Disappear (36 page)

He stopped, looked at Lachlan. ‘What in blazes!’ He was lost for words. The letter had been posted over a decade before.

Lachlan rummaged through the pile, checking the postmarks. So Falkstog had supplied his prostitutes as well as the surveillance. All the envelopes were addressed to Ms M Rentin, c/- Winterstone at the Dural address. ‘The earliest was posted eighteen years ago,’ he remarked. He opened it and scanned the contents.

‘Dear Mother,

I had an intriguing thought today, one I wanted to share with you.

Just think of the crimes - all the crimes committed by all the men and women throughout history –

‘If the killer wrote these letters to his mother then why’d he send them here?’ Aroney wondered aloud, peering over Lachlan’s shoulder. ‘Unless …’

‘I’ve a hunch about that name - Rentin,’ Lachlan said. ‘I’m going to phone Bryant, get him to follow through on it from his end. But right now, we should pay Falkstog a visit. My gut tells me he holds the key.’

‘You go,’ Bryant said. ‘I’ll stay and keep the place off limits until the forensics boys get here. But tell ‘em to hurry, will you?’ He glanced about at the bare brick walls, the bizarre array of canisters and caskets. ‘This place gives me the creeps.’

Hans Falkstog lived in a colonial white, double storey mansion, set in lush, green landscaped gardens. The rear of the estate, complete with an Olympic size swimming pool and tennis courts, backed onto a private strip of beach where its owner jogged most mornings.

This wasn’t just the home of a wealthy, enigmatic businessman. A top-secret operation was housed within. Lachlan had found that private security firms were a mushrooming business, preferring to run their offices from private residences rather than city blocks. And, they guarded their own confidentiality as closely as that of their clients.

The elite security professionals came from a variety of backgrounds; they were commandos, ASIO agents or military officers. Many were martial arts experts. Lachlan knew that a growing number of these bodyguards were former policemen.

Falkstog Security Professionals employed its people on a freelance, project-by-project basis. It also called on computer programmers, electronics experts, locksmiths and lawyers. The lion’s share of its assignments these days were for executive bodyguards - the fastest growing area of the industry.

Sounding irritated, Falkstog agreed to a brief meeting when his secretary buzzed through to say a Detective Sergeant Lachlan was waiting in the reception area. Falkstog was tall and athletic, with the finely honed, muscular physique of a much younger man. His sandy hair had receded and he had the sky blue eyes and porcelain smooth skin of a Swede. He ushered Lachlan into his study and listened, poker faced as Lachlan asked about the nature of his work for Henry Kaplan.

‘I can’t discuss private client business,’ said Falkstog with a cool smile. ‘I’m sure you understand that.’

‘I appreciate your position on this. But you’re not a doctor or a lawyer …’

‘That doesn’t rule me out on having principles, detective.’

‘Mr. Falkstog, this is a multiple homicide investigation. I believe the information you hold on your client is vital to that investigation. If you won’t talk now I’ll have police lawyers subpoena you and your files to appear in court.’

‘What in blazes!’

‘I’m sure you don’t want certain aspects of your business dragged before the public.’

‘This is outrageous.’

‘I don’t have time to be stonewalled like this.’ Lachlan was tired, short on patience. His anger showed. ‘There’s a killer out there, and he’s ready to kill again. I’ll see you in court.’

Falkstog showed a weary indignity. He shrugged. ‘I suppose I might as well talk to you now, detective, and save us both that sort of trouble. Let me assure you I have no desire to hinder an important investigation. At the same time I’m required to protect the safety and privacy of my clientele. How can I help?’

‘Over twenty-five years ago, Henry Kaplan received a kidnap threat against his son. He employed the services of your company.’

‘Yes. Some disgruntled employee tried to scare the shit out of him. The coppers nabbed the guy a few weeks later.’

‘Since then your services have been retained by the Kaplan Corporation?’

‘That’s right. Security patrols for his business premises, cleansing his boardrooms of industrial bugs. That sort of thing.’

‘Some years later, Kaplan also employed you on a private basis.’

A cloud crossed Falkstog’s eyes. ‘Yes. He was adamant it should remain a confidential matter. Not that anything illegal was involved. It was simply a matter of some embarrassment to him.’

‘Embarrassment?’

‘Private matter, Lachlan.’

‘For Chrissakes, he paid you $150,000 a month, every month, for many years? For a private matter that was embarrassing to him?’

‘Round the clock surveillance. Not as outrageous as you might think. These days there’s more than a few wealthy people, usually a select group of chief executives, who have themselves or families or important staff members watched night and day. Visiting pop superstars and actors, even a few who don’t really need it, do the same. It’s been a growing trend, ever since John Lennon. And it’s lucrative, incredibly so. Perhaps you should consider a change of career, detective?’

‘So, for more than a decade your people carried out round the clock surveillance on Henry Kaplan?’

‘No,’ said Falkstog, his face impassive, eyes cold. ‘I’m afraid you haven’t got it quite right.’

Jennifer’s phone call to Max Bryant was brief. She gave him the details of the Longer Life website. She no sooner replaced the receiver than the phone rang again.

‘Jen, It’s Roger.’

There was no mistaking the anxiety in his voice. ‘Roger, I’m glad you called. I heard the news reports …’

‘Jen. Dad’s a mess. I’ve never seen him like this. It’s not just the mine disaster. Becker’s pulled out, everything’s collapsing. And this business with Winterstone and Brian. Dad’s devastated. It seems Harold Masterton was involved. But Dad came charging into my office, blaming me for everything - so I left.’

‘Oh, God.’

‘When I calmed down I went back. Apparently he’d stormed off, smashing things, babbling. Went home. Can you meet me there?’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s just that I know you’ll be able to calm him down …’

‘Roger, I’m on my way.’

‘What’s going on?’ Carly asked as Jennifer hung up the phone.

‘Hold on.’ Jennifer ran into the adjoining room. ‘I’ve got to rush over to Henry Kaplan’s place, constable,’ she said to the policeman on watch. ‘Family crisis. You’ll make certain Carly’s okay here?’

‘Of course, Ms Parkes,’ said the young man. ‘But I’m under orders to watch you as well. I can’t allow you to go off -’

‘Detective Lachlan made it clear that I’m not a prisoner in my own home,’ Jennifer cut across him with steely resolve. ‘I need to go now. Urgently. Look, why don’t you arrange for another unit to meet me at the Kaplan home in Vaucluse?’

‘You’re driving straight there?’

‘Yes, constable. Straight there.’

‘Hold on. Let me phone through and clear it with my superiors.’

He made the call on his cell and Jennifer stepped back into the corridor.

Carly trailed her mother to the front door. ‘Be careful, Mum.’

‘I will.’

‘And Mum?’

Jennifer paused at the front door, giving Carly an enquiring glance.

‘I’m sorry about … before. Not trusting in you. About Dad. About lots of things.’

‘It’s in the past. Forget it, okay?’

‘Okay. And Mum, shouldn’t you be waiting for the all-clear about heading off.’

‘I’m sure it will be fine.’ And she was gone.

Carly turned as the constable, having completed his call, stepped into the corridor.

‘Apparently Detective Senior Sergeant Lachlan’s orders were strictly that your mother stay within watch at all times,’ he said to Carly, looking toward the front door. They heard the sound of the car backing onto the street and then heading off.

‘The detective should know my mother better than that by now,’ Carly said. ‘If I were you, constable, I’d see to it that a back-up unit meets her at the Kaplan place, wouldn’t you?’ The constable, frowning, hurriedly made another call. Carly grinned, and it occurred to her that she’d sounded exactly as her mother would’ve sounded in the same situation. Funnily enough, that didn’t bother her at all.

For a moment she stood by the door, looking out, and said a private prayer for her mother.
Lord, keep her safe.

She closed the door and went back into the living room to wait.

Hans Falkstog knew that if he turned Neil Lachlan away, the detective would be back within hours with a search warrant and a small army of back-up coppers. He couldn’t expose his clandestine operation to a situation like that. So for the moment he had to treat Lachlan with kid gloves. Co-operate. Reveal more than he wanted to.

And then, when the coast was clear, he’d deal with the meddling policeman. At the rear of Falkstog’s multi-level home was a special command room, built as an extension to the main house. He took Lachlan through to where banks of sophisticated electronic gadgetry were housed. It had been Falkstog’s idea to do this, a ploy to maintain some control over this unexpected meeting. He’d already argued with Lachlan that he couldn’t reveal the identity of the person he’d had watched for so many years - that, Falkstog insisted angrily, was a matter of professional discretion and client privilege.

‘As I’m sure you’re aware, security companies like mine are a growing industry. In fact, we represent a wide-reaching international civilian espionage network. Nothing illegal, you understand. Mostly gathering information, or protection. We offer a kind of secret service, if you like, to businessmen and others who can afford us. Not to mention government departments and even the federal police who have engaged my services from time to time.’

‘All the more reason I’d expect your full co-operation in this matter,’ said Lachlan.

Falkstog gave a wry smile. ‘I’m just not convinced you’re on the right track here, Detective.’

Falkstog employed two operators per shift in his control room - three shifts every twenty-four hours to monitor the equipment. A video system and an ultra-high frequency radio network transmitted pictures and sounds from various field agents with mobile gear. The material gathered was then stored on the hard drives.

Lachlan wasn’t an expert on electronic surveillance - but he felt certain that some of the equipment in the room was highly classified military and police hardware - not for sale or use by civilians. That however, was a matter for later.

And there would be a later. He intended to come back, with Ed Razell’s endorsement, and raid Falkstog’s premises. ‘And this is how you carried out the monitoring?’

‘Yes,’ said Falkstog, his voice betraying a trace of pride. ‘I had two operatives in the field, working in shifts around the clock. Usually they were stationed in a car or small van with video and audio monitoring equipment, always within reasonable striking distance of the subject. In addition, all operatives carry long range, night vision binoculars.

‘Audio micro bugs were placed in the subject’s car, his apartment, his office, his briefcase - and, of course, at the warehouse.’

Lachlan raised his eyebrows at the complexity and thoroughness of such surveillance. And yet, to men like Falkstog who ran such businesses, this was routine. ‘All these years you knew this man was a vicious serial killer, yet you sat on the information -’ The sudden anger in his voice couldn’t be mistaken.

‘Absolutely not!’ Falkstog interjected with equal anger. ‘I already explained on the way down, Detective Lachlan, that neither my agents nor myself had any reason to believe this man might have been a killer. I was told, and I believed, he had a psychological condition, that he could be dangerous to himself or to others, so he needed to be watched for that reason. And you have not produced any physical evidence to the contrary. If there was any proof …’

Falkstog was unaware that Lachlan knew of the many killings that had been prevented by Falkstog’s men.

Lachlan didn’t want to reveal any more or provoke Falkstog any further. The element of surprise was his best option now – to return within the hour with a warrant to seize Falkstog’s records.

Falkstog himself, Lachlan decided, would keep until later.

For now, he needed to quickly connect Falkstog’s surveillance with the findings at the Winterstone warehouse - and link them definitively with the man he was now certain was the garrotte murderer.

After Lachlan had left, Hans Falkstog picked up his phone and called the number he thought of as the hot line.

It was a long time since he’d used this number, a long time since he’d spoken to the man on the other end of the line.

Falkstog said, as the call was answered, ‘I have a code one, repeat code one situation here.’ He explained, quickly and briefly, about the visit from Lachlan, and about the information Lachlan possessed. ‘I had to play along for the moment, but this detective will blow the whistle, within hours I’d say. He must be eliminated -
fast
.’

The man on the other end of the line, Commander (retired) Malcolm Addison, formerly of military intelligence, sat in his Canberra office, a 40-minute flight away in the nation’s capital.

‘We can’t do that,’ he said.

‘Did you hear me right -’ Falkstog began.

‘Lachlan is the senior man on this garrotte killer case,’ Addison cut across him. ‘There’s massive government, police and media focus on that case. It’s simply too dangerous, too sensitive an issue to take Lachlan out.’

‘Then what can -?’

‘Listen to me,’ said Addison, ‘listen very carefully.’

‘Phones haven’t stopped ringing,’ Ron Aroney said as Lachlan entered the Special Unit room. ‘Razell’s phoned back three times wanting to know what we found at the warehouse, and whether we’d had McConnell in here yet.’