by Sharon Haste
'I'm going to start making some bacon and egg sandwiches,' she says. 'Who wants to help?'
A young woman pushes herself up. Her skin is golden caramel, and she wears a straight shift loosely over a bony frame. She has dark curly hair and beautiful, warm, brown, almond-shaped eyes. She nods shyly at Charli and follows her to the barbeque.
The rest of the mob swirls around them. Charli enjoys listening to their stories and sharing her food. She looks on in wonder at their happy faces and jolly banter. Despite having no material possessions, these people are rich in culture, family, and hope. Her heart is overflowing when she leaves the river to catch another bus.
Her last stop is a forty-minute bus ride away. The bus is full, and she's glad to alight at her stop. She looks up at the low-set bungalow; the grass is now cropped short in the postage-stamp front lawn. She finds the frangipani tree and inhales the sweet perfume of its blooms, memories flooding back to a night that seems so long ago. A woman answers her knock and greets her with kisses on both cheeks. She stays for two hours, leaving with the afternoon sun hot on her shoulders and her belly full of spicy bolognaise.
'Thank you, Charli. You are a good, good girl. I do not know how I will ever repay you for your kindness,' Rosa says, dabbing at the endless flow of tears.
'I promised Tobi that I would help. Consider it a gift for all the good you've done in this world, Rosa.'
And with that, the bus whisks her away, leaving Rosa waving on the footpath and coughing on the diesel fumes.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Sam slouches on her couch, distracted. An untouched glass of bourbon is in her hand, ice melting into the liquid. She's just returned from her date with Alex and has the warm intoxication of a fledgling relationship suffocating her other thoughts. They dined at a bustling seaside cafe, the breeze lifting their hair. A bottle of crisp, white wine took the edge off their day. She ate seafood while he tucked into a juicy steak; both dishes were served with a crunchy salad and bowls of golden chips.
After the initial nerves passed, they fell into a companionable conversation: sharing cop stories, laughing at each other anecdotes, and enjoying the ambience. Their time together sped by so fast that she was surprised when the staff began stacking the outdoor furniture and the last patrons drifted off. Alex rose, offering her his arm.
'Fancy a walk before I take you home?' he asked.
She nodded, just as reluctant to end the night, feeling a pleasant warmth as she took his hand. He was a full head and shoulders above her and almost twice her width, well-muscled beneath his light blue shirt. They walked along the foreshore, hand in hand, making easy conversation for over an hour before they returned to his car and he drove her home. He parked outside her unit and turned to look into her eyes. His hand touched her cheek before he lowered his lips to brush hers. He kissed her again with more enthusiasm, making her heart flutter. She smiled when she thanked him for a wonderful evening and promised another date soon. Before she exited the car, he handed her a large manila envelope.
'About your suspect, Tomás Romero,' he said
'Great, thanks,' she said, clutching the envelope in her hand.
She floated upstairs on a cloud; she had no memory of the trek up three flights of stairs or unlocking her door. Too wired to sleep, she poured herself bourbon, topped it with a few ice cubes, and flicked on the television. The envelope sits beside her on the couch.
She picks it up and opens it, pulling a sheaf of papers and photographs from inside.
Thomas Richter's teenage eyes stare at her from the black and white photo. There's no mistaking him, despite his obvious youth. She peers at it for a long time, her mind flicking back to her date; a smile plays on her lips. She drops the photo beside her and picks up the sheaf of papers.
Thomas's birth certificate is on the top: Tomás Vincent Romero. She eyeballs the details for a moment before shuffling it to the bottom of the pile. Next is a certificate of name change from Tomás Romero to Thomas Richter. It was issued soon after he arrived in Australia. There are more birth certificates beneath; there is one for Charlize Grace, another is for Ashley James, and a third certificate is for a baby called Tia Sophia, born just over a year before Charli. Sam's mouth drops at the birth mother's name inscribed at the top of the certificate.
'So what has happened to you, Tia?' she asks, sitting up a little higher and sipping her drink. She races to the kitchen bench for a pad and pen and jots down the baby's name and date of birth. 'So the Richters are not skeleton-free,' she whispers, almost triumphant. By her calculations, Tia Romero will be almost eighteen. Was she adopted? Or did she die? She frowns, trying to recall if Thomas mentioned another daughter. Her interest is piqued; she pushes the certificate to the bottom of the pile in her hands and looks at the next page.
It takes her more than an hour to read the rest. There are a few run sheets for petty crimes when Thomas was a preteen: loitering, urinating in a public place, shoplifting a pack of cigarettes, and stealing food.
As Sam reads them, she gets the sense that young Tomás Romero had either pissed someone off big time or there was a cop in Seruso who wanted him off the streets. Something must have clicked because the arrests stop at age thirteen, but the police encounters continue. The remaining wad of papers relates to a family situation that makes Sam understand why he moved to another country and changed his name. Tears well in her eyes as she reads of habitual, repeated, and heinous abuse of the young Tomás. His siblings and his mother were at the hands of a drug- and alcohol-fuelled man who had no conscience. Sam pales at the thick wad in her hands, growing sicker as they span back to his toddler days and wondering what kind of child protection system was in place in South America. Not only was Tomás subject to the abuse, but he was also a witness to the ongoing torture of his entire family through his formative years until his father died in a work-related accident in 1995. The last two episodes relate to an assault on his brother Pedro in 1999 and the death of another brother, Alex, in 1998. His dead brother was only twenty-four years old and had high doses of amphetamines in his system as well as a loaded pistol and a kilogram of cocaine on his person at the time of his death. Tomás's neighbour found his brother's corpse on her front lawn.
Sam drops the papers on the coffee table, relishing the burn as she throws back her bourbon. Now she understands William Fox's reluctance to have him as a son-in-law. Thinking of the Thomas Richter she met a few days ago, she has nothing but admiration for the man who could rise from that kind of childhood to be such a success on the other side of the globe. She feels a tiny sense of elation for him. No wonder he wanted to change his name.
She leafs through the papers, wondering what kind of business the Romeros were in, deciding she'd give the Seruso office another call to get some background information on the brother, Pedro, and the father, also called Pedro. Besides drugs and guns, she was sure there was something else, which may be the reason Thomas had been so tight-lipped since Charli was arrested. What's he trying to hide? What does he know? She needs to have another chat with Thomas and find out what he's thinking. She grabs a pad and pen from her bag and starts making notes from the papers in front of her. She makes one list to ask the overseas office and another to ask Thomas Richter, also known as Tomás Romero.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Thomas has a five o'clock shadow on his face, and his eyes are ringed with dark shadows when Sam calls him the next day. She senses a moment of hesitation before he throws his front door open and invites her inside. A short, slender woman greets her from the kitchen, making Sam jolt. She has the same blonde hair as Clare; although, on closer inspection, her face is very different. She greets her with reservation, introducing herself as Elizabeth, Clare's older sister. Thomas invites her to sit while Elizabeth offers coffee and busies herself at the machine.
Sam settles herself at the family table, once again awed by the decadent kitchen. Despite the festive decor and the closeness to Christmas, there's no holiday spirit in the roo
m. Thomas is thinner, and his demeanour is less confident, almost timid. Sam clears her throat, reluctant to further add to the man's distress. She begins the interview in a firm, yet gentle, tone and warns him about the nature of the questions, asking his permission to proceed. He seems undisturbed by the request as if he's been expecting her to return.
'Just a matter of time before one's past rears its ugly head,' he says. 'Fire away, DC Harris. I'm ready.'
'It's Sam,' she says, wanting to stretch a hand out and touch his. 'Please call me Sam.'
'Sam it is,' he says, inclining his head.
Elizabeth brings mugs of coffee with sugar and milk and hovers.
'Do you want me to stay, Tom?' she asks, her eyes flitting between Sam and Thomas.
'No, I'll be okay, Liz. You can go. Thanks for the coffee,' he says, giving her a genuine smile. Sam feels like there's a comfortable warmth between them. Elizabeth's eyes are on her.
'Are you here to ask about Tom's past?' she asks, eyes widening.
Sam nods.
'I just want to say that he has been a model citizen since arriving in Australia. I don't know much about his family, but you can't judge him for the things they did.'
Sam nods. 'I won't,' she reassures the woman.
'And I know Dad was not too keen on Clare marrying this man, but he was an old fool who thought everyone was out to get his fortune. It was no good to him in the end. Can't spend it when you're gone.' She points to Thomas. 'This man does not have a mean bone in his body. He's a good father and was the best husband to my sister. She loved him more than life itself, and he loved her just as much.' Tears are pouring down her cheeks.
Sam's on her feet, not sure what to do. She spies a box of tissues across the room and rushes for them, tripping on her chair and landing sprawled on the floor. Elizabeth's eyes widen in shock, and Sam starts to laugh, her face crimson. The tension broken, the room fills with snorting mirth. She pushes back to her feet and reaches for the tissues, offering them to Liz. She pulls two from the box and dabs at her eyes, still smiling. Sam deposits the box on the table, placing a hand on the other woman's shoulder.
'I believe you,' she says. 'Thomas has no reason for concern.'
She nods, apparently satisfied that she would not return to an empty house and discover that her brother-in-law is behind bars.
'Right then,' she says taking a deep breath. 'I'll leave you to it. I have a couple of errands to run. Should be back in a couple of hours,' she says to Thomas.
'See you, Liz, and thanks,' Thomas says to her retreating back.
Sam resumes her position and lifts the coffee to her lips. She makes a face and drags the sugar bowl towards her, adding two large teaspoonsful before stirring and sipping again. She smiles in satisfaction.
'That's better.'
Thomas is watching her when she lifts her eyes to him.
'Ready to begin?' she asks, placing the recorder on the table and pressing the red button.
He nods. She begins by taking him through what she knows, asking him to fill in any blanks. His face hardens when he tells his story, and she knows it's not easy for him.
'There were six kids, Madre, and Padre living in that tiny house,' he says. 'There were no luxuries, even though Padre earned enough money from his business ventures. He had a love for gambling and drinking, and his family rated a very poor third in his life. Often we didn't have enough food and were forced to steal or beg from strangers. Whenever he made a good deal and got some cash, he would celebrate by going to the bar and buying drinks for everyone in the room while his own family starved. Sometimes he'd come home with something for us, but often his arms would be empty and his fists clenched. He had a ferocious temper when he'd been drinking.' He looks at Sam. 'His eyes would glaze over, and his face would show pure rage. It was impossible to snap him out of it. He would release his demons until the police handcuffed him and threw him in a cell for the night.' He rakes a shaking hand through his hair. 'My father was not even a decent man when he was sober.'
Sam nods, remaining silent and letting Thomas talk. She senses his relief at being able to let it out after so long. He looks up at her.
'Clare and the kids did not know about this,' he says. 'I told Clare some, but nobody wants to tell their wife they have a monster for a father.'
Sam nods in understanding. 'Can you tell me about his business, Thomas? What kinds of things did your father do to earn his money?'
'He did plenty.' There's a sarcastic tone creeping into his voice. 'None of it good. He was an importer, so to speak. He would import goods into Chile from other countries and within South America and sell them at a higher price.'
'What kind of goods?'
'Depends on what was available. Sometimes he would import rare species of animals and birds, sometimes he imported medicines we couldn't get in Chile, and many times he smuggled drugs in. He also imported guns and other weaponry.'
'Was there anything else?' Sam asks. She feels him shift.
'Well,' he sighs, taking a sip of coffee and looking like an actor working his way up to the finale.
'There is something else, but he didn't import it.'
Sam waits, sipping her coffee and giving him time.
'He sold women.' His voice is little more than a whisper. 'Tourists and some local girls. None of us liked it; it made us feel sick.'
Sam's eyes widen. 'Women?'
'Yeah,' Thomas says. 'He had a few young, good-looking locals working for him. They'd lure the girls in over the internet and encourage them to holiday in Port Del Mar, saying it had beautiful beaches and a good nightlife. Or he'd get his boys to charm the ones already on holiday. They'd get them alone or spike their drinks and sell them off to other rich drug runners or millionaires.'
Sam's shocked; she sits back in her chair and takes a few long breaths.
'What did they do with them?' she asks.
'Use them for sex, I think,' Thomas says. 'I guess when they tired of them, they sold them or they just disappeared.'
'Didn't their families look for them?'
'Oh yeah, often they came to find them. They hired local private detectives, but they were all on my father's payroll, one way or another, so they never found anything worthwhile and took more of the family's money. It was a disgrace and something I had nothing to do with.'
'Do you think it still happens today?' Sam asks.
'I don't know. I left a long time ago; I cut all ties. I hope not.'
'What happened to your father's business after his death?'
There's a pause while Thomas thinks about his answer.
'Did it die with him?' she asks, hopeful.
'I wish I could say yes, but unfortunately my brothers carried it on for a time,' he says.
'Did they take over the importing of women? What part of it?'
'All of it,' he says. 'It caused many arguments between us and fractured the family. In the end, I couldn't take it anymore and left.'
'How old were you when you came to Australia?'
'I was twenty.'
'What year was that?'
'It was in 1999, just after the death of my eldest brother, Alex.'
'Did you know your wife when you left Chile?’
'Yes, I met Clare earlier that year when she holidayed at Port Del Mar. She's the reason I came to Australia.' His dark eyes are upon her.
'Do you want to tell me about it?'
He nods in a defeated kind of way. He finishes his coffee and excuses himself to use the bathroom. When he returns, he gets two glasses of cold water from the dispenser in the fridge.
'I know what you're thinking,' he says, looking her straight in the eye. 'But I swear to you I had nothing to do with the family business, and when I fell in love with Clare, I was not working with my brothers to make her the next sex slave to some arrogant drug lord.'
She nods.
'Clare had just arrived in Port Del Mar and her friend, Mel...Melissa, dragged her to a bar. They'd had a long bus ride and
Clare was really tired, and a little tipsy and tripped in the gutter. I saved her from the fall and walked her to her hotel.' He smiles at the memory. 'She was so young and beautiful. I think I was a little in love right then. I ran into her by accident a day or so later. I was having coffee with a friend, who had to leave to pick up his wife, and she walked past. We spent hours drinking coffee, talking, and laughing. She was such a nice person; she exuded joy all the time. Her heart was always big enough to put the whole world in it.' He lifts his head, tears making his eyes shine. 'My wife was a very special person,' he says, 'And I loved her more than anything in this world.'
Sam feels the prickle of goose bumps on her skin. Being loved like that is every girl's dream. Thomas's sadness seeps into the room, casting a gloom over the day. His soul mate had died, taking a big piece of him with her. She waits for him to continue. The light on her recorder blinks, gives a few feeble beeps, and then goes out. She picks it up and gives it a shake.
'Flat battery,' she says. 'We'll carry on without it.'
'I didn't know that my brothers had their eye on Clare and her friend, Mel. One of their local boys had been corresponding with Mel over the Internet for a couple of months, and she was convinced he loved her. Clare just happened to come on holiday with her, so she was easy game. They waited until their holiday was almost over. It was the second to last night, and my brother met them at a bar. Clare was supposed to meet me, and when she didn't show up, I got worried. I looked everywhere for her and wound up back at her hotel room at close to midnight. When I knocked on the door, there was no answer, but I could hear scuffling and knocked louder. My brother, Pedro, opened the door, and I pushed him aside. Clare was unconscious on the bed.' He breaks down; his face is pale, and tears are streaming down his cheeks. 'She...was naked. I was angry and asked him what he'd done to her. He just smiled at me, Sam. Smiled. It broke me. I just saw red. I couldn't stop. We fought, and I ended up throwing him off the balcony. It was only two flights up, but I knew he was hurt. I thought I'd killed him. I went downstairs and moved him before anyone found him, so they wouldn't suspect Clare. Then I helped her get medical attention. I just left him there, unconscious. He was bleeding, but I didn't care. At some point, I went home, packed my bags, and left. I stayed with a friend until Clare left for Australia, and I promised her I would follow as soon as I had a passport and some money. She insisted on paying for me to leave, but I was stubborn and wanted to do it on my own.' He stops, shaken.