by Neven Carr
“So after Struthers’ death, you had Thomas Bellante enlist the psych, Malcolm Cruikshank.”
“I told Cabriati that if he brings Claudia home from Sydney, ensures she goes to Cruikshank, that Cruikshank would not only help her but would keep anything she says, that wasn’t in our best interests, confidential. Cabriati consented.”
“But he had no knowledge of the true extent that Cruikshank went in making Claudia sound unstable.”
“Of course not. Cabriati would rather take the rap than have her suffer any more. He loves that girl like nothing I’ve seen… like she’s his salvation somehow.”
Reardon hadn’t been wrong about Cabriati’s love for Claudia. He, at least, had to be grateful for that.
“Cruikshank made Cabriati believe his daughter was truly suffering a serious form of PTSD,” Macey continued. “That diagnosis also ensured that if she revealed anything to her friends or family, they’d simply think she was delusional. I also had someone follow her from time to time. Enrich the delusions just that little bit more.”
The figures.
“So when Cruikshank refused to take on Claudia for a repeat performance after Alice Polinski,” Saul said, “the rest of the clan got nervous.”
“Not just nervous, they became downright absurd, began talking about coming clean, having their bloody story heard.”
“And all this because you made the dumb-arse mistake of wanting revenge on a seven year old. I’m surprised they didn’t want you dead.”
“Not if I got to them first.”
And there it was.
Just like that.
What was it about narcissists? That eventual desire to confess all, as if showcasing what they believed were their unique, extraordinary talents. “So you organized the clan’s deaths?”
Macey was silent, but his eyes spoke plenty.
Reardon definitely hadn’t expected this. He stood and stepped back. How could Reardon have been so wrong, not just for the motive behind Claudia’s hit but also in his assumption of two doers?
Often the most convoluted possesses the simplest of solutions, remember that Saul.
A twisted laugh from Macey. “Another shock, Saul Reardon, not as good as you thought you were?”
How Reardon despised that laugh. “Basteros’ men claimed they had nothing to do with those murders.”
“That’s because they didn’t. I had someone else, someone special take care of them.”
“And the elaborate set-up for each? It wasn’t just to scare Claudia off. It was to make her think she was losing it again… to get her back to Cruikshank.”
“What can I say? My someone has a true talent for the bizarre and the dramatic.”
Was that admiration Reardon detected in Macey’s warped expression? “They would’ve trusted you when you called them to meet at the spot where they died, these, your life-long, fraternity friends.”
If Macey felt any remorse, even sympathy, he didn’t show it. He lifted his shoulders high, stretched his back straight and in a deep, sepulchral voice said, “Back then the clan was strong, loyal and did what they did in order to survive Vietnam’s aftermath. Now, fear had changed them, made them weak, irrational. I did the only humane thing I could…
…. I put them down.”
Was it Reardon or had the immediate air temperature just nosedived? Reardon shuddered. “They were loyal to you.”
Macey laughed. “You’re right, they were. But fear seized that loyalty, emulsified it. I couldn’t trust them any longer. And that’s not a good thing. To me, like you, loyalty is integral.”
But Reardon would never murder for it.
He studied Macey’s self-righteous grin, his cheerless, dead eyes, decided what he really wanted was a few hours one on one with the bastard.
But their time would come.
Just not tonight.
He had made a promise also.
“So who is this special person of yours?”
“Again, not something I know. It was the way he and I both wanted it. That way there’d never be a connection between us.”
Reardon had to accept the plausibility of such an arrangement, even though he didn’t want to. “How did you find him, Google contract killers?”
“No, through Hercolani.”
“My, he’s one resourceful guy.” Reardon really needed to find this Hercolani. “Why Simon Struthers?”
“Your typically nosey, investigative journalist?” Macey snorted. “Every year, on New Year’s Day, we hold an exclusive charity ball at Araneya. That particular year, my dear mother decided we needed more publicity for the event. I think the woman was bloody bored. But you can never say no to her. Enter Struthers and his crew.
On their second day there, Struthers came to see me. Told me about his fiancé, about some bloody dreams she was having. Turns out her dreams as well as some photos he had, matched certain sections of Araneya. Asked me if he could bring her to Araneya. I happily obliged. He was so bloody excited, the poor fool, that he rushed home early. Of course, once I discovered who his fiancé was… well….” Macey’s laugh was more a tired, weak cackle. “And you don’t believe in coincidences.”
Reardon didn’t, still didn’t. “Same special someone took care of him?”
“Of course.”
“The overly extravagant setup?”
“As I said, my someone has a talent for the bizarre.”
“How did your special someone access Claudia’s home and car?”
Macey shrugged. “He simply said that access wouldn’t be an issue.”
So many more questions to ask. But Reardon knew he needed processing time; time to talk with Claudia; see if she recalled any of Macey’s versions of what happened at Araneya.
“You know, it all started with that fucking Polinski woman,” Macey hissed. “If she hadn’t been so intent on seeing Claudia, none of this would’ve happened.”
Be buggered, the man actually believed his own bullshit. “So it wasn’t you who had Alice Polinski killed?”
Macey arched both eyebrows. “Of course not. As if I would intentionally trigger this whole bloody drama.”
“Know who did?”
“If I knew, I would personally kill them myself.”
Not able to stand another minute breathing the same air, Reardon beckoned to a still invisible Scotty. “Take this bastard to Hendrix, before I do something I regret.”
Macey’s gaping eyes darted from Reardon and to the newly arrived Scotty. “You said you would keep me out of this.”
“My exact words were that I could. I never said I would.”
“That’s just bloody semantics, you lying piece of….”
“Something I’m sure you are well-rehearsed in.”
Scotty pressed the rifle’s nozzle against Macey’s back. “A gentlemen’s agreement,” Macey whispered.
“Pardon the cliché, Senator, but I am no gentleman. I guess this game had a winner after all.”
“You know you’ll be sorry for this.”
“Oh, I already am. Sorry that I didn’t carry out what I really wanted to do to you.” And in slow, measured movements, Reardon flicked his switchblade closed.
“Didn’t or just plain couldn’t. With the police close by.”
The impiety Reardon felt mirrored the look on Macey’s face. “If you believe that a bunch of police can stop me, then you really don’t know as much about me as you profess. You’re only in one piece because I want you to be. See, my gut keeps telling me there’s more, particularly with what happened at Araneya. I hope for your sake I’m wrong, because if I’m not, I will find out, and then I’ll come back and you’ll personally suffer my many talents with a switchblade.”
Blood drained from Macey’s face. “They won’t be able to prove a thing. I’ll use your fucking road rage story, blame it on you and the driver.”
“Oops.” Reardon cringed. “Now that was a fib; your driver’s still alive.” Reardon flicked his head towards Scotty. “Get him out
of here.”
Using the muzzle of his rifle, Scotty prodded Macey forward. “Come on, Senator, your loyal but misinformed public awaits.”
As they stepped onto the bitumen, two police cars and unmarked sedan greeted them, lights bright against the blackened shade of one very deranged man. Senator Carlos Macey dropped his face to shield his eyes.
A tall lanky man, with the lines of one who had seen too much in his day, fronted up to Reardon.
“As promised,” Reardon said. “Not a mark on him.”
The tall man hailed to a cluster of police officers. “And all perfectly recorded.”
Macey swung sharply. “You said you weren’t wearing a wire, Reardon; you swore it on Claudia’s life.”
Reardon fingered Macey’s collar and extracted a small stick-like fixture. “I wasn’t wearing one. You were.”
Macey clenched his jaw so tightly, his ruddy, puffed-out cheeks quivered. “You have no idea of my power, Reardon.”
“And you, my dear Senator, have no idea of mine.”
As the police escorted Macey to their vehicle, a thought suddenly struck Reardon. He called out to the Senator. “Why have Basteros execute the hit on Claudia, not your special someone?”
Macey dropped his head and winked. “Who?” And with that, he disappeared inside the police vehicle.
“Can’t believe this, Saul.” Detective Inspector Noah Hendrix stood as taut as his manner.
Hendrix was one of the few law enforcement people Reardon trusted.
“It’s quite a story,” Hendrix said.
Yep, it certainly was that. “Not one we want in the media,” Reardon replied.
“You think Macey will go along with that?”
“Definitely. This man has his own agenda, and he certainly doesn’t want his public anywhere near it.”
“How long you need?”
“Two, three days max, all going well.”
“Okay, I’ll charge him, let him lawyer up. But with the proof we have.” Hendrix lifted the wire. “He’s done like a turkey dinner.”
“Be cautious. The man is cunning, and I believe as powerful as he claims.”
Reardon heard his name, spotted Claudia walking towards them. His heart skipped several beats.
“She’s a dish and a half,” Hendrix quipped. “I can see why you’re helping her.”
“Cut it out. I help anyone who needs me.”
“Mmmm, I reckon she could need you in many ways.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Hendrix. But yeah, she’s pretty special.”
“Bugger me Saul; are you going soft on a woman? Well, if I live and breathe.”
Reardon sighed. “May not be in her best interests to be involved with someone like me.”
“By the look in her eyes, I’d say it’s too late. And as for someone like you? You’re a good man, Saul. We all know it. You just need to believe it.” He chucked Reardon a set of keys. “Anyway, tank’s full. Get going.”
Reardon thanked him. Hendrix smiled, then walked away.
“Well, Mr. Everyone’s Hero of the Moment, can you please tell me what the fricking shit just happened?” Claudia’s white, stiff face said this had been traumatic. Her straight back, determined hands on her hips and the whole don’t screw with me voice said the complete opposite. “Was that whole theatrical vehicle crashing thing necessary? Methinks you actually get some warped pleasure from all this James Bond stuff.”
She was right but he decided not to answer; it was safer. He stroked her face with his fingers, felt heat gush through them like a surge of electricity.
She bit her lip. Even that he found sensual. Bugger if this woman wasn’t going to be the death of him. Instincts suggested a cozy, quiet place on the water. There he could make love to her until it washed away all the horrible thoughts in both their heads.
Stronger instincts ordered him to tell her what he knew. “We have to talk.”
A rainbow of emotions crossed her beautiful but tired face. He took her hand, guided her towards a pair of ghost gums. He leaned against one and drew her into his arms.
And, however much it hurt him, however much it hurt her, he told her every single detail.
Chapter 43
Claudia
December 29, 2010
1:12 pm
I HAD INVITED my mother to meet me at The Local Watering Hole.
I wasn’t sure as to why I chose the venue.
Perhaps, because it was here, when I was celebrating the end of the school year with Mel… that my mother sat in the corner watching me.
I stepped onto the wooden deck, searched the buzzing, lunchtime crowds until I found her. She was dressed in what I and my brothers often referred to as her battle clothes, a crisp, off-white linen two piece. It perfectly tailored her small, hourglass figure; made her appear feminine and simultaneously in control.
A bottle of champagne stood chilling in a silver-coated bucket; two glasses set in place, my mother’s half-full. I scanned her face, semi-shaded by the rippling, white sails above her, noticed a few out of place lines on her ordinarily smooth forehead. She picked up her glass, brought the rim to her lips. The entire movement was flawlessly graceful.
I felt nothing.
Not anger, shock, sadness.
Nothing.
Not even fear.
As I passed a table of surfy-looking guys, one of them whistled. My eyes bored straight through him. He immediately raised both hands. “Whoa, just my luck, another hot looking Ice Queen.”
I walked on.
“Hello, Mama.”
“Claudia.”
Words went astray for a short time. I sat and poured champagne I didn’t yet need.
“Are you all right, my darling? You look, I don’t know… off.”
I didn’t answer.
“If this is about what I said to you at the hospital, I didn’t mean it. I was just upset about your father.”
A slow, steady burn warmed some small place inside of me. And I welcomed the fact that I could still feel. “Yet here we are, at The Local, drinking cold champagne while Papa lays weak in a hospital bed.”
“I don’t understand. You wanted this meeting.”
“One that I hoped you wouldn’t attend.” My mother’s uncharacteristic presence only confirmed what Saul and Ethan already believed. “It was you.”
She looked up with vividly innocent eyes.
“It was you who killed Alice Polinski.”
Time froze.
Vacant, emotionless and so unbearably silent.
I think my heart stopped. My mother’s sudden blanched expression made me believe hers had too.
I waited.
So did my mother.
If I could read your mind, Mama, just about now.
Contours continued to crumple her brow in places. Her burgundy-colored lips fell. “Are you insane?”
At that moment, I believed myself to be the most rational, sanest person in our family. “It explains so much.” I said. “It explains why, since Alice’s death, you’ve struggled to talk to me, show any concern for me, even to look me in the face. I thought it weird at the time, but I consoled myself with the fact that it was a rather challenging time for us and, well… we all deal with stress in different ways. Never once did I expect that your detached behavior was due to anything else.”
“You really think I could kill someone?”
I could’ve believed her, wanted to; the portrayal of the falsely accused, so seamless in her well manicured gestures, so authentic in her feigned shock deliverance. But there was no escaping what I now knew to be fact.
“There existed a time I’d have thought it impossible that you could kill anyone, let alone in cold blood.”
“And you believe this of me, because I am here, not by your father’s side?”
“I think this because of many reasons. For one, there was the bullet, the bullet from Papa’s Magnum.”
I was bluffing. Ballistics had determined the bullet could ha
ve come from any thirty-two caliber revolver.
What remaining façade Mama tried to maintain, fractured. One of her hands fastened the base of her throat. It was as colorless as her fast, deteriorating pallor.
I sipped my champagne, held the thin stem of the glass with remarkably steady fingers. “Now, I guess we could all kill with the right motivation, with the right ingredients in play. So what was your motivation? What were the ingredients that compelled you to execute such an act?”
My mother swayed her sights to the bay. Her large, dark eyes appeared sullen, as they looked upon the bay’s picturesque splendor, the water’s pure, seamless beauty, so incongruous to the tragic figure she now painted. Eventually, those same eyes stared back at me.
“Alice came to see me.”
And there it began.
“She wanted to see your father but she thought I would be a more sympathetic partner to her cause.”
Alice Polinski’s first mistake.
“Said she had something important to tell you.”
“Do you know what that was?”
“She wouldn’t say. But, honestly, Claudia, it was nothing more than an over-dramatic attempt to be with you again.”
“Didn’t you think the entire thing odd after she spent twenty years following your rules?”
A brief, startled look and I realized she hadn’t even considered it. She gave a one-sided shoulder shrug and said, “Didn’t matter, anyway. Turns out, Alice had only asked permission out of mere courtesy, to prepare us for any unpleasant aftermath. In the end, I had no other choice but agree to help her.”
“Why would you do that? You hated the woman.”
Mama’s lips pulled back in a definite sneer.
And as much as I originally didn’t want to believe it, Saul and Ethan’s theory about Mama began falling into place. “You agreed to help her, so you’d know the exact time and place Alice planned to see me. And that way get to her first.”