Forgotten

by Neven Carr

  “Anything.”

  “If I react inappropriately or make a decision that you think is wrong, in any way, you’ll tell me.”

  “I’d do that anyway.”

  “And if I want out, I do it without your ongoing condemnations.”

  Ethan gritted his teeth, mumbled numerous words beneath his breath before promising to do so. Reardon knew he could trust Ethan. His current issue was whether he could trust himself.

  “I’ll tell you one more thing,” Ethan said. “I reckon you’ve seen something in her that you want, and I’m not talking about that gorgeously curved body of hers or that she may inadvertently have some answers for your own personal agenda.”

  “Like what?”

  “Who do you think I am? Bloody Freud? You work it out.” He jumped off the desk and began making his way towards the door. “Time to get your arse back into gear, mate. Weatherly is arriving soon and Claudia is packing death over it. She needs you and frankly so do I. Can’t stand the man. I swear just once I’m going to stick it where he’ll feel it for a very long time.”

  Reardon’s thoughts exactly. “I’ll be straight out, just need to go through this latest material first.” As his friend was about to exit, he thanked him.

  “No sweat, mate. Just don’t make it a habit. I prefer it when you’re the strong one.” And Ethan chuckled as he left.

  Chapter 20

  Claudia

  December 27, 2010

  7:55 am

  I SAT ALONE on one of the two white lounges, the one nearest to the softly whirring air conditioner. I felt flushed. I wiped the moisture from my hairline and then locked my clammy hands together. In my stomach, a fresh kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered madly.

  Detective Inspector Weatherly pulled up the knees of his long, navy pants and sat opposite on the other lounge. He readjusted his matching jacket, straightened his pinstripe tie with one methodical flick of his wrist then casually crossed one leg over the other. With several light sweeps, he brushed questionable fluff from his pants and settled his rigid, hostile gaze upon me.

  He was as I had remembered.

  Two male constables stood directly behind him, one with a note pad and pen, the other with his hands crossed behind his back. Saul and Ethan stationed themselves at the breakfast bar, mere yards away.

  “Are you ready?” Weatherly asked.

  There were no initial greetings or even questions as to how I was. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it irked me just the same. I gave him a small nod.

  “Can you then begin by leading me through the events that occurred to you on the twenty-sixth of this month?”

  I did, step by horrifying step.

  Once recounted, a series of typical questions followed; questions about my knowledge of the victim; my whereabouts at the time of Iacovelli’s murder and so on, all of which I answered in complete honesty. My car was held as evidence. I shrugged my shoulders. I had no desire for its return.

  “Do you keep your car locked?” Weatherly again.

  “Always.”

  He semi-grinned, if that was at all possible for the man. “Are you certain?”

  Of course I was. These days, security and I were intimate friends.

  “It’s just there was no evidence to suggest the locks had been tampered with.”

  What did that mean exactly? That I had left the car unlocked? Impossible. I shot a glance at Saul. He wore a small, encouraging smile. I turned back to Weatherly. “I don’t know what to say. I always lock it.”

  “And the spare key?”

  That was easy. “My brother, Nate has it.”

  Weatherly glanced at the note-taking constable to his rear, who was writing furiously. He caught Weatherly’s eye and gave him a firm thumbs-up.

  I sat mortified. “Surely you don’t think Nate had anything to do with….” And I stopped. The idea was simply too ridiculous.

  But Weatherly didn’t answer. Instead, he studied me beneath heavily hooded eyes. “Who else knows about your brother having the key?”

  I wasn’t sure and told Weatherly so. “My family, I guess. It’s not as if it’s a life-threatening secret.” And I cringed at the unintended pun.

  Weatherly studied me some more. It was fast becoming irritating. “I’m going to ask you again. Miss Cabriati, did you know Alice Polinski?”

  “No, Detective, as far as I know, I did not.”

  There was no mistaking the imperious smirk on Weatherly’s face.

  “However, my parents did.” And I related my recent conversation with my father.

  Weatherly’s smirk collapsed. He shifted and squirmed just enough to be noticeable, and I semi-grinned.

  “It’s just that previously you denied all knowledge of Alice Polinski. But I’ve just received new information that suggests otherwise.”

  I asked about the new information.

  “In her will, Alice Polinski left you everything.”

  I was stunned, but in light of recent discoveries, it was hardly surprising. I said as much to the detective who could do nothing more but agree. With his trump card clearly obliterated, he finished by asking if I had any further knowledge that could support their investigation.

  That I surely did.

  The boxes in the bedroom illustrating my early life, the recorded conversations with Senator Macey and Colt/Iacovelli; the idea that there existed a group of covert, gun fanatics. I again glanced at Saul, recalling our earlier conversation.

  “How much do I tell Weatherly,” I ask him only minutes before the Detective Inspector arrives. “What do I say or don’t say?”

  Saul is sitting on a kitchen barstool next to me, his Nike clad feet hitched onto the stool’s footrest. He is wearing a white loosely hung shirt and blue jeans. I think how hot the combination is on him. Today I notice a changed quality in his eyes, but I can’t quite make out what it is.

  “Whatever you feel is right,” he says in his usual placid manner. “Be truthful. Then again, if you decide not to disclose something, then that’s your choice.”

  “But….”

  But what?

  There are scores of those frustrating buts, not one of which I now have time to follow through. Ethan has just stepped into the room.

  “Time to arm yourselves,” he announces, “the manic little boy in blue has arrived.”

  My heartbeat hiccups as I look to Saul. He jumps off the stool, grips onto my upper arms and says, “Just follow your instincts.” He smiles, then strides confidently into the adjacent hallway and to the front door.

  Follow your instincts.

  I stole several thinking moments. I then looked at the disagreeable man before me and said, “No, Detective Inspector, not a thing. But if anything comes up, I’ll certainly give you a call.”

  Weatherly threw me a look full of clear cunning. “You do realize, Miss Cabriati, that your parents lied to me about knowing Alice Polinski.”

  “They were protecting me,” I said.

  “They were hindering a murder investigation,” he said back, “an indictable offense.”

  Was he serious?

  Any past tension I had, quickly mutated into anger. I heard a minor shuffle to my left. Saul had straightened, leveling a solid, threatening glare at Weatherly. And I recall another earlier conversation, this time between Saul and Weatherly.

  “I don’t know who it is you know, Reardon,” says the newly arrived Detective Inspector, “but I don’t like any of this.” His voice is typically cold and smarmy.

  “Not my concern,” Saul replies. “But Claudia is. So, you are to question her in a respectable manner. It’s not to resemble the inexcusable tactics you used on her last time.”

  “Inexcusable tactics?” Weatherly groans out a non-humorous laugh. “I swear one day….”

  “Is that clear?”

  A very disgruntled ‘yes’ follows.

  I immediately motioned Saul to stay put. I clutched onto the lounge tightly with both hands and arrowed towards the ins
idious little man. “You know how difficult any indictment would be for my parents?”

  Weatherly glanced at Saul. His lips curled but it was an unmistakably callous curl, almost bordering on a true smile. “Not my concern,” he parroted Saul’s earlier words. “I’m here to do a job.”

  “Your job?” I laughed. It came out a little too hysterical but I didn’t care. My so-called Italian pedigree had now ballooned beyond normal proportions. “Isn’t it your job to find out who is responsible for these crimes? Have you any leads yet as to who killed Alice Polinski?”

  The detective’s expression soured. “No, I haven’t.”

  “And isn’t it your job to protect the innocent victims. That is what I teach my students,” I said with an added flavor of sarcasm.

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  “Am I not the victim here?”

  Weatherly didn’t answer. I didn’t wait for one.

  “Then tell me, what steps have you taken to protect me? You come here with all your well-planned questions, all in some twisted attempt to throw me off balance, but, not once, have you suggested any precautions I should take, or even sound concerned for my well-being. Don’t you find that odd for someone in your position?”

  His eyes could have sliced cement. “What would you like me to do?”

  My eyes sliced back. “Not a thing now.”

  With one sharp, disdainful glare at Saul and Ethan, Weatherly murmured, “Be careful, Miss Cabriati, very careful.”

  He then stood… quite abruptly. And with a flippant click of his fingers, he and his posse left.

  ***

  “You did well today,” Saul said, obviously referring to Weatherly’s interview.

  We had just refilled our coffee mugs and were entering my room. I had spent the early hours of the morning rifling through the boxes. They sat against the wall, lined up like disheveled soldiers. On the shag-pile rug next to the bed, laid eight, pink photo albums. Beneath them, methodically arranged, were scores of selected photographs.

  I wasn’t sure about having done well. Really, I had just rebuked an officer of the law and held back vital information. An indictable offense, as Weatherly had so fiercely put it. I should’ve felt appalled, remorseful, anxious even.

  But, I didn’t.

  I felt incredibly… okay.

  “Ethan certainly thought so,” I said, recalling his boisterous reaction.

  He had taken me by complete surprise, grabbed me by the waist and lifted me high, like I was nothing more than a soft toy with no stuffing. The extreme swiftness of it made me squeal. Ethan laughed. Then he mumbled something about Weatherly’s crimson face, about his agitated expression, about the uncomfortable way he wriggled, and it being the best show Ethan had witnessed in a long time.

  One more squeal saw me back on my feet. I recalled searching for Saul. He was still leaning against the bar, appearing extraordinarily distant. He winked at me and then grinned. It lit up his entire face. I sighed, strangely wishing it had been he, not Ethan, who had lifted me with such exuberance.

  Yin and yang.

  “Ethan’s never been one to hold back his feelings,” Saul said.

  Was that a trace of envy I detected?

  “And he does it with such natural ease, damn amazing really.”

  I wanted to say there was nothing damn amazing about it. I wanted to say, so could you. But I remained silent as I slipped onto the floor beside my forgotten memories.

  Saul smoothed in next to me, curling his back against the bed frame. “Nothing from Milo?”

  I shook my head. I recalled how disillusioned I felt at not hearing from Milo. Nate was also having difficulties reaching him. This wasn’t uncommon behavior for Milo, but, after his Christmas episode, I found it strange that he hadn’t contacted me, particularly in light of the recent Iacovelli incident.

  “He’s probably off spreading some Christmas cheer, totally oblivious to what’s happened.”

  If it was an attempt to console me, it was a poor one. We both knew it would’ve been impossible to escape any news regarding Iacovelli. It was drawing space in just about every viable form of media. Whatever Milo was involved in, it was becoming more of a mystery by the minute.

  “How about Nate? Get through to him?”

  I had. It was crucial that I warned him and our parents of Weatherly’s threats. “My spare car key is on his keychain,” I told Saul. “Has been there since I gave it to him. And I know Nate. He worships his car. His keychain would always be somewhere close to him.” I smiled wistfully recalling Nate’s brave attempt to sound unafraid of Weatherly, of how he would protect our parents.

  “It won’t happen.” Saul was looking at me as one reading my thoughts. “The whole indictment thing. I’ll make sure of it.” He sounded genuinely confident and I had to wonder, like Weatherly, just whom did Saul know?

  I tucked my legs to one side and pulled down my flared-out mini-skirt. All of a sudden, I felt oddly conscious of its extra short length. In the distance, I heard the unbroken whirring of a vacuum. I steadied my breathing along with the vacuum’s fluid rhythms and then pressed forward.

  “All these boxes,” I began, “are full of clothes I apparently wore, toys I played with, books and more importantly, photos.”

  I pointed to several images of me pictured with different people. The only person I readily recognized was Alice Polinski, except for the young man holding me in some of the snapshots. “That, I’m sure is my father.”

  “So he spoke the truth when he said he visited you.”

  I recalled how delighted I was to discover that fact. At least Papa hadn’t totally deserted me. “You’d think I would’ve remembered those visits, especially in the last couple of years.” I shook my head. “Anyway, this photo disturbs me the most.” I collected it from the age four section and handed it to Saul.

  It showed the central part of a large mansion, foregrounded by a giant fountain. Two noble lions posed on either side. I was sitting on the ground near one of the massive beasts, smiling broadly. My legs were crossed, my head straight and high, my long hair spilling down over my upright shoulders.

  “You were pretty cute,” Saul commented.

  The little girl in the photo was, but I was still having difficulty connecting her with me. I moved on. “I’ve seen this house before.” I picked up the small, wooden box that Mel had brought and pulled it opened. On the top, was a pile of neatly stacked cards. I pulled them out and passed several to Saul. “Firstly, these are the cards I got every year on December 3.”

  “Celebrating the day that you were given to Alice.”

  “Yes. You’ll notice each one has a similar message.”

  Saul flipped through them. “How old were you when you got the first one?”

  I had been eight, found it under my pillow and had thought it strange. My birthday had been just over five weeks earlier. I thought that maybe someone was playing a joke. So I raced to show my parents. My mother had flown into a wild rage, seized the card and shredded it into a mass of tiny pieces.

  “I had never seen her so angry, never seen it since,” I told Saul. “I remembered escaping to my bedroom, hiding beneath my doona and wondering what I had done that was so wrong. Papa soon joined me, said it wasn’t my fault. But I was upset about it for a long time.” I sighed. “Every year the cards appeared beneath my pillow. I collected them first in an old shoe box, then later in this.”

  “No idea how they got there?”

  “Not particularly. But during the same day of the first card, Milo saw me. He said that I obviously had a secret admirer and maybe I should keep it just that … a secret. After that I did. I didn’t think too much of it, but later I thought that maybe Milo knew more about them than he was letting on.”

  Saul handed the cards back to me. “Did you ever ask him?”

  “When I was twelve or thirteen. He was so annoyed that I’d brought it up. Milo isn’t the easiest person to get along with.” I packed up the
cards and put them back in the box. “He threatened to tell Mama, so I never mentioned them again.”

  “And as far as your parents were concerned, they just assumed you never received anymore.”

  “I guess so.”

  “So, what happened when you left home to live with Simon in Sydney?”

  I shot an instant look at Saul and again, silently questioned how he knew so much about me. “Slipped into our letterbox.”

  “And when you returned here, back under your pillow?”

  “The first one, yes. The second, as you know, Alice delivered in person.”

  In one fluid movement, Saul crossed his arms. The short sleeves of his shirt pulled tight, accentuating his corded biceps. They actually rippled like….

  I swore beneath my breath and told myself to get a grip. That checking him out, yet again, was acting like some woeful, pubescent teenager with a hormonal crush on her gym teacher. I moved on, concentrating on the happy snaps of Alice, instead. It wasn’t easy.

  “You know, I can’t stop thinking about her. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like for her; to be forced to give up a child she had reared for so long?”

  “I don’t think she ever really did,” Saul said. “The birthday cards, the house in Summit Road; she bought that house in 1990.”

  “The year we moved here.”

  “Alice was always near you. The year you moved to Sydney, I believe she moved there also, returning here when you did. Naturally, she had to be careful that no one recognized her. But as the years passed, as she aged, she would’ve felt safer, more comfortable to be seen in public. And always in the knowledge that as long as she didn’t talk to you, she never broke her promise.”

  I shook my head. “It’s almost too fantastic to believe. My own guardian angel, her whole life… for me.”

  “She loved you very much, Claudia.”

  “Love or obsession? I’m not sure, but the sad part is that I don’t even remember her. I never even got to know her.” Something twinged hard in my heart. “It all seems such a waste.”