him. It had a lot to do with his success, a lot to do with his power.

He felt it this morning, on a cool, clear day when he should have been feeling positive. He had stripped down to his swimmers and gone jogging along the beachfront. Everything was as he liked it: the open, blue horizon, the crisp air against his skin, the crash of the surf. This was always such a tonic to him, an alternative to his other activities. He did his best thinking, his most effective strategic planning, at moments like this. But this morning the sense of trouble was too strong, it dragged him down like the undertow of a storm-tide.

He remembered the first time he’d felt this way, many decades before.

He’d returned home to find that his father had left his mother and run off with another woman. Hans Falkstog was a hard and emotionless man, but to this day he’d felt his mother’s pain at that betrayal. The following years had been grim and hard.

Why was his foreboding so strong this morning? He could only conclude it stemmed from the recent changes. It was always a concern when the structure of things altered after a long period of time. And eighteen years was a very long time.

He’d made enquiries over the past twenty-four hours, discovering that Brian Parkes’ widow was making waves. He didn’t like that. He ran harder and faster, working up a sweat, and determined that he would be ready to meet the impending threat, as he had many times before.

It was Lachlan’s first meeting with Roger Kaplan. The first thing he noticed was the resemblance to the father - a strong physical resemblance but one that lacked the older man’s presence.

‘I won’t keep you long,’ Lachlan said. ‘What can you tell me about a firm called Winterstone?’

‘Winterstone? Small firm, falls under the umbrella of our local professional services division. Odd division, lots of little firms, variety of services, not all that profitable.’ Roger paused a moment, giving further thought to the question. ‘You understand I don’t have much to do with that division, but let me think - storage facility if I remember correctly. Why do you ask?’

‘Brian Parkes was auditing the Winterstone books when he disappeared. According to his notes, he had some concern about a large discrepancy in the books. A sum of money secretly transferred from another division and spent on an equipment purchase from America.’

‘I didn’t know that. Are you sure?’

‘Stuart James advised me of the notes before he was killed. I believe he was murdered because of the files he’d taken. So, anything you can tell me will be of great assistance.’

Roger cupped his chin between his thumb and forefinger and stroked it slowly. ‘Well … I don’t actually know anything about it at all. It’s administered by our clerical division. As I said, a commercial storage unit, mostly utilised by our other divisions, I expect.’

‘The equipment purchase eighteen years ago?’

Roger frowned. ‘No idea.’ He spread his arms in a gesture of futility. ‘Not much help, am I? Perhaps Harold may know more.’ Roger called his secretary and asked her to locate Masterton. Lachlan didn’t tell Roger that his next visit would have been to Masterton’s office anyway.

‘I’ll want to see all the business records for Winterstone from its inception to the present day,’ Lachlan said.

‘No problem.’ Roger gave the appropriate instructions to his secretary. Then he turned his attention back to Lachlan. ‘It’s hard to believe the answer to Brian’s disappearance could be connected to one of our companies. The idea never occurred to me.’

‘No reason why it should.’

Harold Masterton arrived. Roger introduced the finance director to the detective senior sergeant. Lachlan repeated much of what he had already told Roger.

Masterton showed the same element of surprise Roger had. ‘Winterstone? Just a small storage warehouse.’

Which you set up, Lachlan wanted to say aloud, but he checked himself, preferring to see how things developed. He didn’t want to let on that he’d actually read the file, which was at Jennifer’s home.

Why hadn’t Masterton offered the fact that he’d set up the company?

Masterton glanced at his watch. ‘Can’t stay long, detective, I’m currently going through a rolling series of meetings with the finance men from the Becker group.’

‘Driving us all mad,’ Roger added.

Terry Carter, a short, plump man who was head of the clerical services division, arrived with a slim file marked Winterstone. Lachlan leafed through it. Very little documentation there for a firm that had been in operation almost nineteen years, just the occasional use of space by one of the other local companies owned by Kaplan. There was no bill of sale for the purchase just under two decades earlier. ‘I’ll need to take this with me for closer inspection,’ Lachlan advised the two men. ‘It will be returned in due course and in the meantime the department will issue you a receipt.’

Both men mumbled their understanding. Lachlan noted that Masterton didn’t look pleased.

The Police LAC in Sydney’s Goulburn Street was a conservative structure, betraying no sign of the bustle within. A rabbit warren of non-stop activity, surroundings part modern, part older style, but housing in each section some of the most advanced electronic systems in Australian policing.

Lachlan’s visit to the Superintendent’s Special Task Force was a hurried one. He deposited the Winterstone file with senior detectives Ron Aroney and Max Bryant. Lachlan had chosen these two men to assist him on the case. Now he briefed them on the document.

‘There’s nothing there to indicate the name of the American company from which Winterstone made the purchase. Get on to Customs and track down their paperwork and the name of the company. I also want you to gather as much background as you can on Harold Masterton, the financial director of the Kaplan Corporation.’

Before he left, Lachlan listened to Bryant’s update on the investigation. ‘Interpol have absolutely nothing on file from any member countries that fits the description of Brian Parkes. And forensics couldn’t identify the make or model of the hit/run vehicle in that killing. There are no stolen car reports, either, to tie in with the night or the area in which Parkes was hit.’

‘Another dead end,’ Lachlan said more to himself than to either detective. ‘One further thing,’ he added, ‘assign a team of uniformed men to a round the clock surveillance of the Winterstone warehouse. I want photos of anyone seen entering or leaving the building. Except me.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll be conducting a search out there later today.’

Before he went to the storage building on the industrial site at Dural, Lachlan had one more stop to make.

Margaret Rosen hugged him, told him it was good to see him again. She smiled but behind the smile Lachlan was aware of the sad, wistful eyes.

John Rosen appeared at the doorway to his study. ‘Saw your car pull up. Come on through.’

Lachlan entered the den, a sedate room of dark colours. ‘Before you say anything, Neil,’ Rosen said, ‘I want you to know there’s no resentment. Not on my part. You did the right thing going to Razell. In a way I’m glad.’

‘Why, John?’ Lachlan’s voice was plaintive, not what he might have expected of himself. But then, he wasn’t there as the head of the homicide investigation, he realised that now. He was there as the pupil, shattered by the betrayal of the teacher. He had simply come to ask the question, as much for himself as for any other purpose.