The Disappearance of Anna Popov

by Gabriel Farago

  Jack hadn’t seen Tristan since Cassandra’s funeral. After that, everything had happened very fast. Tristan had become an orphan and needed care and a home. There was no way his uncle, the Bone Scraper, could look after him. Neither were Rebecca or Jack in a position to take on such a responsibility. Always practical, and quick when it came to making important decisions, the countess came up with the obvious answer: Tristan would come and live with her in France. After what Cassandra had done for Anna, the countess was more than willing to open her heart and her home. The boy embraced the idea, his uncle agreed, and Andrew took care of the formalities.

  Remembering his injury, Jack traced the thin scar on his temple with his finger where the Undertaker’s bullet had missed him by a whisker. Looking at the boy bursting through the door, Rebecca remembered the promise she had made to his mother. She would be pleased, she thought. We have kept our side of the bargain too. The complicated threads of the past few months were coming together at last.

  ‘How’s your French, mate?’ asked Jack, stepping forward to greet the boy.

  ‘Tres bien, monsieur,’ replied Tristan, taking a bow. ‘How’s your head?’

  ‘A little better, thanks.’ Life goes on, thought Jack, remembering Cassandra lying on her deathbed. Turning suddenly quite sad, Tristan looked at Jack as if he, too, had just remembered his dead mother. He’s reading my thoughts again, thought Jack. Sensing the boy’s unease, the countess walked over to Tristan and tousled his hair. ‘His French is quite amazing,’ she said. ‘He learnt the language in just a few weeks. The teachers were very impressed. Run along now, and get changed.’

  ‘When can I read the book?’ asked Tristan, walking reluctantly to the stairs.

  ‘Later,’ said the countess. ‘Off you go.’ Then turning to Rebecca she said, ‘He hasn’t stopped talking about Jack’s book. I don’t think we can keep it away from him.’

  ‘Neither should we,’ said Jack. ‘He’s part of the story. He’s entitled to know what happened.’

  ‘How’s he fitting in?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘He’s become part of the family. I’ve acquired a son. He and Anna are particularly close. They talk without speaking. It’s quite remarkable. They are communicating on a different plane.’ The countess shook her head. ‘You should see them together. But you must be exhausted,’ she said, turning once again into the consummate hostess.

  ‘What about the good Professor?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Nikki will join us later tonight. He had to give a talk in Berlin this morning and will try to get here as soon as he can. Let me show you to your rooms.’

  II

  Professor Popov arrived just after dinner. Tristan had gone to bed, and Anna was in her studio with the baby. Anxious to give Jack and Popov an opportunity to talk privately, the countess kept Rebecca busy by showing her a family photo album filled with snapshots of Anna’s childhood.

  ‘I owe you an apology,’ Popov said, joining Jack on the terrace. ‘I behaved rather badly. In Vienna, I mean.’

  ‘It was a bit of an ambush on my part. At times it’s the only way to open a difficult door,’ Jack said, diplomatically brushing the comment aside.

  ‘Very gracious of you, thank you. You and Katty were right, and I was wrong. About Anna. I had lost faith; Katty never did. What you have done for this family cannot be put into words. At times I still find it difficult to accept that all of this is real. I still have to come to terms with the fact that Anna has been given back to us. It’s a big emotional adjustment. Especially for me.’

  ‘Anna looks remarkably well,’ said Jack, changing direction.

  ‘Physically, she’s made a full recovery. As for her state of mind ...’

  ‘What’s the prognosis?’

  ‘Opinions vary. The only thing everyone seems to agree on is giving it time.’

  ‘She seems very happy here.’

  ‘Yes she is. She’s surrounded by love, but she has become a different person,’ said Popov, lowering his voice. ‘She’s not the young woman I remember. But Katty cannot see this. She’s blinded by gratitude and devotion.’

  ‘Is that such a bad thing?’

  ‘No, it isn’t. She has her life back, and a lot more.’

  ‘The grandson?’

  ‘Yes, and Tristan. He’s incredibly bright. His insights ... miles ahead of his years. It’s quite scary ...’

  ‘He had an exceptional mother ... and ...’

  ‘And he has acquired a new one,’ interrupted Popov. ‘Katty adores him. It’s her way of repaying a huge debt. As you know, she’s very religious. She’s guided by faith.’

  ‘Not such a bad thing either. Happy endings are rare.’

  ‘Do you think this has a happy ending?’

  ‘Do you?’

  Taking his time, Popov considered the question. He almost raised the topic of Jack’s book that had worried him so much lately, but thought better of it. ‘Only time will tell,’ he said instead.

  The countess walked out onto the terrace and looked at the two men locked deep in conversation. She knew that it was time to intervene. The experienced hostess in her recognised the danger signals: leaving them alone for much longer, could upset the balance of the evening. ‘Jack, it’s time for your book, don’t you think?’ she said. ‘The suspense is killing me. Come inside, you two.’

  Jack opened his briefcase, pulled out a copy of his manuscript and put it on the coffee table in front of him. The cover, a plain white page, had only the title typed across it: The Disappearance of Anna Popov.

  The writer in Jack knew that he had crafted a remarkable account of tragedy and love, of deep suffering and acts of selfless sacrifice. And he knew the triumph that he could write about; of faith and hope over unimaginable evil and despair. He also knew that the story had a dark side as well.

  During his recent investigations, Jack had come across new material he had not included in the manuscript. With knowledge comes responsibility. What Jack had discovered had the power to ruin lives, affect generations, and send ripples of pain well into the future.

  During the past three months, Jack had all but locked himself away in Will’s terrace to write the book. Living like a hermit, and leaving the house only to do research and conduct interviews, he had completed the book in record time. Rebecca had returned to New York to cover for him by postponing his commitments and making excuses. She had even managed to keep his publishers happy by promising them something special.

  Taking a deep breath, Jack pushed the manuscript across the table towards the countess and Popov sitting opposite.

  ‘Thank you for letting me into your lives,’ he said. This is a story that has to be told – the right way. I only hope that I’m doing it justice. However, this has now turned into much more than just a fascinating book. This is a record of life. It belongs to you.’ Jack paused, searching for the right way to continue.

  ‘Some parts have been left out – quite deliberately – but you of all people will understand exactly why. In one important respect, the book isn’t finished yet.’ Jack looked anxiously at Rebecca. ‘Not even Rebecca knows about this. I wanted to tell you all at the same time. It’s that important.’

  Rebecca lowered her eyes, a surprised look on her face. Sensing her disappointment, the countess reached for Rebecca’s hand, but said nothing.

  ‘I’m sorry, Becky. I’ve been wrestling with this for some time ... I ...’ Jack shook his head, collecting his thoughts. For a while, no one said anything, the tension in the room rising by the second.

  ‘Are you going to tell us about it?’ prompted Popov quietly.

  ‘During my recent investigations, I’ve discovered something disturbing that will rock you to the core. If we are not careful, it could even destroy ... And it concerns someone right here, under this very roof,’ added Jack quietly.

  ‘Who?’ asked the countess, he voice quivering with apprehension.’

  ‘What is it?’ said Rebecca.

  ‘I thought very hard abo
ut how I should tell you this. I’m a storyteller. So, I’ll tell you a story, and a good story has to start at the beginning.’

  ‘Come on, Jack,’ interrupted Rebecca, ‘is all this really necessary? Why not just tell us?’

  ‘It’s not that simple; trust me. You all heard what the Bone Scraper said at the funeral about his brother Joe, and Cassandra. It was quite a revelation – right? But that was just the beginning. There’s a lot more. Dark secrets and twists ... and a terrible death. So horrible that I have difficulty finding the words to describe it. But it’s all part of the puzzle.’ Jack paused and reached for his Cognac.

  ‘It all began in a travelling circus owned by the Wizard’s parents twenty years or so ago. Eugene was the strong man, and his friend, the Bone Scraper, was his sidekick. They were part of an acrobatic act, The Flying Kiwis, would you believe? The youngest and most exciting members of the troupe were Cassandra and her twin brother Joe. They were the star attraction. She could contort her body in ways that seemed impossible, and both of them could do somersaults that had the audience gasping. Then one day, Cassandra had a terrible accident. Joe missed his timing. His hands just weren’t there when his sister came flying through the air. Cassandra broke her hip and a leg. Badly. The doctors thought that she would never walk again. But in a circus, everyone has to pull his weight. The boys found a new girl and Cassandra, by now a cripple, became a fortune-teller.

  Eugene’s mother, a colourful Gypsy who dabbled in the occult, introduced her to the Tarot. Soon after that, Eugene got into trouble with the law and went to jail. The Bone Scraper followed in his footsteps and the Flying Kiwis were no more. For several years, Joe stayed with the circus and looked after Cassandra, until one day, Eugene returned. Fresh out of jail and with nowhere to go, he wanted to join the circus again. By now, Cassandra, the girl, had turned into an attractive young woman with a boyfriend, a talented young juggler from Argentina called Merlin – the new star attraction. The scene was set for trouble. Big trouble.’

  ‘Why are you telling us all this?’ asked Rebecca. ‘Do we really have to know?’

  ‘Oh yes, you do. Something about Cassandra has troubled me from the very beginning,’ Jack said.

  ‘What?’ asked the countess.

  ‘The initial contact between her and the police. Andrew told us that it was Cassandra who approached the authorities during the investigation with an offer to help. The question is why. She was a psychic living in faraway Sydney, hardly the kind of assistance the police would normally take seriously, don’t you think? What else did she offer? Did she have some information? Andrew couldn’t quite answer this. All he said was that by then the police were desperate and ready to try anything. Yet soon after that, the possibility of a bikie gang being involved was somehow floated by Cassandra – a psychic, remember – apparently without a shred of evidence. I thought this was odd, to say the least, unless you believe in magic. I don’t. There had to be more to this. And as it turned out, there was. Just how much more, I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams.’

  Popov shook his head. ‘This is incredible,’ he said.

  ‘It is, but it’s just the beginning. The years spent in jail had changed Eugene. He had become violent and aggressive and prone to fits of rage. Everyone was afraid of him. He took a particular dislike to Merlin, the fiery young lover, and became infatuated with Cassandra.

  ‘She rejected his advances. We must remember that Eugene was almost 20 years older. She had always looked up to him. The circus was her family, and for years he was the father-figure in a young, impressionable girl’s life without parents. Then one day, things came to a head. There was a fight. Knives were involved and Merlin was badly wounded and later died of his injuries. Eugene pleaded self defence, but was convicted of manslaughter and sent to prison. The Bone Scraper was still inside, doing time – remember? He bribed the guards, and he and Eugene ended up sharing a cell. It became the birthplace of the Wizards of Oz.’

  ‘Why is none of this in your book?’ asked Rebecca, ‘if it’s as relevant as you say?’

  ‘Because of what’s still to come. Please bear with me. A few months after Merlin died, Cassandra gave birth to a boy and left the circus. Tristan was born. That was thirteen years ago. She supported herself and her child by reading Tarot cards for the superstitious and the curious at markets and country fairs. At first, she and her twin brother, Joe, remained very close. However, after their older brother, the Bone Scraper, got out of jail, Joe joined the Wizards of Oz, and things began to change.

  ‘The boys were together again, only this time, they were running a notorious bikie gang. They got into drug trafficking and all kinds of criminal activity and were constantly in and out of prison. Then something happened between the Wizard and the Bone Scraper. They had a spectacular falling out and went their separate ways. The Bone Scraper founded the Warriors, a rival gang, and the turf-war was on in earnest.

  ‘The long and bloody feud came to a head during the famous Pagliacci incident. The Wizards burnt down their rivals’ clubhouse, and Joe was killed soon after. That happened just before the girls disappeared in Alice Springs. The rest you know. But what you don’t know is that Cassandra had vowed to destroy the Wizard long before Anna and Julia were abducted, and had been plotting his downfall for years. The question is, why?

  ‘Was it because he had killed her young lover in a fight all these years ago, or was it her twin brother’s death? Or was there something else altogether? Something deeper? Joe’s death was certainly the catalyst that spurred her into action, but had she contacted the authorities because she knew something? Of course she did! She knew that the Wizards were involved in the abduction and that one of the girls was already dead. How did she know this? There was an informant in the ranks of the Wizards who fed information to the Warriors. She heard it from her brother, the Bone Scraper, and together, they decided to act.

  ‘Cassandra made her move: she went to the police. This started an extraordinary chain of events that ultimately led us to Anna and brought her back home – alive. And all of us here have played a part in that journey – right?’

  ‘This is quite a story, but you still haven’t told us what you found. What about the person who died?’ Rebecca said. ‘Where does all that fit into this?’

  Sitting back in his chair, Jack traced the little white scar on his temple again with the tip of his finger. ‘I haven’t told you how I received this injury. It was a gunshot wound. I was there just before the Wizard died and almost got killed. This is what happened.’

  III

  Beginning with the deathbed promise he had made at the hospital, Jack repeated everything Cassandra had told him just before she died. Then, turning to the events of the night the Wizard was tortured and killed, he described his meeting with the Bone Scraper and told them how the Warriors had used the secret tunnel to break into the compound. Finally, leaving nothing to the imagination, he painted a vivid picture of what took place in the crypt. He told them in brutal detail how the wire-noose had slowly cut into the Wizard’s neck, and described the strange wooden skull contraption the Wizard was standing on, and why. He explained how the Warriors had watched the Wizard die while performing the haka in front of him. Pointing to his scar, he told them how the Undertaker had tried to shoot him, but missed, and then had his head blown off. The only thing Jack didn’t mention was the tape.

  Looking quite pale, the countess kept staring at the manuscript on the table, afraid of the horrors lurking inside, ready to shock the unwary. Then she reached for Popov’s hand. ‘Tell me this is a bad dream,’ she said in Russian. ‘How did we get mixed up in all this, Nikki?’ Popov didn’t reply.

  ‘You must have been out of your mind, Jack,’ whispered Rebecca, ‘to go in there alone.’

  ‘I promised,’ said Jack.

  ‘Does Andrew know?’

  ‘Not all of it. He tried to keep me out of the investigation – remember? He didn’t want to know.’

  ‘I’m not
surprised.’

  ‘Shocking as it is, how can this destroy the life of someone under this roof? I don’t understand,’ said Popov.

  ‘What I’ve told you so far is only the background,’ Jack said, nervously running his fingers through his hair, ‘to help you understand what you are about to hear.’

  ‘Come on, Jack, what is it?’ said Rebecca, drumming her fingers against her armrest.

  ‘It explains why the Wizard and the Bone Scraper parted company and became mortal enemies. Disturbed by all the violence and crime her two brothers had become involved in, Cassandra confided in the Bone Scraper. She wanted to warn him about the Wizard. She did this by telling him why Merlin got himself killed all those years ago.’ Jack paused again, still not quite sure if he should continue. ‘It was an incident that had destroyed her life, and would ultimately take it away altogether.’

  ‘What did she tell him?’ asked Rebecca quietly.

  Here it comes, thought Jack, taking a deep breath. ‘Infuriated by Cassandra’s steadfast rejection, the Wizard finally lost control. In a fit of jealous rage, he raped her, and beat her almost to death.’ Jack squirmed in his chair, a clear sign of his unease. ‘When Merlin found her – bleeding and barely alive – he confronted the Wizard. They had a fight, and Merlin was killed. Remember, the Bone Scraper was still in prison at the time. Crushed by feelings of guilt and shame, Cassandra had kept this to herself during all that time. Somehow, she felt responsible for Merlin’s death. Also, she was afraid of the Wizard. However, there was another, more compelling reason she didn’t talk about it.’

  ‘How did you find all this out?’ interrupted the countess.

  ‘The Bone Scraper told me. I had several meetings with him, and the reason he told me, was you.’

  ‘Me? How come?’ asked the countess, surprised.

  ‘Because of Tristan. He’s now in your care.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will in a moment,’ said Jack quietly. ‘When Cassandra gave birth after Merlin died, everyone naturally assumed that he was the father ...’