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  A longer pause.

  “I don’t want to talk about this now.” The senator’s voice had changed, more hushed, more ruthless.

  “Then pick a time.”

  “I’ll call on my other phone and arrange something.”

  “When? I told you, we’re all rattled.”

  “Soon. Just keep your nerve. All of you. Understand?”

  Colt mumbled an agreement, but Reardon couldn’t mistake his reluctance, or the edgy tremors in Colt’s next words.

  “Do you think… that Claudia Cabriati has remembered?”

  ***

  Reardon stopped the recording, deliberately allowing the question to suspend in mid-air, deliberately waiting for Ethan’s reaction. It came fast, Ethan’s expression an impressive level of shock and confusion. “Told you it was interesting,” Reardon said.

  “What on earth would a Federal Senator have to do with Cabriati?”

  “Good question and not one I’ve discovered the answer to yet. But, there’s more.” And Reardon continued the recording.

  ***

  “How the hell should I know if she has remembered?” It was Senator Macey. “And even if she has, she isn’t going to say anything, not publicly anyway.”

  This time, Ethan’s look was brimming with questions and no doubt, the same questions that Reardon had already considered.

  Colt cleared his voice. “One more thing.”

  Macey groaned.

  “We’re also wondering if….”

  Colt went silent. Reardon suspected it was due more to Colt’s apparent nervousness. Macey’s verbal impatience spurred Colt on.

  “If you had anything to do with… Alice.”

  The Senator’s reaction was immediate. “Are you completely mad? Of course, I didn’t.”

  “It just seems too coincidental.”

  “Well, if it’s such a bloody coincidence then maybe it was one of you.”

  “We wouldn’t! I… wouldn’t….”

  The Senator cut Colt short. “I’ve had enough of this shit,” he said. “Just wait for my call.”

  “Soon then.”

  And with that, the recording ended.

  ***

  Ethan grabbed his red cricket ball from one of the sofas. He began pitching it between alternate hands as he insouciantly paced the floor. Reardon went and stood by the glass doors, inhaled the soothing, peaceful beauty of the jade-colored hills and waited.

  Time passed with every slow, silent sway of nearby ghost gums.

  “Okay, you win, buddy,” Ethan said. “My interest is piqued.” He stopped the pacing, instead rested against the mini-bar. “So, have you found out anything more about this Colt character or what Macey’s connection with him is?”

  “Not yet, but working on it. It’s obvious both knew Polinski.”

  “And Polinski’s death? Reckon the Senator had anything to do with it?”

  Reardon shrugged. “He sounded genuinely shocked.”

  “He’s a bloody politician. They make their career on sounding genuine!” Ethan chucked the ball back into the sofa. It landed with a splosh and stilled. “This is crazy stuff. Who is this Cabriati woman?”

  Precisely what Reardon had thought when first hearing the conversation. “Someone whose name keeps cropping up in the most unexpected places.” He stared blindly through the sun-struck glass.

  “You still think she may have some answers for you.”

  Ethan sounded concerned. And why wouldn’t he? Ethan knew Reardon’s past, every inconceivable, nightmarish detail of it.

  “That she will give you some clues.”

  To the whereabouts of those - as Ethan elaborately stated - ‘psychotic deadheads’ that Reardon still searched for? He was certainly beginning to believe so. Or maybe it was nothing more than sheer desperation on Reardon’s part.

  “It’s why you’re still hanging onto her.”

  Possibly. But, bugger, if there wasn’t something more, something he still couldn’t quite finger. He spun to Ethan.

  A recognizably mischievous grin played across Ethan’s face. “You could just interrogate her for answers. You know rip out a few nails, bucket her with cold water….”

  “Could you be serious just for a moment?”

  “Thought I was.”

  Reardon ignored him, returned to his desk and sat down. “If we could just convince her that she needs our help.”

  “Really. And what makes you assume little Miss No-Show even wants our help?”

  “I don’t, but Claudia’s friend, Melanie Lloyd, seems adamant that she does. She rang to apologize on Claudia’s behalf.”

  “Claudia? Cabriati has now become Claudia? Shit, man, you have it bad.”

  “You can be a real arsehole, Ethan. Not everything in this world is about sex.”

  “What? Are you telling me my whole, adult life has not been… everything?”

  The office phone shrilled. Reardon was almost thankful for it. He swung around and picked it up. A hurried, panicky voice responded on the other end.

  “Are you sure no one has noticed yet?” Reardon said.

  An answer.

  “And Claudia is nowhere in sight?”

  A pause.

  “Tony, can you hold off ringing the police for as long as you can just until we get there?”

  Another pause.

  “Appreciate it. And if Claudia returns, keep her away. Got it? ”

  Reardon hung up, then grabbed his keys and sunglasses from the side drawer.

  Ethan straightened. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going and why?” He rested his De Laurent shades on his nose.

  Reardon stood, strode out of the study and down the short hall, with long, slow steps. “There’s been another body.”

  “What, in Cabriati’s complex?”

  “You could say that, but with an added personal touch this time.”

  Reardon swung open the front door and stepped out. Although the day was still young, the summer heat was already taking its first, sharp bite on his skin. It certainly wasn’t a good day to be wearing jeans. Nevertheless, he began to make his way down the wide steps.

  “Personal in the sense, that the body is in her car.”

  Chapter 10

  Claudia

  December 26, 2010

  7:05 am

  MY HEAD!

  I could swear a pack of sadistic demolitionists was operating jackhammers in it. I licked my dry lips several times then shuddered at their foul taste.

  Shit, how much had I drunk last night?

  I was getting pictures, not exactly flattering ones. Me dancing, me singing, me being exuberantly sociable and poor Nate coming to my rescue… yet again.

  I shook my head and winced, deciding not to shake it again. I opened one eye, was grateful for the heavy window drapes and instantly recognized the enormous, blue bear eyeing me off. I had kept my promise and stayed the night in my old bedroom.

  But it hadn’t been easy.

  Nonno’s bombshell had left me confused, anxious and weighed down by an army of questions. The fact that Nonno had again regressed, and Milo had departed for another social event, left those questions disturbingly unanswered. As for asking any one of my family, who was I to put a sudden blot on the festivities with absurd, unexpected accusations of which I was still unsure. I recalled the unbearable impulse I had to run away from it all. But it was Christmas. Instead, I reached for the next best escape.

  Alcohol.

  And lots of it.

  I clutched my thick, soft pillow, inhaled its old, memorable smells and again asked myself the same questions. Could there be any merit to Nonno’s ramblings? Are there really people in my family who had known Alice and not told me? Or was some Alice Polinski paranoia tricking me into believing such a conspiracy?

  On the other hand, hadn’t I already sensed that I knew Alice in some odd way? Hadn’t I wondered how her cards made their way beneath my pillow each year? Why then did I think it so impossible that someon
e in my family could be involved?

  I sat up. My head was still thunderous, not just from the alcoholic indulgence but from a restless sleep. And I didn’t even want to think about the reception I would get from my family. Maybe I could just make a spineless exit through my bedroom window. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

  I went and had a long shower and two Panadols instead. Dressed in the same clothes as the previous day, I left to face whatever lay ahead.

  Enticing smells of fried bacon met me as I entered the kitchen. The censorious glare from my mother, the solemn disquiet from my father and the annoying jeers from my brothers, didn’t ease my craving for the best hangover food. I needed to feel better and quickly. As soon as Nate took me home, my plan was to visit Milo as he had, himself, suggested. I apologized to everyone for the previous night and then tucked into breakfast.

  “Claudia,” my father began. “We have been talking….”

  Uh oh, here we go.

  I wordlessly implored Nate for help. He appeared too engrossed with his breakfast. I glanced at Marcus. He seemed amused at the whole scene.

  “We think that until you feel better, you should be at home where we can care for you.”

  I sighed, a very profound, very exasperated sigh. I knew they loved me, I knew they worried, but at times, it was all so tedious. “No, Papa,” I tried to say in a strong, disciplined voice, yet the words feeble and limp came to mind.

  I avoided Papa’s worrying stare and turned to Mama. She was collecting dirty dishes and cutlery, preparing them for the dishwasher. She was strangely silent. Her face, however, spoke volumes. A little irritation, a little concern, but a whole lot of something else. Fear, perhaps?

  My mother caught my eyes and then hastily cut away from me. This family, I decided, was becoming more peculiar by the moment. I blinked several times and then acting on some bizarre impulse, I did the unthinkable.

  “Papa, did anyone in our family know Alice Polinski?”

  The effect was instantaneous.

  My brothers stopped eating, their cutlery absurdly suspended in mid-air. I noted the frosty exchange between my parents. I noted my mother’s fingers tighten against the edge of the breakfast bar. And then I waited patiently for an answer from the man I knew would never lie to me.

  But none came.

  My hands began to quiver and my once tasty breakfast was making a slow rise. I guess I should’ve stayed and pressed Papa for answers but the need to get out of there was greater. I grabbed my things and asked Nate to take me home. Interestingly enough, there were no objections from anyone as I left.

  Nate spun his car out of the driveway. “What was that all about?” He sounded annoyed.

  “Nothing,” I answered, wishing it were the case.

  “Why don’t I believe you? And why would anyone in our family know Alice Polinski?”

  I shrugged. Thankfully, Nate didn’t badger me about it any further. I focused on the distant stream of the outside world and thought of Milo.

  There are things, he had said.

  What things, exactly? Things about Alice Polinski? Things about our family, their secreted knowledge of her? Would he be able to clear up the on-going war in my battling head? I looked at my watch and realized it was only a little after eight, too early in the day to visit Milo who never rose before double digits. Enough time to have another shower and change before seeing him.

  Nate parked his car just outside the back section of the Zephyr complex. He kept the engine running and said, “If there’s something going on, Clauds, that I should know, you would tell me?”

  I hugged him, assured him I would.

  But not before seeing Milo.

  Shortly after, I was back within the complex. As I neared my building, I spotted a small crowd buzzing around one of the residential car parks. I recognized a few of them; the round-shouldered figure of old Mr. O’Flanaghan, my neighbor, the tall, lanky Adam Hogan, a friend from the next block and the groundsman, Tony Braga, who wore his standard, eccentrically bent Akubra hat. I stepped closer and soon discovered the source of their fascination, a bright green Rav 4.

  My car.

  My first thought was someone had broken into it, trashed it in some way. Grave, sorrowful faces stared at me; concerned, whispery conversations played out between them.

  And I knew. This was no trashing, not in the conventional sense.

  The sultry morning air began to cool against my fast chilling skin. I dared not breathe. I feared it, feared the ghastly odor that could accompany it. I took a few small, hesitant steps nearer. The spectators parted to the sides, allowed me passage.

  Tony Braga stepped in front of me. “You don’t want to see him, Claudia.”

  But it was too late.

  The arm drooped from the open passenger side; motionless it was and strangely angled. Blood dripped from it into a thickening pool of dark, crimson brown, snaking along the concrete, until it eventually thinned to a congealed standstill. Something withered and colorless smeared the car’s side window.

  And, of course, there was that smell.

  I froze. “Is he… is he… dead?” I asked no one in particular.

  No one in particular answered. It was obvious. I stepped back.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  Not again.

  The entire, who, how and why thing did its first round in my head. And then I thought of Alice Polinski, her tragic face at the point of death. I thought of my Nonno and his frightful warnings. I thought of Milo and his surprising offers of help. I thought of my family, their inexplicable reactions.

  I then thought of my poor, beloved Simon.

  Slowly, the remnants of whatever discipline I had built up over the long months were deserting me. And this time, I didn’t care. I closed my eyes and willed it on, willed on the darkened shadows to swallow me all of me, whole. My knees began to liquefy and I smiled, welcoming it.

  Out of nowhere, someone’s hand cupped my elbow. And a voice, deep and velvety, murmured my name. Something surprisingly warm took light in me.

  “Claudia.”

  There it was again. It reminded me of melted chocolate, the type you sip on a cold, winter’s day.

  “I want you to turn around and come with me. Can you do that?”

  I wasn’t sure and said so.

  The voice came closer, still so silky, still so ridiculously enticing. “Trust me, Claudia.” Then closer still, a barely audible whisper. “I have been there.”

  Again, I thought of Simon, of poor Alice. Sad-filled tears quickly stung my eyes. “So have I,” I answered flatly.

  “I know,” he answered back.

  “Not, again. I can’t… not again.”

  “Yes, you can.” The voice was firmer.

  I turned towards him. What I saw, a rawness of emotion, an honesty so pure, and something else, something I couldn’t quite grasp.

  The man smiled the most gregarious smile, and asked again, “Can you walk with me? I’ll help you, but I need to get you out of here.”

  He seemed sincere but I was too shaky, too unsure.

  “I know this man, Claudia.” It was Tony Braga. He laid his hand gently on my shoulder. His expression appeared kind, concerned. “I was the one who rang him. Do what he says. You can trust him.”

  A simple, faint nod from me was all it took. The man threw his strong arm around me and steered me towards the gate, out of the complex and into his car. Once in, I covered my eyes with my hand, the gruesome images of what I had just witnessed plagued me.

  “Claudia, are you okay?” I removed my hand and looked at the man. He was still outside, crouching on one knee, his arm resting on the other, his troubled eyes staring at me. They were the most incredible blue, like glaciers sparkling in the raw sunlight, intense and quite mesmerizing.

  “I know this may sound a little, well… forthright at the moment,” the blue-eyed man said. “But whatever’s going on, I’ll find out. I promise you.”

  Strangely, I bel
ieved him.

  He straightened up and began to move around the front of the car. I studied him as his long, lean body slid into the driver’s side, as he gradually swung towards me. His handsome face had a rugged quality about it, but in a way that didn’t conceal the natural warmth and compassion that projected from him. That smile of his was still present, revealing dimples on both cheeks. His hair was short; the tips of its fair color, seemingly sun bleached and mussed about in that gel-spiked fashion.

  Who was this man?

  As if reading my mind, he answered my question. “I’m Saul Reardon,” he stated calmly.

  The Saul Reardon.

  I recalled the meeting I had failed to attend and worse still, failed to apologize for. I could feel the embarrassing blush swarm my face. “Oh,” was all I could say as I looked away.

  Once again, he appeared to read my mind. “Claudia, I think you have more important issues right now, don’t you?”

  He was right, of course. I shivered as reality hit back.

  “Here,” Saul Reardon said as he placed a black jacket around me. It smelled of leather and woody scented cologne. “You’re probably still in shock. This will keep you warm.”

  Warm? I very nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. It was probably over thirty degrees outside! Nevertheless, he was right; the jacket was soft and felt oddly soothing against my cold, bristled skin. Before either of us said another word, police sirens wailed in the distance.

  Saul gripped onto the steering wheel. “We need to leave,” he said. “Sadly and not surprisingly, the police will take one look at your car, put one and one together, and get three. So, is there somewhere safe I can take you until we sort this out?”

  I quickly weighed up my options. There was my family, whose over-protectiveness and recent strange behavior caused me much discomfort. There was Mel, whose own family I’d already suffocated with my perpetual messes. There was Milo, and although I still needed to question him, any long-termed presence with him would be about as comforting and as beneficial as a wet sponge in a deluge. Attempting to select the lesser of three evils, my shoulders finally slumped.