(2012) Disappear

by Iain Edward Henn

  ‘Let me go in alone and sit with him. He’s got to be made to see this isn’t the end of everything. I thought that once, after I lost Brian.’ She headed up the stairs.

  ‘Third door on the left,’ Roger said.

  ‘I remember.’

  She slipped quietly into the room and looked about, puzzled. The room was empty. The wide, glass balcony doors were closed, the drapes pulled across, leaving only a soft half-light. Then she heard the door close behind her and the click of the lock.

  Across town, Masterton was cleaning out his desk when Kaplan entered.

  ‘I’m sorry I snapped at you before,’ Kaplan said. He slumped down in the chair facing the desk.

  Masterton saw a worn-out shell of the man he’d known for so long. His energy drained, Kaplan appeared drawn and shrunken. ‘I understand. Father and son stuff. It’s not like I haven’t had a front row seat to it all these years.’

  ‘I need a favour.’ Kaplan said. There was a tone of resignation in his voice.

  ‘Name it.’ Masterton observed Kaplan’s hands closely. They were shaking. In over three decades he’d never seen Henry even close to shaking with nerves.

  ‘I’m in no state to drive right now, Harold. But I need to get across town to police HQ. To see that detective. Lachlan.’

  ‘Why don’t you just phone him?”

  ‘This needs to be in person.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll drive you,’ Masterton said. ‘What’s this all about Henry?’

  ‘Something I should’ve done a long time ago.’

  Masterton waited for an explanation. When there wasn’t one, he asked, ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t talk about it right now, Harold. Maybe later. But I need to see Lachlan now.’

  They were half way out the door when the phone rang.

  Roger pocketed the key to the rumpus room and retreated along the corridor to his father’s bedroom. He picked up the phone beside the bed and punched in the number. ‘Henry Kaplan, please. It’s his son. Urgent.’ He waited. ‘Dad?’

  ‘What?’

  The reply was angry, confused. Good, thought Roger. ‘I’m at your place. Jennifer’s here.’

  ‘What’s going on, Roger?’

  ‘She’s agitated, losing control. Knows about your involvement with Brian and Winterstone.’

  ‘What the hell-’

  ‘No time to explain further. I’ve called the cops. Can you get here?’ He hung up without waiting for an answer.

  While he’d been talking, Roger hadn’t heard the crunch of tyres on gravel outside, or the footsteps moments later on the front steps.

  ‘Change of plan,’ Kaplan said to Masterton. ‘I’ve got to rush home.’ He headed for the doorway.

  ‘Was that Roger?’ Masterton asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Henry, what is going on?’

  ‘Can’t talk now.’

  ‘You’re in no state to drive, you said that yourself.’

  ‘I’ll be okay.’

  Masterton took chase, following Kaplan to the lifts. ‘I’m driving you, Henry,’ he said.

  Jennifer went to the balcony doors and peered through a parting in the drapes. Splinters of sunlight sparkled against the framework of bark and leaf that surrounded the house. The doors were locked. What was Roger doing? Was Henry even here? A cold uneasiness traced ghostly fingers up her spine.

  She heard the click of the lock again and turned. Roger stood in the doorway. He closed the door behind him.

  ‘Roger..?’ The loop of wire in his hands sent an electric jolt of realisation through her. The implication was obvious. Samantha, attacked by the garrotte killer. Once again she heard Neil Lachlan’s words, someone close enough to your family to know you’d hired Stuart James. But Roger? For a sickening moment she thought her bladder would betray her.

  ‘It has to be this way, Jennifer.’ His voice was calm, impersonal.

  ‘What’s this all about, Roger?’ She struggled to sound forceful. In control.

  He began to tingle all over, bursting with the urge to kill. He hadn’t expected to feel this way. Not with someone he knew so well. Not with Jennifer. Yet the sensation was there, deeper and stronger than ever. Is it because of my newfound freedom? he wondered.

  This was the other, hidden side to him, freed now to become the dominant part.

  My new life. It doesn’t matter whether I know the victim or not.

  ‘My father’s on his way, but I can’t take the chance that you’ll warn him in some way.’ He inched forward, beads of perspiration glinting on his forehead.

  Terror gripped her like a physical thing, vice-like, crushing the breath from her lungs. ‘Warn him? Roger … stop this.’

  All at once he lunged at her, cat-like, eyes alive with a darkness she hadn’t seen before. She reacted quickly, leaping back, arms raised protectively - but he lunged again, snapping the wire coil into place around her neck and stepping to the side, twisting the wire as he did.

  ‘Dear God -’ The words were ripped from her as the wire closed on her larynx, hard and cold against her flesh.

  He positioned himself behind her, maintaining the rock solid hold on the wire. From this position it was easy to apply the final pressure while keeping the victim completely restrained.

  He felt her body go rigid, every muscle and nerve-end tight with tension, trying to pull against him. Her hands had flown up to her throat, her fingers prying at the wire. It was a gesture he knew well.

  So natural. So utterly useless.

  He forced her onto her knees, his own knee pushing into the small of her back. She was fighting for breath now. Desperate. He allowed the tautness of the loop to slacken a little, giving her just enough breath. He had time enough to play and he wanted to experiment, draw it out. And talk. He wanted to boast - and to explain. After all, this was no stranger. Jennifer Parkes was part of the history of all that had happened.

  Someone who would understand, as she died.

  Jennifer gulped tiny mouthfuls of air. Not enough. ‘Roger … please, no …’ Her voice was a croak, her vision blurring fast.

  ‘You shouldn’t have interfered,’ Roger told her. ‘I can’t take the chance of others learning about Brian’s audit.’ His breath was heavy, hot against her ear. ‘No-one would have been any the wiser if you hadn’t hired that detective.’

  ‘The constable at my place … knows you called me …’ The words squeezed between her clenched teeth. ‘They’ll … know …’

  ‘They won’t even suspect,’ Roger said triumphantly. ‘There’s a nice little explosive device in that case on the table. Same as the one that tore into the mine. When I’m finished here I’ll watch from outside for my father to arrive, then I’ll detonate. The police will think you both died at the hands of the Asbestos Victims Organisation. A ratbag group that doesn’t even exist. And I’ll have eliminated two birds with one stone.’

  The noose tightened again. ‘You … did that?’

  ‘Yes. Eventually they’ll figure there’s no AVO, but I’ve allowed for every eventuality. I made an anonymous call to that deputy commissioner, pointed him in the direction of Rory McConnell. That article of his came in very handy, it will help to make him look guilty.’

  ‘Why..?’ Despite the pain and the struggle for breath, Jennifer’s mind grasped for a plan. Keep him talking. He wants to talk.

  ‘I had to stop the sale. Without his precious corporation cash flow Dad couldn’t keep hiring the men who stopped me.’

  ‘I don’t … understand.’ She was taking short, regular breaths, reminding herself mentally to stay calm at all costs. Her vision had improved.

  Don’t move, don’t panic him. He has to think I’m totally at his mercy and he has to keep talking.

  ‘Time’s up. I think you understand enough. And this makes perfect poetic sense, doesn’t it? First the mine, then the house of the man who owns the mine, while you just happened to be here.’ His voice had taken on a strange, dream-like quali
ty.

  ‘Roger. We’re … friends.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have tried to take control, the way you always do. Like Brian. I thought a friend like him would keep his mouth shut about the secret money transferred into Winterstone. That’s why I hired him. But oh, no, not Brian.’ A short, incredulous laugh escaped his lips. ‘He wanted me to go to Dad, come clean about stealing the funds.’

  ‘Oh … God. You …’

  ‘No. Not like this. I ran him down.’ All of a sudden he jerked her head back and tightened the wire. ‘But that’s enough. Perhaps you shouldn’t have resisted my advances years ago, Jennifer. Things might have been different.’ He pulled tighter and tighter.

  This was more intoxicating than any other “kill”. He had a searing heat in his loins, a lightheadedness, and he realised there would be time not just to garrotte Jennifer slowly but to rape her, disfigure that beautiful face with the edge of the wire - a greater power, a more all-encompassing control than he’d ever exercised before.

  He could get better and better at this.

  He realized now that erasing Jennifer Parkes was the final step in leaving his old life behind, and beginning the new.

  And he could tell Jennifer, as she died, more about the detail of his killings. In particular his murder of Brian; how much he’d enjoyed the monthly ritual of maintaining the cylinders, housing the bodies and the containers that stored their blood; how he’d open the lids and look at the bodies, laughing and hugging himself as he thought of her anguish and the others who never knew what had become of their loved ones.

  He loosened the wire again, allowing tiny breaths of air into Jennifer’s exploding lungs. Not nearly enough, just an amount to tease. He put his mouth to her ear, whispering harshly, ‘Let me tell you all about my game, Jen. Once I knew we were going to lose the warehouse, along with everything else, I knew I’d have to get rid of my frozen trophies. So I put the bodies back where they’d last been seen, knowing full well it would baffle the police - and annoy the hell out of the bastards who watched me all those years.’

  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.

  THIRTY FOUR

  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.