Forgotten

by Neven Carr

  Saul’s fingers flew to his forehead and began rubbing. Several seconds passed. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Of course, I did. “That Simon’s murderer and the person responsible for Souza is the same person, most likely responsible for Alice and Iacovelli as well. That it wasn’t some ritual killing but something much bigger, something to do with me, my past.”

  I closed my eyes, felt as if I had just lost a mass of unwanted weight. Guilt hung on, though, not as strong, not as tenacious but enough to make its weighty presence felt. After all, broken lock or not, Simon was still killed because of me.

  Silence reigned; I could almost hear Saul’s brain connecting the dots. In time, he dropped his head and caught my eyes. “None of this is your fault, Claudia. If someone was that determined to get to Simon, he’d have found a way. And from what you have told me about Simon, the last thing he would’ve wanted is you blaming yourself.”

  I knew that now, especially after today and told Saul so. With a freshly cleansed soul, exhaustion swept through me. I fell into Saul like an old, ‘stringless’ puppet.

  “Come on… bed,” he said.

  “I want to help you… Ethan….” I could scarcely thread my words together.

  “Want to really help me? Then get a good night’s sleep. Be strong for tomorrow.”

  We both stood but I still had one more thing to tell him.

  Milo’s message.

  I gave Saul a brief account of it.

  “Still on your phone?”

  I released an almighty yawn and nodded.

  “We’ll study it later.” He guided me along the soft, sandy trail, towards Annie’s dimly lit cottage and through its welcoming back door. As we did, I told Saul that I had made Simon a promise, one that this time I was determined to keep.

  “What promise was that?” he asked.

  “That we’ll find whoever did this to him.”

  “Of that I’m certain. It’s my promise to you.”

  We entered a bedroom at the far end of the house. I lay down on the bed, falling into the countless soft pillows, drawing in the calming aromas. “Stay,” I said.

  Saul stretched out next to me. I nuzzled into him and began to fall into that precious place of slumber that I so desperately needed.

  But not before hearing Saul whisper, “I’ll be here when you wake up, my beautiful lady.”

  Chapter 31

  Saul

  December 28, 2010

  2:12 am

  “YOUR BOYS IN cyber space have been busy,” Ethan said, swinging on the back legs of Annie’s dining chair. Fortunately, for Annie and the chair, it was constructed from strong, reclaimed timber.

  Reardon readjusted the chair’s cushion before sitting next to Ethan and wondered if the cushion originated from something recyclable as well. It certainly wouldn’t have surprised him.

  He rested his injured arm on his lap; his foot on his alternate knee and leaned back. Dimmed, recessed lighting illuminated much of the open living area and, similar to the rest of Annie’s charming house, it smelt of endless tranquility. Reardon absorbed it, along with the air’s salty taste and the steady, rhythmic whir of the ceiling fan above. “So, what did you find out?”

  Ethan scraped his chair softly against the timber flooring as he shuffled towards the table. On it sat Reardon’s sleeping laptop, a ceramic bowl full of fresh white and yellow frangipanis and two mugs of hot coffee. “Quite a lot, in fact. Spent some serious hours getting this shit together while you were busy playing Romeo and the unfortunate, winged hero.”

  Reardon knew Ethan would’ve loved every information-gathering, puzzle-solving second of it. “I appreciate it,” he said.

  “Yeah, you better, mate. Gave up one hot, one very exclusive chick tonight.” He slowly shook his wrist and whistled. “Francesca. Her name alone brings unhealthy pictures… makes me want to….”

  “Got the idea, Ethan. Now, can we move on?”

  Ethan tossed Reardon a sharp salute. He then jiggled the computer back to life. “Shit, one clipped wing and you become a seriously pushy bastard.”

  Reardon grinned, studied the light-colored wall directly opposite him while he waited. It was bare except for a set of five, antique prints. Each depicted various botanical wildflowers, their intense, sun-drenched colors so typical of Annie. Love at first sight, she had said to him with that perpetually cheerful voice of hers.

  And so he had bought them for her.

  Ethan cleared his throat causing Reardon to swing back to him. Ethan’s mouth curled upwards, knowingly. “Guilt gift, I call it.”

  Reardon sighed. “Well, you should know, better than most.”

  “Ouch, mate. But seriously….”

  “She knew, Ethan. Annie knew from the start that I didn’t have the capacity for anything more. When she wanted more….” Reardon paused, recalled the overriding hurt on Annie’s pretty face, and he winced.

  “You had to end it, I know, mate.”

  “Couldn’t hurt her anymore. Anyway, that was a long time ago. Our friendship is solid and that’s what’s important.”

  “Still, that capacity thing of yours? Seems to be full and functioning now.”

  Reardon stared at Ethan, took in what he was saying and then thought of Claudia. He recalled her on the hillside earlier that day, her lithe body moving in sync with his, her irresistible moans, the total hunger steeping her huge, dark eyes, recalled her unexpected gutsiness in not leaving him, at her remarkable courage and cleverness in outsmarting the Moron. This over-protected, fear-driven woman had completely confounded him, but more so, touched him, deeply.

  Ethan had been right. He hoped it wouldn’t become a habit; a cocky Ethan he could do without.

  This time was different.

  Claudia was different.

  And he feared it.

  He, who feared very little, feared the way she made him feel.

  He swallowed hard, then gestured towards the laptop. “Let’s get on with this, okay?”

  Ethan nodded and then began. “For starters,” he said, working the screen, “your hunch about the whole Vietnam thing and our notorious little band of gun buddies was spot on. There were six of them as you know, all went to Vietnam, all came back.”

  Reardon stretched across the table, reached for his coffee; the mug was already cooling. “Did they know each other before they got together?”

  “Nothing to suggest it, but they certainly became pretty tight for many years.”

  “And all Italian.”

  “Or of an Italian heritage. Not sure of the significance, possibly helped solidify the bond.”

  We look after our own. Claudia’s father had said.

  A definite bond.

  Ethan continued. “The interesting bit is that they’d meet every month at one of those posh estates along the Clarence River.” One more click and he turned to Reardon. “Look familiar?”

  Reardon bent towards the screen. Looming larger than life was the almost identical picture of the house in Claudia’s photo, along with the lions and the oversized water fountain. “Well, what’d you know?”

  “In fact, a few of your hacker comrades came back with that one.”

  “This place got a name?”

  “Yep… Araneya.”

  “Araneya Estate,” Reardon mumbled to himself, as if it would somehow decipher their mystery. He took several sips of his coffee and planted it back on the table.

  Ethan then went on to reveal that the estate belonged to none other than the Macanettis, i.e., the well-publicized Senator Carlos Macey. “It was his parents’ house during their pistol meets, a Frederick and Irena Macanetti. Freddie was a lawyer, and a fairly influential one, moved a lot in the political circles.”

  Reardon inched back in his seat. “So, why the regular need to meet?”

  Ethan shrugged. “Their Italian bond, perhaps?”

  Reardon agreed that their ethnicity played a role, but he wondered if it was something far more sign
ificant.

  Like the Vietnam War.

  A war that was like no other.

  Reardon knew, at the time, Australia practiced involuntary conscription of twenty-one-year-old men into National Service. Those who actually made it to the front line were selected according to their birthdates.

  Like winning a raffle.

  Their prize?

  Literally thrown into the midst of a combat jungle.

  Reardon’s jaw set tight as he shook his head. These young men, naive to war’s harsh realities, tirelessly fought for beliefs they were unsure were theirs, witnessed some of the worst atrocities they could imagine, and discovered that their enemies, in many instances, turned out to be the actual women and children they thought they were protecting.

  And all this, while their peers back home continued with their normal lives and careers.

  It was as if the world had gone on without them.

  “Maybe the meetings were their way of coping after the war,” Reardon said.

  Ethan leaned back and sighed. “Understandable. It’s not as if they came home to a roaring fanfare.”

  Reardon agreed. Some of the public had claimed that it wasn’t a real war. Others blamed the soldiers for what happened in Vietnam. Was it any wonder that these men had suffered more post war effects than any other group of soldiers?

  “Could also explain the rift between Claudia’s parents,” Reardon added. “Cabriati met Claudia’s mother a couple of years after Vietnam. She fell pregnant; they got married.”

  “A shotgun wedding.” Ethan tutted. “So Milo is born; Papa Bear is still having difficulty showing all the right emotions and continues to fall apart. The clan meetings probably distance Papa Bear from Mama Bear even more. And after the unwanted Claudia is born, Mama Bear collects Brother Milo and leaves.”

  To Reardon, it made perfect sense, even though he cringed at the whole Bear analogy.

  “Sad story,” Ethan said.

  “Sad for everyone.” Reardon shifted in his seat. “Anyway, it’s still supposition; let’s keep going.”

  Ethan grabbed the mouse and carried on. “During that time, the Senator lived at Araneya with his wife and three children, two daughters and a son. His parents traveled often, mainly overseas, trusting the place to Macey’s care. Mate, have a look at these pictures. It looks like one of those mansions from Gone with the Wind. A couple of families could live in it and not even be aware of the other.”

  Ethan flicked through image after image of the residence, both inside and out. “The Senator’s son, Aaron Macanetti, now runs the joint, along with his own family and Senator Macey’s very elderly mother. The father passed away some years back….”

  “Ethan, stop.” Reardon closed in on the screen. With his finger, he motioned Ethan to take it back one. “Yep… there.” He then squinted and stared. An oldish, rather hideous portrait of a man stared back. Reardon studied its surroundings, the off-white walls, the dark spiraling staircase and finally the solid wooden door at the end of a long hallway, a door with unusual markings.

  “Well, bugger me,” Reardon whispered as he fell back. “Claudia’s dream.”

  Ethan flicked a look between Reardon and the photo. “It’s real?”

  Reardon had always thought the place was real. But to actually witness proof, to know that some of his theories about Claudia’s past were correct was a different thing altogether. He allowed the short quiet to absorb the new information. Later, he would analyze its full implications.

  “Then I assume Araneya was where she was living?” Ethan again.

  “With Alice? Almost certainly.”

  “And all this shit about living in Sydney with her was….”

  “Exactly that, shit.” Reardon slugged down the last of his lukewarm coffee. He needed another, larger, stronger and definitely hotter. He stood and collected their empty mugs on the way. Once in the kitchen, he flicked on the kettle.

  “Why would Claudia’s father cover this up?”

  “Why indeed.” Reardon felt a little irritation bite his skin. More lies from her father, Claudia didn’t need.

  “So, what else can we assume?”

  “That her dreams could be what I always thought, memories of some type, of something that actually happened.”

  “Saul, for someone to repress a memory like that, well, it has to be....”

  Something bad. Reardon had already figured that one. He thought of the more common possibilities, didn’t like where his head was taking him.

  He made coffee for them both and one by one set them back on the table. Wispy vapors coiled from them. Reardon sighed and sat back down. “You know, I can’t stop thinking how protective her father is. It’s almost borderline obsessive.”

  “Knowledge of what happened?”

  “Very likely.” Reardon began lightly massaging the area around his wound.

  “You okay?” an observant Ethan asked.

  “What, first my shrink, now my mother?”

  “Nope, just your friend.”

  Reardon semi-smiled. “Painkiller is wearing off. Nothing that a good night’s sleep and one of Annie’s magic pills won’t fix. So let’s get this done.”

  Ethan returned to the computer. He blew on his coffee before taking a small sip and then brought up what appeared to be an old newspaper report. “Around the same time these guys were enjoying one of their reunion bashes, a ten-year old boy, Benjamin Lucas, was shot in one of the nearby forests.”

  Reardon sat up. This was new. “Killed?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did they find who was responsible?”

  “Nope. Macey’s pistol party were initial suspects but investigations cleared them. They were witnessed hunting over three miles away.”

  “The witnesses, reliable?”

  “Very much so, all respected citizens. Besides, the bullet removed from Benjamin Lucas didn’t match any of the clan’s weapons. At the inquest, the judge deemed it an accident by person or persons unknown.”

  Reardon stared at nothing; his head buzzed with questions. “Remaining unsolved.”

  “Seven months later, one of the clan, Ricky Taccone, was found dead in the same forest as Benjamin Lucas and you’ve guessed it, shot.”

  “Murder, suicide, accident?”

  “By all accounts a suicide; weapon in hand. But there are few, if any reports on it, no investigation, nothing. Almost, as if it never happened.”

  “Cover up?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Gun type?”

  “No information. But the Benjamin Lucas case was closed not long after. And before you ask the next question, no, Benjamin Lucas’ file continues to state that he died by persons unknown, not by Ricky Taccone.”

  Reardon frowned. “This is bizarre.”

  “You’re telling me. After that, the group stopped meeting, each of them went their own way.”

  “What year was that?”

  “1990.”

  “Coincides with when Claudia’s father claims he collected her from Alice.”

  “So what do you think? Claudia saw something, like the kid being shot? Certainly an easier alternative to bear than some of the options I’ve been considering.”

  Reardon made a noncommittal sound and then began slowly, meditatively drumming his fingers on the table. “So what we have are six men. All from an Italian background, all who returned from war and decided to meet on a regular basis. Each possessed a preference of revolver. Somewhere amongst all this, a relative newborn enters the scene and is given to Alice Polinski who was what? A friend?”

  “Nanny,” Ethan replied, “to Macey’s kids. Lived in her own cottage on the estate.”

  “The nanny.” Reardon’s fingers stilled. Excitement breathed second wind into him. “So, Macey being a very devoted chum of Cabriati, allows Alice to take in the baby until such time as Cabriati can sort himself out and collect her.”

  “Which took seven years. A long time to sort oneself out.”

&n
bsp; “Certainly was. In the meantime, Claudia is raised by Alice and probably has free reign on the estate and in the house. However, something happens.”

  “The bodies in the forest?”

  “See, Ethan, this is where it doesn’t make sense. Claudia’s dreams, they have nothing to do with the forest, they’re to do with the house. It must be something different.” Reardon rubbed his brow. “Too many variables, not enough facts.”

  “All we have right now. Your people are still on it, though. In fact, Centaur1 is a constant source of information. I swear he, or she for that matter, needs to get a life.”

  Reardon knew the identity of Centaur1, someone who was unquestionably a genius. “To some hackers, it is their life.” Reardon changed course. “We need to speak to Claudia’s father again.”

  “And how are we going to do that? Right now, Cabriati hates your guts. And when he discovers about you and Claudia, I’d be hightailing to the mountains.” Ethan forcibly coughed into his clenched fist. “Shit, forgot, you already live in the bloody mountains.”

  Reardon was unfazed. Cabriati’s emotionally driven threats were the least of his problems.

  “You know how we placed a man outside of Cabriati’s house today?” Ethan went on.

  After Iacovelli and Souza, Reardon had arranged it. Cabriati had been one of the clan. It didn’t take a genius to guess he could well be next. “And?”

  “He was yelled at by a pretty pissed-off Papa Bear, who basically told him to tell you to go fuck yourself.”

  “Charming,” Saul said. “But this is what bothers me.”

  “I imagine it would. Have you seen the size of that Grizzly!” Ethan winced.

  “Not him. His reaction. Surely, he must be a little worried about his own safety. Wouldn’t he then want protection? Wouldn’t he want to have this whole mess sorted, if not for his sake, at least for his daughter’s?”

  “In a perfectly well-balanced world, yes, but there’s nothing well-balanced here. Don’t even believe Cabriati wants this solved. And I reckon his problem with you is that he knows you could solve it. Whatever happened twenty years ago, he was involved.”