(2012) Disappear

by Iain Edward Henn

‘You go,’ Bryant said. ‘I’ll stay and keep the place off limits until the forensics boys get here. But tell ‘em to hurry, will you?’ He glanced about at the bare brick walls, the bizarre array of canisters and caskets. ‘This place gives me the creeps.’

  THIRTY TWO

  Hans Falkstog lived in a colonial white, double storey mansion, set in lush, green landscaped gardens. The rear of the estate, complete with an Olympic size swimming pool and tennis courts, backed onto a private strip of beach where its owner jogged most mornings.

  This wasn’t just the home of a wealthy, enigmatic businessman. A top-secret operation was housed within. Lachlan had found that private security firms were a mushrooming business, preferring to run their offices from private residences rather than city blocks. And, they guarded their own confidentiality as closely as that of their clients.

  The elite security professionals came from a variety of backgrounds; they were commandos, ASIO agents or military officers. Many were martial arts experts. Lachlan knew that a growing number of these bodyguards were former policemen.

  Falkstog Security Professionals employed its people on a freelance, project-by-project basis. It also called on computer programmers, electronics experts, locksmiths and lawyers. The lion’s share of its assignments these days were for executive bodyguards - the fastest growing area of the industry.

  Sounding irritated, Falkstog agreed to a brief meeting when his secretary buzzed through to say a Detective Sergeant Lachlan was waiting in the reception area. Falkstog was tall and athletic, with the finely honed, muscular physique of a much younger man. His sandy hair had receded and he had the sky blue eyes and porcelain smooth skin of a Swede. He ushered Lachlan into his study and listened, poker faced as Lachlan asked about the nature of his work for Henry Kaplan.

  ‘I can’t discuss private client business,’ said Falkstog with a cool smile. ‘I’m sure you understand that.’

  ‘I appreciate your position on this. But you’re not a doctor or a lawyer …’

  ‘That doesn’t rule me out on having principles, detective.’

  ‘Mr. Falkstog, this is a multiple homicide investigation. I believe the information you hold on your client is vital to that investigation. If you won’t talk now I’ll have police lawyers subpoena you and your files to appear in court.’

  ‘What in blazes!’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t want certain aspects of your business dragged before the public.’

  ‘This is outrageous.’

  ‘I don’t have time to be stonewalled like this.’ Lachlan was tired, short on patience. His anger showed. ‘There’s a killer out there, and he’s ready to kill again. I’ll see you in court.’

  Falkstog showed a weary indignity. He shrugged. ‘I suppose I might as well talk to you now, detective, and save us both that sort of trouble. Let me assure you I have no desire to hinder an important investigation. At the same time I’m required to protect the safety and privacy of my clientele. How can I help?’

  ‘Over twenty-five years ago, Henry Kaplan received a kidnap threat against his son. He employed the services of your company.’

  ‘Yes. Some disgruntled employee tried to scare the shit out of him. The coppers nabbed the guy a few weeks later.’

  ‘Since then your services have been retained by the Kaplan Corporation?’

  ‘That’s right. Security patrols for his business premises, cleansing his boardrooms of industrial bugs. That sort of thing.’

  ‘Some years later, Kaplan also employed you on a private basis.’

  A cloud crossed Falkstog’s eyes. ‘Yes. He was adamant it should remain a confidential matter. Not that anything illegal was involved. It was simply a matter of some embarrassment to him.’

  ‘Embarrassment?’

  ‘Private matter, Lachlan.’

  ‘For Chrissakes, he paid you $150,000 a month, every month, for many years? For a private matter that was embarrassing to him?’

  ‘Round the clock surveillance. Not as outrageous as you might think. These days there’s more than a few wealthy people, usually a select group of chief executives, who have themselves or families or important staff members watched night and day. Visiting pop superstars and actors, even a few who don’t really need it, do the same. It’s been a growing trend, ever since John Lennon. And it’s lucrative, incredibly so. Perhaps you should consider a change of career, detective?’

  ‘So, for more than a decade your people carried out round the clock surveillance on Henry Kaplan?’

  ‘No,’ said Falkstog, his face impassive, eyes cold. ‘I’m afraid you haven’t got it quite right.’

  Jennifer’s phone call to Max Bryant was brief. She gave him the details of the Longer Life website. She no sooner replaced the receiver than the phone rang again.

  ‘Jen, It’s Roger.’

  There was no mistaking the anxiety in his voice. ‘Roger, I’m glad you called. I heard the news reports …’

  ‘Jen. Dad’s a mess. I’ve never seen him like this. It’s not just the mine disaster. Becker’s pulled out, everything’s collapsing. And this business with Winterstone and Brian. Dad’s devastated. It seems Harold Masterton was involved. But Dad came charging into my office, blaming me for everything - so I left.’

  ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘When I calmed down I went back. Apparently he’d stormed off, smashing things, babbling. Went home. Can you meet me there?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s just that I know you’ll be able to calm him down …’

  ‘Roger, I’m on my way.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Carly asked as Jennifer hung up the phone.

  ‘Hold on.’ Jennifer ran into the adjoining room. ‘I’ve got to rush over to Henry Kaplan’s place, constable,’ she said to the policeman on watch. ‘Family crisis. You’ll make certain Carly’s okay here?’

  ‘Of course, Ms Parkes,’ said the young man. ‘But I’m under orders to watch you as well. I can’t allow you to go off -’

  ‘Detective Lachlan made it clear that I’m not a prisoner in my own home,’ Jennifer cut across him with steely resolve. ‘I need to go now. Urgently. Look, why don’t you arrange for another unit to meet me at the Kaplan home in Vaucluse?’

  ‘You’re driving straight there?’

  ‘Yes, constable. Straight there.’

  ‘Hold on. Let me phone through and clear it with my superiors.’

  He made the call on his cell and Jennifer stepped back into the corridor.

  Carly trailed her mother to the front door. ‘Be careful, Mum.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And Mum?’

  Jennifer paused at the front door, giving Carly an enquiring glance.

  ‘I’m sorry about … before. Not trusting in you. About Dad. About lots of things.’

  ‘It’s in the past. Forget it, okay?’

  ‘Okay. And Mum, shouldn’t you be waiting for the all-clear about heading off.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be fine.’ And she was gone.

  Carly turned as the constable, having completed his call, stepped into the corridor.

  ‘Apparently Detective Senior Sergeant Lachlan’s orders were strictly that your mother stay within watch at all times,’ he said to Carly, looking toward the front door. They heard the sound of the car backing onto the street and then heading off.

  ‘The detective should know my mother better than that by now,’ Carly said. ‘If I were you, constable, I’d see to it that a back-up unit meets her at the Kaplan place, wouldn’t you?’ The constable, frowning, hurriedly made another call. Carly grinned, and it occurred to her that she’d sounded exactly as her mother would’ve sounded in the same situation. Funnily enough, that didn’t bother her at all.

  For a moment she stood by the door, looking out, and said a private prayer for her mother. Lord, keep her safe.

  She closed the door and went back into the living room to wait.

  Hans Falkstog knew that if he turned Neil Lachlan away, the detec
tive would be back within hours with a search warrant and a small army of back-up coppers. He couldn’t expose his clandestine operation to a situation like that. So for the moment he had to treat Lachlan with kid gloves. Co-operate. Reveal more than he wanted to.

  And then, when the coast was clear, he’d deal with the meddling policeman. At the rear of Falkstog’s multi-level home was a special command room, built as an extension to the main house. He took Lachlan through to where banks of sophisticated electronic gadgetry were housed. It had been Falkstog’s idea to do this, a ploy to maintain some control over this unexpected meeting. He’d already argued with Lachlan that he couldn’t reveal the identity of the person he’d had watched for so many years - that, Falkstog insisted angrily, was a matter of professional discretion and client privilege.

  ‘As I’m sure you’re aware, security companies like mine are a growing industry. In fact, we represent a wide-reaching international civilian espionage network. Nothing illegal, you understand. Mostly gathering information, or protection. We offer a kind of secret service, if you like, to businessmen and others who can afford us. Not to mention government departments and even the federal police who have engaged my services from time to time.’

  ‘All the more reason I’d expect your full co-operation in this matter,’ said Lachlan.

  Falkstog gave a wry smile. ‘I’m just not convinced you’re on the right track here, Detective.’

  Falkstog employed two operators per shift in his control room - three shifts every twenty-four hours to monitor the equipment. A video system and an ultra-high frequency radio network transmitted pictures and sounds from various field agents with mobile gear. The material gathered was then stored on the hard drives.

  Lachlan wasn’t an expert on electronic surveillance - but he felt certain that some of the equipment in the room was highly classified military and police hardware - not for sale or use by civilians. That however, was a matter for later.

  And there would be a later. He intended to come back, with Ed Razell’s endorsement, and raid Falkstog’s premises. ‘And this is how you carried out the monitoring?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Falkstog, his voice betraying a trace of pride. ‘I had two operatives in the field, working in shifts around the clock. Usually they were stationed in a car or small van with video and audio monitoring equipment, always within reasonable striking distance of the subject. In addition, all operatives carry long range, night vision binoculars.

  ‘Audio micro bugs were placed in the subject’s car, his apartment, his office, his briefcase - and, of course, at the warehouse.’

  Lachlan raised his eyebrows at the complexity and thoroughness of such surveillance. And yet, to men like Falkstog who ran such businesses, this was routine. ‘All these years you knew this man was a vicious serial killer, yet you sat on the information -’ The sudden anger in his voice couldn’t be mistaken.

  ‘Absolutely not!’ Falkstog interjected with equal anger. ‘I already explained on the way down, Detective Lachlan, that neither my agents nor myself had any reason to believe this man might have been a killer. I was told, and I believed, he had a psychological condition, that he could be dangerous to himself or to others, so he needed to be watched for that reason. And you have not produced any physical evidence to the contrary. If there was any proof …’

  Falkstog was unaware that Lachlan knew of the many killings that had been prevented by Falkstog’s men.

  Lachlan didn’t want to reveal any more or provoke Falkstog any further. The element of surprise was his best option now – to return within the hour with a warrant to seize Falkstog’s records.

  Falkstog himself, Lachlan decided, would keep until later.

  For now, he needed to quickly connect Falkstog’s surveillance with the findings at the Winterstone warehouse - and link them definitively with the man he was now certain was the garrotte murderer.

  After Lachlan had left, Hans Falkstog picked up his phone and called the number he thought of as the hot line.

  It was a long time since he’d used this number, a long time since he’d spoken to the man on the other end of the line.

  Falkstog said, as the call was answered, ‘I have a code one, repeat code one situation here.’ He explained, quickly and briefly, about the visit from Lachlan, and about the information Lachlan possessed. ‘I had to play along for the moment, but this detective will blow the whistle, within hours I’d say. He must be eliminated - fast.’

  The man on the other end of the line, Commander (retired) Malcolm Addison, formerly of military intelligence, sat in his Canberra office, a 40-minute flight away in the nation’s capital.

  ‘We can’t do that,’ he said.

  ‘Did you hear me right -’ Falkstog began.

  ‘Lachlan is the senior man on this garrotte killer case,’ Addison cut across him. ‘There’s massive government, police and media focus on that case. It’s simply too dangerous, too sensitive an issue to take Lachlan out.’

  ‘Then what can -?’

  ‘Listen to me,’ said Addison, ‘listen very carefully.’

  THIRTY THREE

  ‘Phones haven’t stopped ringing,’ Ron Aroney said as Lachlan entered the Special Unit room. ‘Razell’s phoned back three times wanting to know what we found at the warehouse, and whether we’d had McConnell in here yet.’

  ‘I’ll call Razell in a minute. McConnell?’

  ‘I sent a car for him but there’s no sign of him at his flat or at that newspaper office. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Max had better luck checking on that name from those letters, Rentin, and your hunch was right.’

  ‘Where is she now?’ Lachlan directed this to Max Bryant.

  ‘Died eighteen years ago. Body released to her son for a private burial. But there are no records of any such burial.’

  ‘So, that’s how it began,’ said Lachlan.

  ‘There’s more. I just got off the line from the contact number on that Longer Life website. A guy named William Potter answered, got him up in the middle of the night. He wasn’t too pleased when he found out it was police in Australia.’ Bryant handed Lachlan the printouts from the website. ‘Fascinating stuff. All the guff on this cryonics, and on the Longer Life company.’

  Lachlan flicked briefly through the pages. Lifelines Inc had been started twenty-two years before by a Californian millionaire industrialist named John Gallagher. He’d become interested in cryonics but didn’t want to sign up with any of the existing cryonics societies of the time. Gallagher liked to do things his own way so he’d started his own organisation. His was a commercial enterprise, signing up clients as well as building and selling the necessary equipment to others.

  He had since died and been frozen. His son, Stephen Gallagher oversaw the organisation, and a retired colleague, William Potter, ran the company as a part time interest. It was the younger Gallagher and Potter who’d relocated the company and changed its name.

  ‘Potter was eager to help, though, when I told him we suspected a killer of using the cryonics gear,’ Bryant continued, ‘he told me one of their men, Clyde Fritzwater, came to Sydney for two days in the mid-Nineties as part of the sale arrangement with Winterstone.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To instruct Harold Masterton on how to operate the equipment and prepare bodies for freezing. One-on-one training, including how to make the surgically precise incisions needed. Apparently it’s possible for one person to carry out the procedures alone, though certainly not ideal.’

  ‘So Masterton bought the equipment,’ said Lachlan, puzzled.

  ‘Hold on. I got Fritzwater out of bed too. He confirmed that he made the trip. But even back then, Harold Masterton would’ve been a lot older than the man Fritzwater described having met. And there’s been no further contact in the years since between Longer Life and the man who made the purchase, the man he believed was named Masterton.’

  ‘A younger man? That ties in with what I suspect from the Falkstog surveillance.’ Lachlan picked up the pho
ne. ‘No sign of any problems at the Parkes home?’

  ‘All quiet,’ Bryant said.

  Lachlan wanted to make certain, and to bring Jennifer up to date. He called her landline number. ‘What’s the name of the guy currently posted there?’

  ‘Baltin,’ said Aroney.

  Carly answered. ‘I’m fine, Sergeant Lachlan,’ she replied to his initial question, ‘and your Constable Baltin is right here. Do you think it would be all right if he took me to the hospital? Meg called and she needs the support right now. Samantha’s still critical.’

  ‘Not right now. Could you put your mother on?’

  ‘She had to go over to Henry Kaplan’s place. Roger called. Some kind of emergency. The constable’s arranged for a man to meet her there.’

  Lachlan drew a sharp breath. ‘Listen to me carefully, Carly.’ The sudden steel in his voice alarmed her. ‘You’re to stay right where you are. Tell Baltin that no-one - friends or otherwise - are to be allowed in. No-one. Understand?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice was a whisper.

  Lachlan slammed the phone down unintentionally. ‘Come on,’ he called to Aroney as he ran for the door. He stopped for an instant at the front desk of the section dispatcher. ‘Put out an APB. All available cars, in the vicinity, to the Kaplan house, Vaucluse. Radio through the address. Pronto.’

  Roger opened the front door as Jennifer stepped from her car and ran up the front steps. ‘Jen. Thank Christ. Thanks for coming.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Of course I’d come. Where’s Henry?’

  ‘Upstairs, in the old rumpus room.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Hard to say. I don’t think it’s a breakdown, otherwise I’d have called the medics. He just seemed to go off the deep end.’

  ‘God knows the two of you didn’t need this bombing on top of everything else.’

  ‘Or that miserable article by Rory McConnell.’

  ‘I could strangle him for that.’ Jennifer clenched her fists at the thought of how they’d all been duped.

  ‘Dad’s calmed down a bit now. But I’m worried –’