Forgotten

by Neven Carr

  “You didn’t do that today.”

  “Which, fall apart or let them step in?”

  “Both. I thought you were quite self-controlled, considering. I was impressed.”

  In retrospect, I had surprised myself how well I had stood up to my unusually angry father whether my reasons were legitimate or not.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Angry, hurt….”

  “Pretty normal reactions, I’d imagine.”

  “A little guilt, as well.” I sipped my wine. It was dry, oaky, just how I liked it.

  “Guilt?” Saul raised his eyebrow. “For what?”

  I pictured my father’s enraged expression; my mother’s tear-ridden face, my brother’s shaken, bewildered one. All because of me. I explained this to Saul.

  He settled his gaze upon the striking, dimming skyline. “Guilt is nothing more than a useless, destructive emotion.”

  It sounded like a well-rehearsed mantra.

  Saul finished off his wine and reached for a refill. In a more genial tone, he added, “Besides, you have nothing to feel guilty about.”

  Perhaps he was right, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling completely. “You know, I thought I knew my family. I thought I knew my Papa.”

  Saul shrugged. “Don’t judge them too soon.”

  “How can I not?”

  “Because, you’ve only heard one part of the story. You haven’t even heard your mother’s version. Your parents love you, particularly your father. Whatever the reason for their behavior, it has to be good one.”

  “I want to believe you.”

  “Then believe it.” Saul straightened and anchored his body closer. “You want to know what else I see?”

  I could almost touch the soft, tranquil breath of his words.

  “I see someone who, at present, is feeling betrayed by the one person she has trusted and loved her entire life. A very understandable reaction. However, I also see a man whose prime motivation for existing is his family, to protect them and support them, no matter what it takes. That’s a pretty special person to look up to in your life.” He caught a wisp of my breeze-blown hair and fingered it behind my ear. “I certainly wouldn’t be giving up on him just yet.”

  In spite of how outraged and wounded I felt, I still loved my father. I had no wish to believe anything bad of him. “You almost sound as if you admire him.”

  Saul leaned back into his chair. “I do. Think about it. He was determined at any cost to reconstruct a family that he had loved and lost and he did exactly that. It wouldn’t have been easy. What he achieved is a credit to him.”

  “But when you were talking with him you were so….”

  “Heartless? I’m simply doing my job. However, it doesn’t affect what I see.”

  I analyzed the man near me. During much of the day, he had soothed me out of one ridiculous state after another, supporting me whenever he saw the need. “How do you do it?” I asked him.

  “Do what?”

  “Remain so calm when everyone else around you isn’t.”

  Again, he projected that look I had seen earlier, that darkness dirtying those crystal blues. It seemed to speak a century of words that, at present, were foreign to me. A language I had yet to learn. “I don’t always do it,” he said, barely audible.

  The unmistakable humming of a car brought the curious mood to a standstill. A set of high-beamed headlights sped up Saul’s lengthy driveway and disappeared somewhere beneath the house.

  Saul shook his head. “Ah, shit! Trouble!” But he was grinning in a knowing, roguish way. “I probably should’ve prepared you for this.”

  Before I could ask what he meant, a door slammed somewhere in the distance, and then footsteps followed, growing louder on the timber floorboards.

  A high-spirited voice called out from the kitchen. “Hey, buddy. Have I got some fascinating shit to share with you.” I heard a fridge door slam, a clink of glassware and before long, a man stepped out onto the deck.

  “We drinking the good stuff, mate? Celebrating something?”

  My mouth slammed shut.

  It was Muscle Man from The Local.

  ***

  I watched Muscle Man, aka Ethan Sloane as he talked to Saul.

  But I wasn’t listening. I was still trying to comprehend his presence. I mean really, what sort of freakish coincidence was this? I could just picture Mel’s annoying smirk, hear her say, Fate, Claudia, it’s just bloody fate and about bloody time.

  I groaned, too loud for my liking.

  “You okay?” It was Ethan. He was leaning forward in a wicker chair that he’d dragged from further up the deck. Both hands held his half-empty glass of wine. His eyes made me think of conifer trees, dark emerald with tiny sprinkles of brown. They shone wide as he looked at me.

  I cleared my throat. “All good,” I said, with a dismissing wave of my hand.

  His grin was as wide as a playground full of unruly children and equally as mischievous. He turned back to Saul. I instead shriveled back into my sun-lounger.

  “So, what’s this ‘fascinating shit’ of yours?” Saul asked.

  Ethan’s grin appeared permanently etched. “Firstly, mate, you were right, this whole case is bloody huge… love it!”

  “Fortuitous for some,” I mumbled.

  Ethan winked at me. Unexpectedly, it didn’t appear a brazen wink, more like a reassuring one. Maybe I was wrong, but I couldn’t help but smile, small and tentative as it was.

  He smiled back and then continued with his findings. “Iacovelli, aka Colt, the man in Claudia’s car, so happens he knows three other people. A Ruger, Remington and Wesson.”

  Saul half-laughed. “You serious?”

  Weren’t they all types of guns? I said as much.

  “Revolvers to be exact.” Saul straightened, planted his feet on either side of the sun-lounger and began rubbing his temple. “So they’re aliases, but for what exactly? An organization of some sort?”

  “A boys with toys club? Not sure, mate.”

  Ethan then related how, after securing Colt/Iacovelli’s mobile, he encountered the three names, and only those three names, in the phone’s address book. The inbox and outbox were all empty. Upon calling each of the listed numbers, one failed to answer, one hung up when hearing Ethan’s voice and the third was silent for a time before also hanging up.

  “Where’s the phone now?” Saul asked.

  “Back in Iacovelli’s shirt pocket where I found it. The coppers can make of it what they will.”

  “This group could be all rather innocuous.”

  “Could be, my friend, but I figure the actual dead body thing puts a dampener on their monthly meetings.” Ethan took a small pause. “One more intriguing little fact, Colt/Iacovelli was shot with just that, a Colt Hammerless.”

  “A 32?”

  “Yep, same caliber as Alice Polinski.”

  What did that mean? That Iacovelli was responsible for Alice? I began to ask, but Saul cut me off.

  “Ballistics will be testing for skid marks. See if the same gun was used in both crimes. Be interesting to get our hands on that bit of info.”

  “Not more jailbait shit.”

  More jailbait shit? Again, I tried to ask but only got an ‘um’ past my lips. Saul overrode me. Once more.

  “Gut tells me it won’t be the same gun,” Saul said, still rubbing his temple.

  “Gut tells me you’re right.”

  My gut just wanted to scream.

  “You know Wesson, Ruger and Remington all come in 32 calibers.”

  Saul acknowledged this. “So, any one of them could’ve shot Alice.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Or none of them. As for the wound, single bullet, close range, through the back of Colt/Iacovelli’s head, weapon left in the back seat. Nasty shit.”

  So someone stepped into the back of my car and just shot him. I shuddered.

  “His wallet carried the general items,” Ethan continued, “driver’s license, cards, some ca
sh but nothing else of importance. The whole area was pretty clean. I doubt the police will even get prints.”

  “And it definitely happened in the car?”

  “Brain matter spatters communicate all, buddy.”

  Was he talking about those congealed lumps on the window? Ah, shit! Something made an unhealthy flip in my tummy.

  “Any idea when?” Saul again.

  “Judging by the state of rigor mortis, perhaps about five to seven hours previous.”

  “Putting it somewhere between two and four a.m.” Saul frowned heavily causing his eyes to squint. “No outward sign how they got in? Claudia insists that she always locks her car.”

  Claudia? As in third person?

  “None. Doesn’t mean that the lock wasn’t tampered with, though.”

  I caught my dizzying head oscillating between the two as they bounced off each other like a pair of overzealous ping-pong balls. I growled softly, if that was at all possible. I mean, really, what was this? Testosterone on heat?

  I instantly took advantage of a short gap in their conversation. “Umm… pardon me for interrupting.” Two heads spun my way. “How did you find all this out with the prying Zephyr sightseers on watch?”

  “Haven’t you told her?” Ethan asked Saul.

  “Hasn’t really come up in conversation,” was Saul’s reply.

  They were doing it again. A flame took light in me, materializing in the form of my subsequent grouchy tone. “Will you two stop talking about me as if I’m not here? I am still alive the last I checked.”

  “Ooo… feisty mate,” Ethan said. “Got to be that Italian pedigree.”

  I bit back my sharpening tongue and turned to Saul. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, appearing as if he were nipping back a grin. He then gave me a sideways glance and apologized. “It’s the way Ethan and I work, a long-time habit. We didn’t mean to leave you out.”

  He sounded sincere and I accepted the apology but my Italian pedigree had yet to cool down. He then went on to answer my question. “It was because of Tony Braga.”

  “As in Tony, our caretaker?”

  I was the one who rang him, Tony had said to me. And I immediately rebuked myself for not questioning Tony’s role earlier.

  “He owed me a favor,” Saul said. “I’ve had him keep an eye on your place since the Polinski incident. When he found Iacovelli, he rang me immediately. Gave us the time we needed.”

  I tried to take it in. Any available room in my head was fast becoming scarce.

  “Tony waited until the last minute possible before he rang the cops,” Ethan added. “Saul figured the last thing you needed was a re-run of the Polinski drama and was hoping to get you out of there before they arrived.”

  I was beginning to wonder just how many guardian angels I actually had. “Do you think someone is trying to frame me?” It was a valid question. After all, why was Iacovelli in my car?

  But, Saul had already considered it and dismissed it. “If they are, they’re doing a pretty lousy job. For one, no weapon was found following Alice’s murder, hardly the thing to do if you’re trying to frame someone. Secondly, with Iacovelli, they should have, at the very least, made sure you were home at the time of the shooting.”

  I silently thanked my Papa for encouraging me to stay.

  “But, whoever they are,” Saul said, “they’re certainly going to a lot of trouble to make you the central pivot.”

  It sounded too crazy. I didn’t see myself as anyone that important, or so I had once thought.

  “If all this is to stop Claudia summoning up some past, diabolical memory,” Ethan said, “why not just shoot her?”

  I let out a short, sharp breath.

  Ethan spun to me. “Just making a point. I find it strange that other people are being shot to make sure you don’t remember!”

  “Unless, it’s someone who doesn’t want her hurt, someone who wants to protect her.” Saul’s expression towards me was clearly sympathetic.

  “Like a person in my family.” I groaned a deeper, louder one. The fact that it kept ricocheting back to them was justifiably disturbing.

  “So connecting her to a couple of dead bodies in the place where she lives is their way of protecting her? I could think of better ways.” Ethan emptied his glass, then said, “What’s for dinner, mate? I’m bloody starving.”

  ***

  We ate dinner on the deck. It became the ideal opportunity to continue the discussions. It also allowed me time to consider Saul, his luxurious home, his live-in housekeeper, his obvious wealth. I then reflected upon his so-called occupation.

  I don’t do it for the money, he had said.

  Then for what? I couldn’t imagine it was something one did for the fun of it.

  At times, I caught Saul looking at me. The expression he wore appeared deeply troubled, coupled with that unsettling darkness I noticed earlier that day. Other times he smiled, exposing nothing more than what I sensed was a gracious, caring sincerity.

  He certainly was an enigma.

  Ethan on the other hand was easy to interpret. There was something very natural, very playful about him. Furthermore, he had the ability to ease the sometimes-leaden atmosphere with his roguish banter. Both men seemed to be of a similar age, but Ethan was such a boy in comparison. In addition, it wasn’t difficult to recognize that the two men were very close.

  Yin and yang.

  When dinner was over, Ethan collected his almost lick-clean plate and stood. “I’m buggered. Don’t mind my crashing over, mate?”

  Saul placed his own empty plate on the side table. “You’ve never asked before.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we have a lady present and I’m trying to show her my sensitive side.”

  Saul coughed into his fisted hand. “She’s not interested, remember?”

  “Not in my vocab. Hey, Claudia, do you like French toast for breakfast? I make the best.”

  “When he’s not burning the house down.”

  I grinned. “French toast sounds good.”

  “It’s a date then. You can join us if you wish Saul, but don’t feel you have to. See your beautiful face in the morning, Angel.”

  Angel? I returned the good night and watched Ethan disappear into the house. Saul had made his way to the perimeter of the deck by then, resting both arms along the top of the railings. I joined him.

  “Again, I apologize for my friend,” he said in a seemingly good-humored way. “Your turning him down at The Local is only going to make him all the more persistent! Be prepared.”

  “He’s certainly very charming.”

  Saul laughed. “Charming yes and incorrigibly brazen.”

  “I like him,” I whispered.

  “So do I,” he whispered back.

  We both stood there for a time side-by-side gazing out towards the vastness. It was so tranquil, so ghostly quiet, except for the melodious songs of the crickets and frogs. It was difficult to conceive that amongst the soothing lights of the coast, amongst the tiny cluster that is Nankari, amongst the highly protected grounds of Zephyr, chaos and fear were reigning. Here, by Saul’s side it felt anything but.

  I was very aware of his presence, his every movement, however slight. I could hear his breathing, shallow and even; his sheer physicality at times so overriding, I could sense something strong rock within me. As for that woody cologne of his, it superseded the waning citronella and the normally enticing scents of the natural, night-time bush.

  I cut the long silence. “Where exactly along the Blackall Ranges are we?”

  Saul hooked a thumb over his left shoulder. “That way to Montville.” He then repeated the identical gesture over his right. “And that to Maleny.”

  I explored the surrounding area for a while. “This place is so beautiful. I feel safe here and for a while, it actually makes me forget.”

  “An illusion for now, Claudia. Granted it’s not an easy place to find. We’re pretty well tucked away into the hills and forests here a
nd the track to the house is quite convoluted. However, it isn’t infallible. Anyone who wants to find it will.”

  I tried not to reflect on that last remark. “Thank you for everything you’re doing for me.”

  Saul rotated towards me, that shadowy look swelling again. “Thank me when you’re safe, when all this is over.”

  I nodded. Saul returned to the night. His mood had changed. It was complex to describe, but it was there, visible in his entire demeanor. Shoulders hunched, head down and a heavy frown lining his brow, his eyes were as murky and as sinister as the blackness before him.

  His night eyes.

  I didn’t know what precipitated these unforeseen shifts. Whether it was something said or done, but I developed the strongest inkling it was time to go.

  I said goodnight and left Saul alone to his thoughts.

  Chapter 19

  Saul

  December 26, 2010

  11:45 pm

  I FEEL SAFE.

  Claudia’s words ran endless laps in Reardon’s head.

  He tried to drown them out by concentrating on the messages he was tapping on his laptop, messages to specific contacts that could provide him with the information he needed.

  But it was useless.

  Exasperated, he groaned, forcing himself from his desk and closing his eyes. Not being able to concentrate wasn’t like him.

  Perhaps he was tired. Perhaps the complexity of Claudia’s case, the stature of people involved, was such that it required more from him.

  And perhaps his ‘perhapses’ were nothing but bullshit.

  He stood, poured himself a nightcap and leaned hard against the bar.

  I feel safe.

  It was precisely how Reardon wanted her to feel. The mental and physical well-being of all those he helped was important to him. But with Claudia, it was somehow different, her safety more urgent.

  Maybe it was nothing more than guilt nudging him, reminding him that he only took her on because of her possible connection with Charles Smith and Thomas Bellante. Maybe he thought that by keeping her from harm’s way, it would justify his own selfish motives, redeem himself just a little. A plausible enough explanation, except for the fact that Reardon rarely subscribed to guilt.