Disappear (25 page)

Jennifer stepped from the car. ‘Stuart James feels certain he’ll find something among Brian’s old business records.’

‘I’ll compare notes with him later,’ Lachlan said. ‘And remember, if you recall anything in the meantime …’

‘I’ll let you know.’

She watched as he drove away, and reflected on the fact that he was the total opposite to Rosen. Neil Lachlan might be a little rough around the edges but he had an easy, earthy charm and a straightforward manner. Jennifer liked him.

Carly hung up the phone as Jennifer entered. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of Stuart James,’ Carly said. ‘He hasn’t been back to his office, though, since he left here.’

‘Something wrong?’

Carly pointed to a handful of folders on the coffee table. ‘He left those behind when he left. He seemed to think he’d found something of interest in those records and he intended taking them with him.’

‘Did he say what he’d found?’

‘No. He was in a rush to make another appointment. He said he’d phone later and took off. He had several of the old business files with him, but he left these, which he’d deliberately singled out, on the table.’

Jennifer thumbed through the pages of the files. They were audits on several companies - Marco Plastics, Sharvan Glass, Winterstone Pty.Ltd., none of which meant anything to her. She placed the folders back on the table and wondered what it was that James had found.

It never rains but it pours,
thought Stuart James. A fortnight earlier he’d had very little work. In the space of the last week several new briefs - including two very large assignments - had come his way. All urgent.

He’d agreed to squeeze Jennifer Parkes into his suddenly busy schedule, thinking it wouldn’t require too much work too soon. Something he could get his teeth into the following week, when he expected to be quiet again. It wasn’t working out that way.

He stopped off briefly at his Australia Tower office. There was a message from Carly Parkes. He wondered why she was calling so soon, and he made a mental note to return the call later. Right now he had an important meeting to attend with a major client. He told his secretary, a plump, teenage Italian girl named Rosa he wouldn’t be back until late.

Neil Lachlan strode into the reception area as James was scurrying out. Their eyes connected. ‘Mr James..?’ Lachlan started.

‘You’ve got him. But I’m afraid I’m running late for an appointment, Mr..?’

‘Detective Senior Sergeant Neil Lachlan, Homicide Squad.’

‘Walk with me,’ James suggested. ‘I’d stop and see you, but -’

‘Not a problem.’ Lachlan fell into step beside him as they headed down the corridor to the lift. Lachlan explained that he was heading the investigation into the disappearance and deaths of six people, Brian Parkes among them.

James’ interest was piqued. ‘Others..?’

‘Yes. I’m aware your services have been retained by Ms Parkes and I believe it would be a good idea if we were to compare notes on a daily basis.’

‘Agreed.’ There was a shrill ping as the lift arrived. ‘I’m in the basement car park,’ James said as they entered the lift.

Lachlan explained the similarities between the cases. He’d had plenty of experience dealing with private investigators from his days in the Drug Squad. Most of them liked to play things close to their chests. Lachlan’s approach was to give them some police-gathered information - the more startling the better - then go in with his own set of questions. He wanted an initial get-together with James without Jennifer present, which is why he’d dropped by unannounced. ‘Ms Parkes advised me you’re looking through her late husband’s accountancy practice files. Anything of interest?’

They alighted from the lift and walked briskly past the rows of parked cars. ‘Eighteen years ago Kaplan Corp hired Brian Parkes to conduct the routine annual audit on a few of their Australian based companies,’ James replied, ‘one of these was a shelf company called Winterstone Pty. Ltd. Kaplan Corp had purchased this business name not long before that. Winterstone was used to purchase a warehouse on an industrial estate in Sydney.’ They reached James’ car, and he fumbled for his car keys. ‘It was a storage warehouse with space for hire.’

‘Nothing strange about that.’

‘Not at all. What is strange is that it doesn’t appear to have been used for any commercial storage purposes. What’s more, Winterstone paid a million dollars to a United States company and took delivery of a shipment from that company at around the same time.’

‘What kind of shipment?’

‘The bill of lading simply stated parts. Could’ve been anything. The even bigger question, though, is where did the money come from? Winterstone had no income and no operating capital when purchased. There is no record of a deposit into Winterstone’s account, but the money was there. According to Brian Parkes’ handwritten notes, attached to his audit-in-progress, there were several large discrepancies in the balance sheets of the other Kaplan companies he’d been auditing.’

‘Money had been transferred from those other firms?’

‘Secretly, not openly,’ James pointed out.

Lachlan thought back to an earlier conversation with Jennifer. Brian had been hired by Roger Kaplan. They were buddies. Lachlan offered that information to James.

‘I believe that to be the case - yes,’ said James, ‘but Roger Kaplan didn’t purchase Winterstone or the shipment from America.’ He got into his car. ‘I really have to go, detective, but I’m happy to get together with you later.’

‘When are you back?’

‘Tonight. Around ten I’m afraid. It’s going to be a long, detailed meeting.’

Lachlan handed the private investigator his card. ‘Call me when you get in. We’ll arrange to get together.’

James nodded and switched his key in the ignition. The motor roared into life.

‘One last thing,’ Lachlan said. ‘If Roger Kaplan didn’t set up the Winterstone operation, then who did?’

‘The name on the shelf company forms,’ James replied, ‘was Kaplan Corp’s senior financial director, Harold Masterton.’

It was late afternoon, the sun sinking quickly beneath the western skyline, when Helen Shawcross arrived at Rory McConnell’s apartment. She had dressed seductively in a figure hugging, light green chiffon dress that fell just above the knee.

‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ he said, embracing her.

‘How about a drink?’ She pushed past him, headed for the kitchen.

‘Way ahead of you. They’re already poured.’

They sat, glasses of white wine in hand, looking over each other like hungry lovebirds. ‘This is a guilty pleasure, getting to see you again so soon,’ Helen said. ‘What’s going on with little Miss Parkes?’

Helen’s attitude toward Carly amused Rory. He’d always loved playing one woman off against another. ‘Been camped at her mother’s place the past day and a half. Called by around mid-day for a change of clothes. It’s all to do with this business of her father being found, murdered, after eighteen years.’

‘I know. Henry told me all about it.’

‘Carly’s mother hired a private investigator and the three of them have been getting their heads together.’

‘Yes. Henry heard about that from his son, Roger. Strange business.’

‘But it’s worked out to our advantage.’ He moved closer to her, placing his wine glass to his lips with one hand, using the other to massage the nape of her neck.

‘Mmm. Feels good.’

‘What’s all this you mentioned on the phone? Lots of news for me about Kaplan’s first wife.’

‘I photocopied a heap of papers stored in his basement archives. Her name was Monica and she divorced him for beating up on her. She’d lodged medical certificates as proof with her lawyers. Henry’s got copies of them. Seems it was kept pretty quiet though. As far as I know, even Roger wasn’t aware his parents were divorcing. Of course he was only a boy at the time.’

‘What happened to her?’

‘She was a manic-depressive. There are psychiatric reports among Henry’s papers, attesting to that. Seems she took a really bad turn when the meetings between the lawyers were getting nasty. Henry and his doctors had her committed to a loony asylum. Then he went ahead and divorced her.’

Rory whistled. ‘Juicy. Character assassinations in print are always helped along by family secrets like that.’

‘This Mata Hari stuff is going to cost you. Tonight you do the things I want, not the other way around.’

Rory’s grin stretched from ear to ear. ‘I’m flexible. But I don’t think you’ve told me enough. Where’s Monica Kaplan now?’

‘I don’t know. All I can tell you is she was sent to the Hillsdale Hospital for psychiatric treatment thirty years ago.’

Rory pressed his fingers down harder against the flesh of Helen’s neck and shoulders. She groaned with pleasure. ‘You should have been a masseur,’ she sighed.

‘Tonight I’m whatever you want me to be,’ he promised, a mischievous smile playing around his lips. Harlan Draper at People Power would love it. More importantly, Rory expected it to give him the ideal entree for syndication to the major newspapers around the country, while making him the champion of the alternative media journalists.

‘That’s the good news,’ Helen said.

‘There’s bad?’

‘Uh huh. Henry hasn’t just blindly trusted you as you thought. Seems he’s done some digging into your own past.’

A shadow crossed Rory’s eyes. He kept massaging Helen’s back, but she felt the sudden tension in his fingers. ‘Go on.’

‘He knows that the police questioned you about a murder when you were sixteen.’

‘How the hell did he find that out?’

‘Didn’t say. One of his people must have done some talking to someone in Forthworth. The local cops? Your mother?’

‘My mother would never say anything about that.’ Rory spat the words out. ‘It was almost twenty years ago, for Chrissakes. Someone else was guilty.’

‘Hey, relax. I know you didn’t do anything. I just figured it would be good for you to know my boyfriend is checking you out. He may have agreed to the article, but he’s wary.’

‘The bastard’s got nothing on me. But I’ve got plenty on him. Plenty.’ Thoughts raced through his mind. Had Kaplan hired someone to look into his background? A private investigator? If so, was it the same one Jennifer Parkes had hired? She was close to Kaplan so that would make sense. Had Jennifer Parkes put Kaplan up to the idea? He thought he’d swayed her with his charm. Now he wasn’t so sure.

‘What’s this all about, anyway?’ Helen asked, excited by the idea of her two lovers secretly sparring against each other. Idealist versus capitalist.

‘It’s about exposing the system and its financial captains for the dirt they really are.’

‘You’re sounding agitated, lover. I think I’d better massage your back.’

‘No. I’m fine. You did well to find out as much as you did. But now it’s fun time.’ Skilful fingers loosened her blouse and slipped it from her.

‘Yes please.’ She breathed heavily as his fingers went to work.

It was one thing to find the time, early mornings and evenings, to select a victim, stalk them, decide on the right time and the right place to strike. It was quite another, the jogger found, to put aside as much time as possible, immediately, to kill a specific person who posed a sudden threat. This was a totally different function, nothing like the killings he so enjoyed. This was business, pure and simple. It didn’t give him the same pleasure - that’s why he’d performed only one other murder like it.

There was a reason for this kill because his prey was a link that the authorities could question. He shuddered at that thought.

Seated in his car, the jogger waited outside the city block that housed Stuart James’ office. He glanced at his watch - 9.50 p.m. Earlier he’d driven to the suburb where James lived. He’d moved stealthily around the exterior of the house. No car in the driveway or garage. No lights. Frustrated, the killer drove into the city. He didn’t have much time to spare. He entered the Australia Tower parking bay entrance with the use of a security key. Earlier in the day, a phone call and an obscene amount of money had secured him a copy of the key from one of his contacts. Not difficult when you knew the right people.

James’ car wasn’t there. The jogger cursed under his breath, then reminded himself to keep calm. If it couldn’t be tonight, then tomorrow. He’d find a way.

He returned to his car. On impulse, he decided to wait a few minutes. Less than five minutes later James’ Ford Falcon passed by and turned into the parking basement.

With several hours to fill before the expected call from Stuart James, Lachlan returned to the Hurstville Police station to process some of the paperwork he’d been avoiding. A detective, Dan Royle, stopped by his desk. ‘You handling the Parkes case again?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Figured as much. Saw the reports out on your desk again.’ A grin danced across Royle’s face. ‘I reckon you want that case because you fancy the widow. Very nice piece of ass.’

‘All the ladies are very nice pieces of ass, according to you,’ Lachlan retorted.

‘True. But this one’s a real looker. I’d say you’re a bit of a dark horse, Lacho.’

‘I wish.’ Later, back at his Glebe apartment, Lachlan’s thoughts returned to Jennifer Parkes as he fixed dinner: grilled cheese on toast with tomato and a few sticks of celery thrown in.

Why hadn’t she ever remarried? Wedded to her business, perhaps? In between relationships?

Lachlan didn’t believe in becoming personally involved with the people in his cases. When this investigation finished though, he wondered whether he’d get up the nerve to ask her for a date. It had been a long time since he’d done anything like that. He knew he needed to start circulating more.

And he hadn’t been able to get Jennifer Parkes out of his mind from the moment they’d met.

On a more realistic note, he doubted she’d have any interest in a homicide cop. She’d have a lot more in common with men from the corporate and fashion worlds.

The phone rang. Todd’s excited voice spoke like rapid fire. ‘Dad. Guess what? Grandpa’s getting better.’

‘That’s great news, tiger. How are you and your mother getting along up there?’