Disappear (12 page)

Police at the school. The talk amongst the kids.

I caused it, Mum. All that. I began to wish for another opportunity, the right set of circumstances so I could do it again.

By the time that happened I’d long since forgotten the pirate ring and the footie cards. All I remembered was the extraordinary surge of adrenalin that made me harden with desire, panting for air, glistening within and without with the sweet, forbidden juices I’d never dreamed existed.

Eleven years before, when Brian Parkes was officially declared dead, Jennifer felt the need for a memorial service, something small and brief. She had approached the local Chatswood Reverend Mark de Castellan to conduct the service.

There had not been a proper funeral. No body, no declaration of death, and therefore no chance of a proper and dignified farewell. In its place had been a long term, lingering doubt, a grief that slowly sank into the routine of life. An unwelcome intrusion, one that offered no memory of goodbye.

Father de Castellan showed an understanding of this. A bearded, dark haired man, fortyish, he had a face of friendly lines and folds that generated an air of hope and inner peace. His voice, deep and resonant, clothed the listener with its warmth like an invisible barricade against the world’s ills.

Now that Brian had been found, his body had to be laid to rest. Now, eighteen years too late, there was need for the funeral.

De Castellan had moved on from Chatswood a few years before, to a country posting. Jennifer had liked him very much but she’d lost contact in recent years. She wanted the same man for this new service and she had discussed this with Meg on the evening of their dinner with the Kaplans.

‘It’s probably a bit silly of me, going to the bother of doing it like that, following on from that earlier service,’ she’d said to Meg.

‘Not at all. It’s the natural step, the logical conclusion. You can’t let Brian’s body be buried without a service.’

‘Can’t I, Meg? This is the man who walked out on me a lifetime ago.’

‘I don’t believe for a minute he walked out on you, Jen,’ Meg protested. Her tone was definite.

‘How else do you explain it?’

Meg shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But I knew Brian. He was besotted with you. Totally. He never would’ve left, not of his own accord. And what’s more, you know I’m right. Deep down you know, don’t you?’

Jennifer hesitated. ‘I guess I do.’ Something Meg had said stuck in Jennifer’s mind.
Not of his own accord …

‘So you’re doing the right thing,’ Meg said. ‘I remember the music you requested for that service …’

‘Berlioz’s Requiem,’ Jennifer reminded her.

‘It was beautiful. Touching.’

‘Yes, it was. I’ve loved it since I was a child. My grandfather requested a requiem service for my grandmother’s funeral. That was the first time I heard it.’

‘A lovely service. The reverend was terrific. What was his name? De something or other?’

‘De Castellan.’

‘Why don’t you let me arrange the whole thing?’ Meg offered. ‘You’re busy enough, playing superwoman and all that.’

Jennifer raised her eyebrows dramatically. ‘Ha. I’m no superwoman.’

‘You really don’t need to go through all the preparations again. Let me help. Let me plan it.’

‘Okay.’ Jennifer smiled warmly at her friend. It was nice to have someone who stepped in, unasked, to lift the weight from her shoulders occasionally. ‘That would be great.’

Meg contacted de Castellan the following morning. He was delighted with the idea of a proper burial, at long last, for Brian Parkes, a service that followed on from the earlier one, a second requiem.

After her early morning visit to Detective Sergeant Neil Lachlan, and her catch-up with Meg, Jennifer went straight to her George Street office and phoned the number for Superintendent John Rosen at Sydney Police HQ. The secretary explained that he wasn’t in and asked that she try again late morning.

Despite the events of the past few days, this was another typical day in the life of a fashion label’s owner/designer.

‘All set for 11 a.m. at the Rosegrove Shopping Centre?’ Cindy asked, pen and pad in hand, efficient and forthright and exquisitely dressed as always.

Jennifer’s brow creased into a distinct furrow. ‘Bring me up to date, Cindy. My mind’s been a little hazy lately.’

‘Understandable. 11 o’clock today is the first of our daily shopping centre fashion parades.’

‘Of course,’ Jennifer said, ‘I just didn’t realise it was upon us so soon. The next fortnight’s going to be busier than ever.’ Jennifer had never been one to sit and wait for things to happen. That was part of the reason for her success. With retail slow to regain momentum after the GFC and its ongoing aftermath, she’d decided to mount her own fashion parades in a different corner of Sydney every day for two weeks.

Sales at the boutiques were still dropping off, the big retail chain orders were down, so she was taking her line to the streets. There was nothing new about parades, of course, but the style of these would be something that had been missing from the city and suburban retail complexes. A light show, moody and modern, would engulf the stage, electronically keyed in to the pulse of the recorded music. As well as the models, the parades would feature a back-up three-piece male dancing troupe. Glamour. Excitement.

In addition, a number of tables would be erected around the stage, manned by casual sales staff, from where the actual items of modelled clothing could be bought.

‘You’ve done an awesome job, pulling this whole thing together.’

Cindy leaned forward and knocked on the polished cedar wood top of Jennifer’s desk. ‘Don’t say that. It hasn’t all come together yet.’

‘It’ll be all right on the night,’ Jennifer quipped and then winked confidently.

‘It’s good to see the old Jennifer Parkes back,’ Cindy commented. She’d been worried about her boss. This morning, however, she noted that Jennifer’s usual air of command had returned.

The fashion show was a success. Long legged women, tall, graceful, moved regally across the catwalk as though they were floating just above the stage. Their movements showed off every angle of the range. There was a section for business dress, for casual gear, formal wear, swimwear and underclothes.

Instead of the thumping, electronic rhythm of disco and rap, often the norm at these affairs, there was something different to characterize each section. Billy Joel’s ‘Uptown Girl’ for the evening gowns; Ravel’s ‘Bolero’ for the underwear.

The parade attracted a large crowd and the numbers swelled further during the twenty-minute performance. After that the tables were busy and sales flourished.

At 11.50 a.m. Jennifer slipped away from the action. From a quiet area, she pulled out her cell. John Rosen was still unavailable. This time she left a message. She thought back once again to her conversation with Meg.

‘The police are bound to uncover what this is all about,’ Meg had said. ‘There’s a reason why Brian did this, and why he died. The cops will find it.’

‘What if they don’t, Meg?’

‘Knowing you,’ Meg laughed, ‘you’ll be on their backs until they do.’

I suppose that’s been my way, Jennifer thought, ever since I got wrapped up in my own company. Always pushing staff and suppliers to do better; stretching myself to manage the business more efficiently, open new stores, design new clothing lines. And neglecting the only child Brian and I ever had …

Harold Masterton was a tall, thin man, earthy in manner. He had bright blue, piercing eyes and a thatch of red hair that looked as though he needed a scrubbing brush to comb it. He’d been Henry Kaplan’s right hand man, advisor and financial controller since the early days, an ambitious young accountant of twenty-four when he’d first met Kaplan. Thirty years, hell, where had they gone? At the time Kaplan, at thirty, had already made his first million, starting out with a discount food store that he’d expanded into a chain.

He’d retained Masterton’s small accountancy practice for various financial services. Kaplan had been impressed by Masterton’s business savvy and efficiency and had offered the accountant a full time position. Sensing success for both Kaplan and himself, Masterton accepted the offer provided he received a parcel of shares as part of his package. The first takeover bid they worked on together was a resounding success, the first of many.

Two decades later, with both he and Masterton spending more time overseas, Kaplan had groomed his son to step into his shoes and to run the Australian network of companies.

Masterton had never thought too highly of Roger Kaplan. He knew the tycoon’s son wasn’t the best man for the job. Masterton himself would’ve done the job better - but he’d always been regarded solely as the right hand man, the number cruncher. Mr. Fix- it.

Roger hadn’t been responsible for any innovations, for any growth. For a while the corporation succeeded in spite of him, as he’d made one blunder after another.

Roger was the one weakness Henry Kaplan had shown.

Masterton blamed himself partly for recent events. Prior to the GFC, with so much money available to so many, he shouldn’t have turned a blind eye, shouldn’t have allowed the borrowing and the expansion Roger had undertaken in Australia. Masterton had been too distracted, working alongside Henry in New York.

The final nails in the coffin had come with the enormous amounts swallowed into the black hole of the Southern Star Mining venture, and now the appointment of a receiver. Masterton was confident their appeal would buy more time. But for now he and Kaplan were due to meet the receiver, Warren Stokes.

‘Do you know Stokes?’ Masterton asked Kaplan as they sat in the spacious, elegant boardroom.

‘Met him once or twice,’ Kaplan replied. ‘Arrogant little bastard. Gets his kicks winding up other people’s firms. Couldn’t run a business of his own if he tried.’ Kaplan’s voice seethed with anger.

Minutes later, Kaplan’s secretary ushered Stokes and his colleague, a junior associate named Mike Davodivich, into the boardroom.

‘Nice to meet with you again, Mr. Kaplan. I’m sorry the circumstances aren’t more favourable to you.’

‘I’ll bet you are,’ the entrepreneur replied gruffly.

‘Just doing my job,’ Stokes said, ‘nothing personal. What we want to do is to get the fairest possible outcome for your employees and your shareholders.’ Kaplan was certain that Stokes was suppressing a smug grin.

Kaplan restrained himself throughout the meeting, allowing Masterton to handle the bulk of the discussions. He hated seeing his corporation carved up, even if it was just on paper at this stage. His mind wandered, unusual for him, and he found himself thinking of Jennifer Parkes. The sight of her, more mature and even more beautiful, had touched a chord within him.

He wanted to help her. He’d offered to pay for the requiem service but she’d refused, pointing out that she was financially secure and able to cover her own costs. He wondered how it might’ve been if they’d stayed in touch over the years, become closer …

He knew Roger had been interested in her at one stage. But he also knew nothing would come of it. Roger had been too vague, too flighty, drifting from one half-hearted romance to another. He’d been too young for commitment, whereas Jennifer was focused, committed.

Kaplan snapped himself out of his reverie and tuned in on the boardroom conversation.

There were so many times, in the past, when he’d snatched success back from the jaws of failure. This time, above all times, it was essential to do it again.

Back at her office, Jennifer rang John Rosen’s office again and this time, third time lucky she supposed, she was put through to the Superintendent. ‘I’m very anxious to know how things are progressing, Mr. Rosen,’ Jennifer stressed. ‘This has been hanging over me for a long, long time.’

‘I understand perfectly, Ms. Parkes. I have the best possible team here working on the case. I do have some news for you. The coroner is ready to release your husband’s body to your funeral director.’

Jennifer was quick to tell Rosen her view of the coroner’s findings, repeating comments she’d made earlier to Neil Lachlan. Rosen heard her out, then gave the same re-assurances she’d already heard from Lachlan.

She queried Rosen about the strange incision mark. ‘I’m not going to mislead you, Ms. Parkes, that mark, along with the other particulars of your husband’s body, have us puzzled. I have no leads at this point. But, let me assure you, no stone will be left unturned in finding the answers.’

Jennifer thanked him and then rang off, despite her growing frustration. She next called Meg to ask her to contact the funeral directors, Morris and Sons.

Meg called back later in the day, confirming that the service could be held in two days time.

Jennifer put in a call to Henry Kaplan, advising him of the time and place for the service. She asked him to pass the details on to Roger, and while she had him on the phone she updated him on the police investigation and the autopsy result.

After the call, she reflected on her conflicting emotions. On one hand she felt good about the upcoming service, about finally putting Brian’s body to rest with dignity and prayer. On the other hand she was haunted by the lack of answers to the mystery of his death and his missing years.

I’ll find the answers, my darling, she thought. I’ll find out what happened and why and I’ll see that justice is done.

She needed no five-cent coins to drop into wishing pools. This was one wish she’d make certain came true.

For Roger Kaplan there’d been no sudden pang of despair over his impending insolvency. Like his father and the other directors of the company he’d been living under that shadow for the past few years. The first attempts to place several of the individual firms into receivership happened after the GFC, by one bank and various other companies who were major creditors. They’d been unsuccessful.

Other attempts had followed in recent years. These looked like being successful but after Kaplan Corp. did the rounds of the appeal courts the moves against it were stopped. Kaplan stayed solvent by making alternative loan arrangements with its backers, and extending credit further overseas. The acquisition of the mining project in Western Queensland had helped to allay the fears of the bankers, and the international business community followed the ongoing saga closely.