(2012) Disappear Page 4

  ‘I think we both knew he’d treat this as only a temporary set-back,’ Cindy said. ‘What do you think? Can he come back from this?’

  ‘I’m sure he can.’ Jennifer’s tone was reflective. ‘And if there’s anyway I can help him, I will.’ She gestured to indicate the business around them, ‘After all, he’s the one who made Wishing Pool Fashions possible.’

  ‘Excuse me, Jennifer.’ The receptionist, Carmen Tucker, was at the doorway. ‘There’s a Detective Senior Sergeant Lachlan here, asking to see you.’

  ‘To see me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Send him through to my office, Carmen. I’ll be along in a moment.’ Jennifer exchanged a curious glance with Cindy.

  ‘No idea what it’s about?’ Cindy asked.

  Jennifer shrugged. ‘None.’

  ‘Something to do with this Kaplan thing, perhaps?’

  ‘I doubt it. Kaplan’s had no financial stake in Wishing Pool for years.’ Jennifer headed out of the room. ‘You’ll handle the Myers order?’

  ‘You just leave that with me.’

  Neil Lachlan stood just inside Jennifer’s office, admiring the view her window afforded of Hyde Park. It was a clear day, no clouds. A flock of birds moved swiftly over the treetops of the large city park, a patch against the distant blue. The birds were too far away for Lachlan to tell what kind they were.

  Jennifer strode in and offered her hand. ‘Good morning, detective.’

  Lachlan took her hand. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Ms Parkes.’

  ‘Quite all right. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m here to ask about your husband, Brian Parkes.’ Lachlan referred to his pocket notebook. ‘I understand he was listed as missing eighteen years ago and has since been declared officially deceased.’

  ‘That’s correct.’ Jennifer was incredulous, so much so that she could find no other words. What on earth was this about? Now. After all these years. She glared at the plainclothes policeman, waiting for him to continue.

  ‘A man answering the description of your husband was fatally injured in a hit and run accident last night, Ms Parkes. I understand this must come as a great shock, but we need you to assist us by identifying the body.’ Lachlan wondered whether he sounded as uncomfortable as he felt. He’d done this many times before but it never got any easier – not for him, anyway. This was one of the worst tasks for any police officer, asking the spouse of a deceased person to help with identification. There was more to this, though, an eerie feeling of … displacement. It wasn’t as though this woman had last seen her husband the night or day before.

  ‘I think someone must have their wires crossed,’ Jennifer said. ‘This hit and run victim can’t possibly be my husband. He would have died a long time ago.’

  Lachlan reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the wallet. He handed it to Jennifer. ‘This was found on the victim. Do you recognize it?’

  Jennifer flicked through the contents of the wallet. The color drained from her cheeks as she glanced over the drivers licence. ‘This can’t be …’ Her voice trailed away, lost.

  She felt a sudden stabbing pain in her temples.

  ‘As I said, Ms Parkes, I know this is an enormous shock. Perhaps it’s best to clear the matter up as soon as possible.’

  Jennifer nodded, slowly. She felt numb all over, simply numb. Part of her mind insisted that this was a ridiculous, dreadful mistake; but another, deeper part had always known that this day would come. It should have come eighteen years before. Not now.

  Why now?

  Jennifer had done her grieving for Brian a long time ago. So why did she feel a stinging, watery sensation at the corners of her eyes.

  I was over you a long time ago, Brian, wasn’t I?

  At the city morgue, Jennifer was ushered into a large, nondescript room. Long, flat tables and metal cabinets jutted out from odd corners and rows of small metal doors lined the far wall.

  The attendant opened one of those doors and pulled out the tray containing a covered body.Jennifer was oblivious to the attendant. Her eyes were fixed on the body. She took a deep breath as the cover was folded downwards, revealing the face.

  Eighteen years had passed since Jennifer had seen that face. The memories came flooding back. She felt a catch in her throat and a shiver ran down her spine like a lone teardrop, lost in the wrong part of her body. Eighteen years, yet his face was just as she remembered.

  ‘Is this your husband?’ Lachlan asked gently.

  ‘It looks just like him,’ Jennifer said.

  ‘I need a positive ID from you, Ms Parkes.’

  ‘It can’t be Brian, Detective.’

  ‘But is it?’ Lachlan carefully retained the gentle quality to his tone. He could imagine how difficult this would be for any man or woman.

  ‘Of course not, detective. If he’d been alive up until yesterday then Brian would have been forty-three years old. This man looks to be in his twenties. Mid twenties.’

  Lachlan nodded in agreement. ‘I can see that.’ This is the age Brian Parkes was on the night of his disappearance. He regarded Jennifer. The same thought must have been running through her head. ‘So, apart from the age discrepancy, this man appears to be your husband?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Any distinguishing marks you can recall?’

  Jennifer thought for a moment. ‘A mole,’ she said, ‘right in the centre of his shoulder blades.’ She remembered telling Brian that he should have it looked at; that she thought it was getting bigger. ‘Everyone has funny little moles that look like they’re getting bigger.’ That had been so typical of Brian’s gentle, cheeky humour. ‘I’ve only got one so you just leave it alone.’

  Lachlan gestured to the attendant, who turned the body over and lifted the sheet further. A mole rested in exactly the spot described by Jennifer. There was a slight drop to her jaw, and a gasp, but she said nothing.

  Lachlan escorted her into the adjoining office and invited her to sit. He took another seat, facing her across an interviewing table. He noted that her eyes were glassy, her expression unmoving, as if cast in stone. ‘Going by the physical description, and the personal effects he was carrying, it seems certain that the deceased is in fact your missing husband. I realise the shock-.’

  ‘But the body in there isn’t forty-three years old. Nowhere near it.’

  ‘I agree. Rest assured, I’ll be looking into that. I’m certain there’s an explanation. In the meantime, a match of dental records will be completed by this afternoon and, given your comments, I’ll wait for those records before finalising the identification. The dental check will confirm one way or another whether that man was your husband, or an imposter.’

  An imposter, thought Jennifer, that must be it. Someone who looked just like Brian had. But why would a look-alike be carrying Brian’s wallet? Where would he have got it? Why had he been run down on the same street where she and Brian had lived way back then?

  ‘You’ll let me know the result?’ Jennifer asked.

  ‘As soon as it comes through.’

  Jennifer left the building. She wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and the morgue. She felt a dozen tiny shivers, like icy pinpricks, stabbing at her insides. None of this made any sense and she expected the dental check wouldn’t help, confirming that the body on that slab was Brian.

  Deep inside she knew it was Brian. This didn’t make any sense at all.

  And what would it mean to her daughter Carly, born almost eight months after Brian’s disappearance, to learn that the father she’d never known had been alive, somewhere, all these years? Carly, the living proof of Brian and Jennifer’s love for one another, the single greatest treasure that Jennifer had been blessed with these past eighteen years.

  How would Carly react to news as devastating as this? The thought made Jennifer shiver with an old despair.

  FIVE

  Roger Kaplan, at forty-two, was a younger version of his father. Not as handsome, nor as athleti
c, or as suave, but with the same characteristic traces of all three. What he lacked most was the inner fire, the charisma that made his father, up until now, one of Australia’s most successful businessmen. Roger flashed an insipid smile at his father’s secretary as he strode across the office and into the spacious corner suite.

  Henry Kaplan stood at the window, arms behind him, surveying the view of Sydney Harbour. The sunlight sparkled across the water, clusters of tiny jewels riding the swells. A helicopter flew over the Sydney Opera House. This suite of offices was the Australian headquarters of the Kaplan Corporation.

  Kaplan turned when he heard the footfalls at his doorway. ‘You weren’t in court.’

  ‘I don’t get my kicks parading around courthouses in front of TV cameras,’ Roger said. ‘That’s more your style.’

  ‘I didn’t enjoy it any more than you would have.’ Kaplan’s tone echoed disdain. ‘As the Chief Executive in Australia, you should have been there for the decision.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. The decision was made; it was made months ago.’

  ‘I never should’ve allowed you to extend our credit on Fenwicks and Sharvin Glass. They were never strong. You should have sold our holdings in those companies.’

  ‘So it’s all my fault, is it? Wake up, Dad. Blaming me isn’t going to wash anymore. You’ve been paying six figure salaries for years to a bunch of financial advisors who’ve warned you to stop diversifying. You haven’t listened to a bloody word they’ve said.’

  ‘It’s the local operation that’s let us down, Roger. Reduced profits, expensive loans. Your financial status reports have been bullshit for years. I should’ve seen it coming.’

  ‘And what do you call Southern Star Mining. That was your baby. Fifteen million borrowed from Hong Kong. That’s what brought the whole thing crashing. Or don’t you read the comments in Business Weekly anymore?’

  ‘The financial journos can write about companies but they can’t run them. They can’t even manage their own petty cash accounts. Southern Star was the victim of the GFC and erratic high interest rates.’

  ‘So if anything’s a success around here it’s because of you. If anything fails it’s because of a stock market correction and greedy banks. The great Henry Kaplan’s recipe for business acumen.’

  Kaplan exploded. ‘I’ve had it up to here with your blasted sarcasm. I’ve given you a million and one chances. You’ve never lived up to one of them, not one.’

  He made a visible attempt to control his fury, sucking in deep breaths. He turned his back on his son, looking once more to the magnificent view of the water and the coat hanger shaped bridge that was famous all over the world. ‘I called you in to ask if you had money put aside for yourself; money the receivers won’t be able to trace.’

  ‘I’m touched by your concern. Yes, you know I have.’

  ‘Whatever you’ve done to keep your money hidden, I suggest you do doubly from now on. As officers of the corporation you and I, along with Johnson, Kopins and Masterton are personal bankrupts, or will be if the appeal fails. All our known and traceable assets will be frozen.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘The receivers and the corporate affairs people will be watching us like hawks in the meantime.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Don’t concern yourself with me.’

  ‘What’s next, then? What does Masterton think can save us? A break up and sell off of the companies?’

  ‘That won’t come anywhere near clearing the amount of debt to discharge the bankruptcy. The only chance we have is Southern Star. A buyer for the mining operation will put us back in business.’

  ‘You could’ve put Southern Star on the market a year ago.’

  ‘I’m doing it now.’

  Roger sat on the three-seat leather lounge in the corner of the office. ‘Do you think we can come back from this?’

  ‘Can and will,’ Kaplan said gruffly. ‘I called you in for another reason as well. I need you to work closely beside me and the other directors, to project a united front. I have a potential buyer for Southern Star. Blue Ridge Corporation, the Canadian mining and munitions operation.’

  ‘Of course. Conrad Becker’s mob.’

  ‘Becker and his chief executive, Wilfred Carlyle, are flying in late next week. They’ll spend a couple of days here, speaking with our accountants and with the receivers, and specifically going over the details of buying out our holdings in Southern Star. After that we’ll fly them up to Queensland to look over the mines and meet our key people there.’

  ‘You think this will go through?’

  ‘It has to. Everything hinges on this sale. Everything.’ The phone on Kaplan’s desk buzzed. He picked it up. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Excuse me, Mister Kaplan,’ said Jodie Lenton, his secretary, ‘I have a Ms Jennifer Parkes on the line for yourself or Roger.’

  Kaplan beamed. It was a long time since he’d spoken to Jennifer. Speaking with her would be a refreshing change on this, the worst day of his life. ‘Put her through, Jodie.’ He covered the mouthpiece momentarily. ‘Jennifer Parkes.’

  Roger nodded. ‘I thought she’d get in touch when the news came out.’

  Kaplan switched the incoming call to conference mode. Jennifer’s voice boomed out clearly over the loudspeaker. ‘Hello, Henry?’

  ‘Jennifer, always good to hear from you. It’s been too long.’

  ‘Must be close to a year. You’re never in the country these days.’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t been today,’ he said, an intended joke, only he wasn’t smiling. ‘Roger’s with me, Jennifer. I’ve got you on loudspeaker.’

  ‘Hi Roger.’

  ‘Hi, Jennifer. Thanks for calling. As you can imagine, things are a little gloomy here right now.’

  ‘I know this is lousy timing,’ Jennifer said, ‘but something has happened. I knew you’d both want to know.’

  Kaplan and his son exchanged a worried glance. They’d both noted the anxiety in Jennifer’s voice. ‘What is it?’ Kaplan asked.

  ‘They’ve found Brian.’

  Roger exchanged another glance with his father, only this time it was one of confusion. ‘When?’ he asked.

  ‘This morning. He … he died last night. A suspected hit and run.’

  ‘Hold on.’ Kaplan screwed his face up, totally perplexed. ‘You mean to tell me he’d been alive somewhere all these years?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘You don’t sound convinced. Are they sure … are you sure that it’s him?’

  There was no reply.

  Roger voiced his astonishment. ‘It wasn’t like Brian to do something like that. Disappear. Tell no one.’ He muttered half to himself. ‘He just wasn’t like that.’

  ‘I suppose none of us know what anyone is really like,’ Kaplan said.

  Roger recognised this as something his father had said many times before, usually in conjunction with business matters. ‘That’s hardly the point, Dad. Jennifer, where are you calling from?’

  ‘My office.’

  ‘Stay put. We’re coming over to see you,’ said Kaplan.

  ‘No, Henry. You and Roger have enough on your plate right now.’

  ‘Blast what’s on our plate.’ Kaplan was insistent. He’d adopted his familiar and persuasive style, the one that came so naturally to him. ‘This is a hell of a shock for you. For all of us. We’ll be across town in twenty minutes or so.’ He flicked off the conference line switch.

  ‘Well, what do you make of that?’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘Eighteen years ago I spent fifty thousand dollars on two separate private detectives trying to trace Brian Parkes.’

  ‘I remember. There was no angle they didn’t follow up on.’

  ‘They came up with nothing.’ Kaplan shook his head in amazement. ‘Not a single solitary clue. Everyone, including the police, was certain he’d been killed and buried somewhere.’

  ‘Except Jennifer, Dad. She never gave up hope.’

&nbs
p; ‘Oh, I think she did. She knew he was gone.’ He winced. The memory of Jennifer’s despair was still painful to him, even now. ‘She’d never admit it, not even to herself, but she knew.’

  ‘But we were all wrong.’

  Kaplan didn’t reply. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door, gesturing for Roger to follow.

  Jennifer was at her desk, deep in thought, when Cindy came in. ‘Carmen said you were back.’

  ‘I’ve just been talking to Henry and Roger Kaplan. I wanted them to hear it from me.’

  ‘It was Brian?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jen. To have to go through this now, after so long.’

  Jennifer didn’t appear to have heard. Her face remained impassive. ‘At least, it looked like Brian. I don’t really know who it was.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The face on the body looked just as Brian did at twenty-five. It couldn’t really have been him. Must be a look-alike.’

  Cindy tried not to show her alarm. Jennifer wasn’t making sense. Was she rambling? ‘But you identified the body as Brian’s?’

  ‘I think I did. I’m not sure now. So confused. The police wouldn’t listen. They said it must be him, pushed me a little. The dental check will prove it one way or another.’

  ‘You said you spoke to the Kaplans. They knew Brian?’

  ‘Yes. Roger Kaplan was one of Brian’s best friends. They went to university together. Rich man, poor man, that was how Brian used to refer to Roger and himself.’ Jennifer smiled at that memory; her eyes taking on a faraway expression.

  Cindy realised that Jennifer was back there, re-living it.

  Jennifer continued, ‘Brian came from a poor family. He actually got into uni to study accountancy on a scholarship.’

  ‘And Roger was the rich one.’ It was more a statement than a question.

  ‘Yes. Even then, Henry was a well-known go-getter. He owned a string of companies in the industrial and manufacturing fields, but you never really knew what. He was always buying and selling. He put Roger through Business Administration so that he could assume managerial roles in his companies. After they graduated Roger and Brian remained firm friends.’