The Recipient

by Dean Mayes

  Returning to the magazine, she turned a few more pages until she found another image—this time, a low-slung, dark blue convertible. The lights here were similar and were paired by a set of fog lights set underneath them. Casey extracted this picture as well and taped it beside the first on the wall.

  She continued this process again and again, hour after hour. Working her way through the magazines, she sorted them by year of publication, ruling out anything whose publication date was any later than 2012. Something told her that the car from the dream was new, if not brand new. She browsed through each title, identifying Audis, comparing them with her sketches. If there was a definite visual correlation, she methodically cut out those images, checking that any available description for the year of manufacture fell no earlier than 2010 and no later than March 2012. She attached a piece of tape to them and added them to the wall. When she had finished with one magazine, Casey tossed it to the floor and retrieved another. She frowned at the growing mound of print material at her feet.

  Morning became afternoon. The sun crossed over the top of her building and was now streaming in through the windows beside her, although Casey was only vaguely aware of the passing of time. She continued to work her way through the pile, cutting and taping and affixing pictures to the wall, looking for some hint of recognition in the ever-growing mosaic. Each time, she went into her mind and recalled the scene. Saskia’s face flashed with terror and desperation…and something else.

  Looking away from the wall, Casey bit the inside of her lip. Her eyes danced across the floor, as though she were searching for something.

  Saskia’s face appeared and she allowed it to stay there.

  Was Saskia trying to tell her something?

  She couldn’t make sense of it. And then it seemed to slip away. Casey hissed as she lost her grip on the memory.

  “Dammit!”

  Some time later, Casey absently stood from the bed and she lowered the shades. The sun began its descent. Afternoon progressed towards dusk. Casey turned her head and saw the edge of the mighty orange orb touch the horizon out on the bay. She cast a glance at the clock on her bedside table.

  Nine hours…

  The wall opposite was almost entirely covered with images. Everywhere she looked, Casey saw Audi sedans—a dizzying array of sizes in both colour and black and white, from full-cover photographs to stamp-sized classified shots that she’d gleaned from the trade classifieds. She had surrounded the doorway leading into her en suite bathroom and had even covered the door.

  Only a few brochures and newsprint publications remained before her, while the recycling bin adjacent was filled so full that the lid would no longer close.

  Casey blinked. Slowly, she stepped off the bed and wandered along the length of the wall.

  So engrossed was she in her examination of her work, she only vaguely heard the rumbling of the front door as it slid aside.

  “Casey?”

  Lionel’s voice sounded but it didn’t register with her. He slid the door closed and set his key down on the counter. He called out again. Casey flinched and shook herself from her stupefied daze.

  “In here,” she called.

  Lionel appeared from around the corner and frowned quizzically at his granddaughter. She crossed her arms as she appraised the wall before her. At first, he didn’t see what she was looking at, but as his eyes followed her own, they went wide as he looked upon the vast collection of images on the wall.

  “You’ve been busy,” he noted with a hint of bewilderment.

  Casey’s cheeks flushed as she nodded, embarrassed.

  “I guess I have.”

  Lionel squinted at the collage. Casey couldn’t help but notice his mercurial smile. She tilted her head.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh. Nothing really,” Lionel hesitated, glancing sideways at her. “It’s just that…the way you’ve arranged all these pictures. It reminds me, very much, of how I used to problem-solve certain things, pieces of evidence that baffled me.”

  Casey’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve been at this for nine hours, Pa. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Her eyes floated over the wall of images.

  “You didn’t think to use the computer?” Lionel ventured, gesturing with a nod towards the darkened monitor.

  Casey shrugged. “I thought the magazines would be a better idea. Placing them on the wall like this gives me a better visual. But I don’t know if I’m on the right track or whether I’m just complicating things by doing all of this.”

  She held out her arms, shaking her head.

  “I can see some parts of the car clearly in my mind but, I’m worried that I’m confusing my memories by trying to force myself to see something that isn’t there.”

  “Maybe you should leave it for now,” Lionel suggested. “Take a break and try to empty your mind. Things will become clearer.”

  Casey exhaled and nodded. “I should get us something to eat.”

  Lionel smiled with a hint of mischief. “Let’s get out of the house for a bit. I quite fancy some fish and chips.”

  ___

  They sat on a wooden picnic table overlooking the Mentone jetty, a generous serving of battered fish and steaming, thickly cut chips sat in a nest of butcher’s paper between them. The setting sun had dipped below the horizon. The sky, a brilliant orange, reflected off the water as small waves rolled onto the shore providing entertainment for a group of children down on the sand who were riding them in on boogie boards.

  Lionel licked his lips as he opened a small tub of tartar sauce and upended its entirety over a single piece of fish. Casey laughed affectionately at her grandfather.

  “Don’t you tell your grandmother,” Lionel grumbled dryly, grinning sideways at Casey.

  She scoffed at him, then plucked a thick potato chip from the pile and popped it into her mouth.

  “Don’t you tell my mother. No doubt she’s been milking you for information about me every chance she gets.”

  “Of course she is. She wouldn’t be your mother if she wasn’t. She comes from a long line of busybodies.”

  Casey whipped her head up at Lionel, whilst trying to stifle a huge, knowing grin.

  “That said,” he continued. “She does act out of love—even if it is a little heavy-handed.”

  “Are you kidding me? Edie’s got all the delicacy of a Mack truck. If anything, it’s she who has driven me more nuts than…”

  Casey caught herself when she was met by her grandfather’s eyes. She detected a subtle hurt in them and she looked down between her feet.

  “Sorry.”

  Lionel shrugged it off and continued devouring his fish.

  “I just wish I could remember.”

  Casey went quiet. Her features tightened and Lionel could tell that her thoughts were drifting back to the conundrum of the car.

  “Casey,” he chided softly. “Give yourself some space.”

  “There’s something I’m missing, Pa,” she said. “It’s something to do with the dream…with the event. But I can’t work out what it is.”

  “Well. Is it the car? Another object? Something to do with the assailant?”

  “No.” She paused, trying to will her mind. “It’s something to do with Saskia.”

  Lionel frowned and looked across the bay. “I think you should let it go. You look so tired. When was the last time you got any sort of sleep?”

  Casey sighed tersely. “I don’t know. Back at the hospital? A few days ago? I can’t sleep, Pa. I’m scared to.”

  “It can’t be doing you any good. Eventually you’ll crash.”

  “I know, Pa,” Casey nodded. “I guess I’ve gotten used to existing this way, but I know…”

  Her voice trailing away, she turned to a bottle of water and picked it up, twisting the cap open.

  “Remember how we used to come here as kids? You and Nana brought Angus and me here most weekends during the summer. We were hardly ever out of the water.”
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  “You were a pair of water-babies. No doubt about it.” Lionel smiled.

  “This place, it’s the one thing that hasn’t changed. Even though everything else has. I can count on this place. You know?”

  Casey squinted at Lionel who nodded, understanding.

  “I feel the same way. I used to come here before you were born. I fished from that jetty. We need quiet places like this to escape to. To contemplate and reflect.”

  Another quiet drifted between them and hung in the air for several long moments.

  “Why do you believe me, Pa?”

  Lionel blinked at his granddaughter’s sudden question. He tilted his head slightly, thinking of his answer.

  “I see a lot of your mother in you,” he began. Casey stiffened and her features hardened, which caused Lionel to hold up his hand to placate her.

  “Just listen,” he urged. “I mean to say that you have a pragmatic streak within you, which is very much like your mother. You’ve never been one to indulge in anything particularly fanciful or, in other words, believe in bullshit.”

  Casey frowned, not quite understanding where Lionel was headed with this train of thought.

  “But I have noticed some things, subtle changes, ever since your operation. Your personality. Your likes and dislikes. The way you do things. Yet, you have remained the sensible and driven young woman you’ve always been.”

  Lionel paused, looking out across the jetty.

  “I’ll confess, I have often wondered whether you might have taken on some of the traits of whoever it was that gave you your heart.”

  Casey frowned. “What makes you say that?”

  “Let’s just say that I’ve witnessed things in my lifetime that led me to wonder about the very nature of human potential beyond our physical existence.”

  “I don’t understand,” Casey responded uncomfortably.

  Lionel smiled wistfully. “Are you sure about that?”

  Her grandfather’s curious gaze drilled into Casey and she gulped softly.

  “Okay,” he said. “On a much more pragmatic level, I’ve been able to look at what is publicly known about this case. There were gaps in the original investigation. Enough gaps that I think are worth pursuing.”

  “Well, I think I’ve already run headlong into nowhere,” Casey observed ruefully. She tapped her finger to her temple and continued. “Aside from whatever is going on up here, I don’t have anything else tangible to go on. I don’t know where else to turn. I haven’t been able to find any details about where this girl lived or whether she has any family I can seek out.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Lionel said, tearing off another piece of fish from the paper between them.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve spoken to an old colleague of mine at St. Kilda Road. You know him actually.”

  Casey gulped and stifled a feeling of dread.

  “Not Whittaker,” she groaned painfully.

  “Yes Whittaker,” Lionel shot back. “Despite what others might think of you, he regards you very highly. And he still owes me a favour or two.”

  Lionel wiped his hands with a serviette then reached into his pocket. Casey watched him curiously as he took out a piece of paper and unfolded it. He handed it to Casey.

  “Your donor was living with her grandmother here in Melbourne, a Mrs. Lesia Andrutsiv. It seems the police didn’t think it prudent to interview her at the time of her granddaughter’s death, partly because Mrs. Andrutsiv was gravely ill herself and in no state to answer any questions.”

  Casey examined the piece of paper. Her eyes grew wide.

  It was the address details for Saskia’s grandmother.

  “He gave you this?” she asked breathlessly. “Pa, he could lose his job over this.”

  “It seems he might just think there are enough questions that are still worth asking about this particular case. He just doesn’t have the resources to commit to asking them.”

  “He’s allowing us—”

  “He’s putting his faith in us,” Lionel corrected her. “Aside from this, he won’t be able to give me anything else,” Lionel interrupted. “We’ll have to do our own digging. If we find anything worth bringing to his attention, he’ll look at it and decide whether to take it further.”

  “What about Prishna?”

  Lionel flashed Casey a lopsided smile. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about Prishna for now. I think this will be much more interesting.”

  CHAPTER 19.

  The van drew up alongside the kerb of a quiet suburban cul-de-sac. Rolling down her window, Casey scanned the relatively modern brick houses, all of which were nestled under a collection of towering gums. They stood in stark contrast to a quaint, clapboard cottage with a bull-nosed veranda, a clear relic from yesteryear. Though it appeared tired and in need of attention, the cottage boasted a number of pretty flower beds which were alive with colour. Several hanging baskets lined the veranda. A compact, grey Toyota hatchback emblazoned with the livery of a community nursing service was parked out front.

  Retrieving a scrap of paper from her shoulder bag, Casey checked the address again and nodded. “This is it.”

  Moving the gear shift into neutral and extinguishing the engine, Scott sat back and discreetly looked Casey up and down. Her hair was clipped back from her face. The blouse she wore under her business jacket appeared overtly feminine compared to the usual attire he was used to seeing her in, but it definitely suited her. Paired with the skirt and the tan pumps she wore, Casey appeared for all the world like a journalist or lawyer. He couldn’t recall ever having seen her dressed so formally. Though he would never say it out loud, he had to admit, she looked good—really good.

  “You think you’re ready for this?”

  Casey quickly flipped her visor down and checked her makeup in the mirror—another addition Scott could scarcely remember having seen her wear.

  “I dunno,” she responded, fretting. “How do I look? Is my makeup too much?”

  “Are you kidding me? The makeup is fine. Perfect actually.”

  Casey whipped her head around and glared at him. Scott’s cheeks were actually flushing.

  “Cut it out, pervert,” she chided.

  “Seriously though,” he ventured. “You’re taking a risk. I’m not sure this university graduate research thing is gonna fly. If this woman has any inkling that you’re posing then you could be in big trouble.”

  Casey gazed at the tidy cottage across the street, then at the clear blue sky above. It was a cloudless morning with bright sunshine. She felt a wave of dizziness threaten her, but she shook it away. Clasping a clipboard folder with the Monash University logo on its surface, she opened it and examined a printout inside.

  “If she’s as ill as these notes say she is, I don’t imagine she’ll ask a lot of questions. She might not even capable of talking. But, I’m less interested about whether she can answer anything than I am about learning more of who Saskia was. She lived here, had a life here. There’s gotta be something I can find.”

  “Well. I’ll be waiting,” Scott said reassuringly. “Be careful.”

  Casey nodded, then opened the door and stepped down from inside. She hesitated, her hand on the door handle. She turned around slowly.

  “I never apologised for how I spoke to you that night. You know, before things happened. I treated you appallingly.”

  Scott regarded her warmly and brushed his hand at her. “Forget about it, Casey. I understand that things are tough on you. I know you didn’t mean it.”

  “You’re too good to me, Sasquatch.”

  Closing the door, she stood in the shadow of the van, taking a moment to adjust her clothing. She took a deep breath and stepped gingerly toward the cottage, promptly stumbling as she rolled her heel to one side. She cursed out loud but stopped herself from falling completely. Watching her from the van, Scott gasped at first, then whipped his hand up to his mouth to stifle a chuckle. Collecting herself,
she shot him an angry glower then walked forward once more.

  Approaching the cottage door, Casey lifted her finger to a doorbell and pressed it. It elicited a pleasant chime as she stood back and waited, biting her lip and glancing sideways at the window. She could see movement from within.

  A lock turned and the front door clicked open. A plump, middle-aged woman with a pleasant face dressed in a nurse’s uniform peered out and smiled at Casey.

  “Good morning, can I help you?”

  “Ahh, y-yes,” Casey began nervously. “My name is Winnie Lextor. I spoke to somebody on…”

  “Ohhh,” the woman beamed. “Yes, that would have been me. I’m Raelene. I’m Mrs. Andrutsiv’s carer.”

  Raelene opened the screen door and stood to one side to allow Casey access. Casey blinked in surprise and stifled an urge to look over her shoulder at Scott.

  She found herself in a compact, homey living room that was furnished with antique timber cabinetry, a floral-patterned sofa and matching armchair, both adorned with hand-stitched cushions. The pleasant scent of lavender from an oil burner suffused the room. Casey’s eyes were drawn to a collection of photographs on the walls. There were old and fading sepia images housed in ornate frames, mixed with more recent colour photographs that Casey guessed dated back to the 1970’s. In a glass display cabinet to her left, Casey locked onto an even more recent image that caught her breath. It was Saskia, posing with an elderly woman in a park.

  Saskia was wearing a summery blouse, knee-length shorts and sandals. Her long, dark hair hung down over her slender shoulders. Her pretty smile was warm, affecting. It lit up her face. The elderly woman, also smiling, sat in a wheelchair, and a crocheted rug was draped over her lap. The heart leapt and Casey whipped her hand up to her mouth reflexively.

  “Lesia has been at me all morning, wanting to know when you were coming,” Raelene said as she rounded Casey and took a moment to inspect her.