Disappear (38 page)

Then he pulled the wire tight again, without warning. He would tell her his story bit by bit as he drew out the agony of her death. The trick would be keeping her at death’s door long enough before she was gone forever.

Sheer panic coursed through Jennifer. The air that had found its way into her lungs was gone in just a few seconds. She couldn’t breathe at all now. The wire had cut the surface of her flesh and she felt a thin line of blood pulse from the incision. Her fingers groped hopelessly around the outer rim of the wire, unable to find even the tiniest space for leverage.

Her vision disintegrated into formless shapes and darkness descended. It was as though the moon was shifting across the sun, for a total eclipse.

The squad car sped through the streets of Sydney’s eastern suburbs, heading for the elite, tree-lined avenues and stately homes that backed onto Sydney Harbour.

Lachlan glanced distractedly at his watch. Aroney talked as he drove.

‘Damn good hunch, Neil. Working out that M. Rentin was the maiden name of Henry Kaplan’s first wife, Monica. You reckon the son froze her too - after she died? In one of those cryo chambers?’

‘Yeah. But he obviously didn’t think of her as dead. He probably really thought she could be brought back one day.’ Although Falkstog had refused to reveal the name, Lachlan was certain Henry Kaplan’s paid-for surveillance had been on his son, Roger. He’d explained this to Aroney. And he was now just as certain that Roger’s call to Jennifer was part of a new attempt to kill her.

‘So he wrote all those letters to his deceased mother, telling her what a wonderful little murderer he’d turned out to be. Kept her and the letters right there with his frozen body collection. A total whack job.’ Aroney shook his head.

‘The worst kind,’ Lachlan said, ‘because he wears two faces. He could go to work, run companies, socialise easily with the wife of a man he’d run down because that man was probing too much. As though the dark side of him was someone else altogether.’

Aroney braked hard, blasting his horn at a cab, which changed lanes suddenly in front of him. Lachlan swore.

‘And the father knew?’ Aroney continued.

‘Oh yeah … he knew all right. He hired Falkstog Security to run a round the clock team of watchdogs to stop his son from indulging his taste for killing people. Then, when Roger started putting the bodies back, Henry Kaplan found a way to blackmail John Rosen, forced him to cover up the obvious link between the bodies. Henry Kaplan is responsible for a lot of things, just one of them being John’s untimely death.’

Aroney nodded, acknowledging the bitter edge to Lachlan’s voice. ‘So … why d’you reckon Roger would take the bodies out of the deep freeze now and put ‘em back on the streets?’

‘Watch it,’ Lachlan snapped, lurching forward against his seatbelt as Aroney braked again.

‘Bloody bike couriers. Think they own the friggin’ road.’ Unperturbed, Aroney hit the horn, accelerating roughly into the right-hand lane. He switched on the car’s siren.

Lachlan reached forward for the radio mike, the uncomfortable sweatiness of his palms having nothing to do with the near-miss. The trip was taking too damn long. Making contact, he demanded the position of the squad cars headed to the Kaplan house. The slap of his fist against his thigh was an expression of frustration that even Aroney could not miss.

‘Tell them to pull their fingers out. We’re trying to prevent another possible homicide here!’

He slammed the mike back into its cradle.

Aroney stole a glance across at him. ‘You okay?’

‘Seems all cars, including the one Constable Baltin requested, were called to another APB just before mine. A domestic in Bondi has turned into a siege.’ Lachlan seemed to visibly straighten himself out. ‘What was it you were saying?’

‘Wonderin’ why, after eighteen years with his trophies in deep freeze, Roger Kaplan suddenly started shoving bodies back onto the streets.’

‘The same reason he could start killing again after eighteen years. The money was gone. Frozen by liquidators. That was before the appeal and the potential sale of the northern mine. Henry Kaplan couldn’t keep paying for the surveillance, not until he became solvent again. Roger knew he couldn’t keep running the cryonics equipment or hold onto the warehouse.’

‘So he started dismantling the whole thing,’ Aroney surmised. ‘Pumped the blood back into the bodies, unfroze and redressed them and put them back, knowing everyone would be thrown by the age discrepancy.’

‘Better than leaving them in the basement,’ Lachlan pointed out. ‘Decomposition would have set in. The smell would have attracted attention eventually and he didn’t know how long he could keep the place off limits before the receivers put it up for auction. My guess is, he was running out of time and couldn’t figure out how to dump all the hardware down there. So he sealed it. But he dropped the umbrella when he was moving Brian Parkes.’

The car slowed. ‘Blasted traffic.’’ Aroney scowled. Despite the siren’s wail, the jam ahead left no spaces for the cars to move aside. ‘Bugger this.’ He spun the wheel and jerked the car onto the median strip, bypassed the cars in front of them, then manoeuvred the vehicle back to the correct side again, weaving through the traffic with skilled precision and at high speed. ‘And Jennifer Parkes still thinks that psycho’s her friend?’

Lachlan winced at the thought and his heart pounded harder. What had Roger Kaplan said to Jennifer to entice her over to his father’s estate? What if they were already too late?

Helen Shawcross fumbled with the key, realised as she did that the front door was unlocked, then pushed it open and dragged the suitcase over the threshold. What a fool she’d been, throwing herself at Rory like that.

She heard a voice, somewhere on the floor above. Was Henry at home? His car wasn’t in the driveway and she hadn’t recognised any of the cars in the street. Who then? Someone with a key. Roger?

She bounded up the stairs, heard the voice clearer now - yes, Roger’s voice - coming from the rumpus room at the far end of the hall. What was he doing here? Henry must be with him, she thought.

Oh, God. Mustn’t let him see the suitcase.

First, though, she needed to find out what was going on. She walked along the hall and burst into the room.

And stopped, her mouth dropping open, her breath caught in her throat.

Lachlan glanced frantically at his watch. It was taking forever to get to Henry Kaplan’s home.

As they wove in and out of the traffic, Aroney filled Lachlan in on more of Max Bryant’s conversation with Bill Fritzwater. Bryant had learned that Roger Kaplan’s initial order had been for twelve cryonic chambers. No doubt Roger had ordered these so he could commence freezing and storing his victims. He would’ve ordered more as he needed them, as he was able to arrange the money. But he hadn’t finished filling the original twelve before the long surveillance began.

But Lachlan and Aroney had found only eleven canisters in the Winterstone warehouse. Lachlan recalled that there’d been one empty space at the end of the row. He now had no doubt that had been the resting place of Roger’s mother.

So where was it now - the twelfth canister with the frozen body of Monica Kaplan?

The moment he saw Helen in the doorway, Roger’s fevered brain switched into crisis mode. He couldn’t -
wouldn’t
- allow his plan to be ruined now - not by one unexpected circumstance.

He cast Jennifer aside like a rag doll, reluctantly releasing the wire from her neck. He could tell she’d lapsed into semi-consciousness. He’d finish her off in a moment. He sprang to his feet, every nerve primed for action, his eyes blazing with single-minded purpose.

Snapping out of her split-second of shock, Helen’s instinct for self-preservation took over rapidly. She spun on her heel and ran full pelt back along the hallway.

Roger darted after her. He reached her at the top of the stairs, looping the wire around her throat with both hands. Helen screamed and struggled wildly. Twisting in his grip, she brought her knee up hard, partly connecting with Roger’s groin. He cursed in agony, losing his balance and toppling back, the wire loop falling from his grasp.

Helen flew down the stairs, but Roger, blocking out the pain and quickly regaining his balance, snatched the wire from the floor and hurled himself bodily down the stairwell. He smashed into Helen from above, sending her crashing to the floor at the foot of the stairs, sprawling across her. The wire fell from his grasp again.

He launched himself onto his knees, his arms springing out, his hands locking onto Helen’s throat.

‘Get off me you bastard!’ Her scream was cut off as his fingers pushed down heavily into the flesh of her neck, blocking her air, crushing her larynx. She twisted her body about, trying to gain some leverage, but he was too heavy for her.

‘Stupid bloody bitch!’ he yelled. The anger inside him was volcanic. The deep, dark thrill had never been greater, soaring through him at fever pitch, bursting for release. He jerked her head violently, banging it several times against the floor with every ounce of energy he possessed. The sickening crack of her skull smashing against the polished marble caused his sexual excitement to explode, the juices flowing freely from him.

Then he applied the final pressure to her throat, his fingers so deep now he could feel the supple pulping of her organs. Her body went limp beneath him.

‘Helen’s here as well,’ Kaplan exclaimed, clearly surprised, as they pulled into the driveway. Her car was at the far end, near the house. ‘I expected her to be out most of the day.’ He leapt from the car.

Masterton reached across, gripped Kaplan’s arm. ‘Let’s not go racing in. A dramatic entrance may not help.’

Kaplan considered this momentarily. ‘The voice of reason.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Very well. We’ll do it your way.’

Jennifer lay on her belly, sucking in draughts of air. Every breath was an effort as it strained for passage through her heavily bruised throat. Blood welled from the incision and ran in tiny rivers to the carpet.

She felt disorientated; her vision still cloudy, but with each long breath the fog lifted from her brain and her inner resolve fought its way back up. The need to survive was like a living thing, marching up her spine.

She heard his footsteps above the thumping of her heart before he appeared in the doorway. Her hair had fallen across her eyes and, forcing herself to keep them open slightly, she saw he was like a man possessed - a demon. Nothing like the Roger she thought she’d known. And …

Oh, dear Jesus … please God, help me.

The murderous, bloodied length of wire was still in his hand.

I’ve got to fight him. Somehow.

She lay still and deathly silent.

If he thinks I’ve died …

He prodded his foot hard into her side. Testing. The pain was like a red-hot knife ripping through her, but she bit down hard on her lip and remained still. Roger, uncertain, used his foot to roll her over.

Jennifer squeezed her eyes closed. She had never felt so vulnerable and an icy fear stabbed even deeper, to the core of her heart. She didn’t think her ruse was going to work.

At that moment she heard a car pulling up, doors opening, footsteps on the driveway.

Roger moved quickly to the balcony doors. ‘Damn it.’ His father was entering the house with Masterton. He turned and fled from the room.

There was still time for his plan to succeed. Jennifer lay limp on the floor. Whether she was dead or unconscious didn’t matter now - if she woke there’d be no chance to warn his father. Roger raced down the stairs and out the rear exit. He pulled the hand-held detonator device from his pocket as he ran.

Jennifer heard Roger run from the room. She opened her eyes warily, looked around, breathed a sigh of relief and pushed herself to her knees. What had disturbed him? Henry? She heard the front door open.

The bomb.

She had little energy in her arms or her legs. She summoned up every last reserve of strength, breathing deeply and rapidly like a drowning woman brought back once more to the surface

Kaplan and Masterton reached the foot of the stairwell where they were confronted with Helen’s body. She lay face down in a pool of blood.

Kaplan knelt, his hand reached feebly for her head. He didn’t need to feel for a pulse to know she was dead. He felt nothing but a curious sense of detachment, as if this was someone else’s house, someone else’s girlfriend.
Someone else’s son.

He averted his eyes from the corpse, looked around. ‘Jennifer …’ he croaked. He started towards the stairs.

Outside, Roger ripped the plastic casing from the device, freeing the plunger, and placed his thumb over it, at the ready. He would allow sixty seconds for his father to reach the room on the first floor and then he would activate the bomb.

His mission was almost complete. He no longer felt that he should worry about the copper, Lachlan. Let the investigation continue and the connection with Winterstone be made. Over the years he had placed enough circumstantial evidence to point the finger at Harold Masterton. It was a bonus that Masterton had arrived with his father.

He moved past the pool and the paved barbecue area, across the landscaped gardens, to the rear of the property. A slope led to the embankment along the harbour shore. Now he was far enough away for safety’s sake.

Jennifer grabbed the briefcase and moved as fast as she could, wobbly but determined, into the hall and across to the bedroom opposite. She tried to open the window but couldn’t lift the frame.

Damn.

Taking hold of the stool beside the vanity unit she hurled it at the glass. The window smashed and Jennifer lunged forward, throwing the case out with a sudden final burst of energy.

She turned and ran back across the hall.

Roger checked his watch. Now, he thought. He raised the detonator in his hand and looked towards the house.

Jennifer had reached the doorway to the rumpus room when the world went mad.