Forgotten (37 page)

The
interview went quiet.
The Senator’s eyes
skated over the immediate perimeter, then stopped suddenly and
within seconds, his forced, sturdy façade changed. Macey grabbed
his wife’s hand, quickly ended the conversation and then slipped
away.

“Something’s spooked him,” Ethan said.

Reardon
agreed. Something had spooked the dear Senator.

Or, more
importantly, someone had.

“Last info I got,” said Ethan, “Macey’s
return to Canberra was all a publicity con. He has a heavily
guarded penthouse in Sydney; that’s where he’s really holing
up.”

“Our Senator is taking no chances.”

“Making it difficult for our doer to get to
him.”

It also meant the doer would have to break
the pattern and go to Macey instead. So how would this affect
Claudia’s role in the killer’s bizarre ritual? Or would she simply
be another break in the pattern?

The ongoing
glut of information was having a harsh impact on Reardon. It was
only natural that he wanted to process it all at once, come up with
a few viable solutions. But in his current condition, he knew that
to be near impossible. He needed sleep. Later, he promised himself
as he slugged on his coffee. Much later. “Anything on the last clan
member, Johnny Hercolani?”

Ethan brought up Hercolani’s portrait. The
first thing that hit Reardon was the unnatural cold, hardness in
Hercolani’s black eyes.

“
Not the
friendliest looking guy,” Ethan said, mirroring Reardon’s exact
thoughts. “And, the last anyone’s heard from him were his
workmates. Hercolani told them he was taking off for a few weeks’
vacation. I’d imagine if he had been another victim, it would’ve
followed a similar pattern as the others, and his body would’ve
turned up in Nankari.”

“But it hasn’t. So where is he? Why is he
the only one of the clan unaccounted for?”

“The doer, perhaps?”

Reardon
paused, mulling over the last comment. “One has to wonder how
does
our doer
get his victims to Nankari in the first place, coerce one
of them into a car and even more crazily, after two murders, compel
another to enter Claudia’s unit.”

“
Someone
with the gift of the bullshit. And someone with
muscles.”

“You talking about yourself or the
doer?”

“Hysterical, mate.”

Reardon
smiled.
“Our doer must know them or of
them
…
someone they trust.”

Ethan shrugged.

“Any indications that Hercolani and Macey
are still in contact? Or any communication with Vincent
Cabriati?”

The answer
was direct. “None.”
Ethan let out a long
yawn, then stretched his arms wide. “Man, this is one fucked up
case.” He stood, strode past the open, brick fireplace equipped
with vintage accessories, moved between a cornflower blue tufted
sofa and a large, matching ottoman until he reached the open
sliders. There he hoisted his hands on his hips and
waited.

Reardon couldn’t have agreed more about the
case.

Often the most convoluted possesses the simplest of
solutions, remember that
.

More wise
words from his mentor.

Reardon copied Ethan, met him at the slider.
Neither said anything. It was customary. A momentary respite was
often crucial.

The constant
stream of cooling sea breeze brushed against Reardon’s tired,
heated skin and he closed his eyes. Minutes passed before one of
them finally spoke. It was Ethan.

“
You know
what really intrigues me,” he whispered without looking at Reardon,
“whatever may or may not have happened in Araneya, there’s been
nothing for twenty years. So what’s set this all off
now?”

“
No, not
now,” Reardon said. “This began fourteen months ago.”

He swung to Ethan.

“
With Simon
Struthers’ murder.”

December 28, 2010

3:25
am

THE SMALL
MUSCLES
around Ethan’s eyes twitched as
he narrowed them tightly. “Why, because the crime scenes were
identical?”

Almost
identical, Reardon
thought,
except for the methodical
arrangement of the Remington by Souza’s body, informing them which
of the remaining aliases was his.

And of
course,
the hands.

He briefly
explained Claudia’s discovery to Ethan and only the discovery. If
Claudia ever wanted to share the private details of Struthers’
death with Ethan, then that would ultimately be her
choice.

“
So
Struthers
triggered it all
off.”

Reardon nodded. “Struthers was an
investigative journalist. Very likely, he uncovered something about
Claudia’s past, probably by accident. We have to follow that up.
Somebody at the time, maybe a colleague, relative, friend, may know
something. We also have to find a way to get Claudia into Araneya,
to relive whatever it was that happened.”

“
Won’t be
pleasant for her.”

Reardon was fully aware of that. But, at
this stage, they had little choice. “Get anything from those two
thugs on the hill today?”

Ethan leaned
against the slider’s frame. He scraped away rogue strands of hair
that blew onto his brow and then crossed his arms. The short
sleeves of his maroon shirt pulled tight. “Wasn’t as fruitful as I
hoped.”

“Not like you.”

“
Nothing to
do with my talents, mate. Whoever is running this shit is keeping
it close.”

“And?”

“
And….”
Ethan dropped his
head, avoiding
Reardon’s eyes. “There’s a price on her head. What you and I call a
‘not to stop job’ until it’s done.”

Reardon felt his heart slam still.

“The thing is,” Ethan resumed, “they don’t
know who ordered it. They just do as they’re told by some low life
called Basteros.”

“Basteros must know who he’s working
for.”

Ethan shook
his head. “You and I both know that’s not always the case.
But
, I did just happen to nick one of the
bastard’s phones. Won’t take me long to find Basteros. They claim
they aren’t
responsible for Alice
Polinski, Iacovelli or Souza.”

That was
unexpected. “What, there are two doers?”

“
I’m just
passing the info, mate. I can only tell you they were
not
lying.”

Reardon
agreed it seemed unlikely that whoever was responsible for the
current body count, would’ve suddenly ordered a hit on Claudia.
There was no logic to it. There were still three members of the
clan alive, all of whom Saul believed, were now staring at similar
fates. For some unknown reason, the doer/doers had included Claudia
in their bizarre ritual.

So why kill her now?

“Who then?” Ethan said.

“More the question, who had the resources to
direct something like this? Your average person wouldn’t even know
where to start.”

Reardon
groaned. An idea took birth in his head, and he wondered why he
hadn’t considered it earlier. “Sometimes,” he said, allowing the
other thought to mature, “I feel like we’re just making progress
and something else happens to throw us off course.”

“
Maybe this
whole thing is designed to put us off course; maybe the real target
has always been Claudia.”

“
Maybe.”
Reardon’s whacky idea was gaining momentum. He crossed the floor,
collected a biro and a pad from Annie’s breakfast bar and began
scribbling.

From behind him, he heard Ethan’s faint
footsteps and then his chair scraping again. “What are you
doing?”

Reardon continued the scribbling. “What does
it look like?”

“
Just tell
me you’re not losing it, mate.”

“
I’m not
losing it, mate.
” Reardon then followed
it with a quick, “Aha.”

“
So
I
’m guessing the ‘aha’
is good?”

“Either good or one bloody coincidence.”

“
You
don’
t believe in
coincidences.”

Reardon
grinned, enjoying the momentary lightness. “Then it means
good.”

He pocketed
his scribble and returned to his seat. He ignored Ethan’s quizzical
expression and then changed direction. “Anything on Milo Cabriati?”
He still failed to understand Milo’s message to meet
Claudia, and then not to turn up.

“
No sign of
him,” Ethan answered. He then went on to explain that he’d spent
considerable time searching Milo’s home, interviewing his
neighbors, his best friend and even his girlfriend. But the task
had proven almost useless. “One of his next-door neighbors claimed
that on the afternoon of Boxing Day, Milo approached her asking if
she could feed his… wait for this… his pet carpet python and bird
eating spider.” Ethan mimicked a shiver. “Seeing those things
slithering and crawling. That’s wrong! I can tell you the neighbor
was none too impressed either, but she agreed.”

“Milo doesn’t particularly strike me as the
cute and furry type. And?”

“
And he told
her he would be gone for a few days; didn’t say where. She also
thought he seemed unusually agitated.”

“What about the friend, the girlfriend?”

“
They
haven’t heard from him. But, as they both said, that’s not
uncommon. Apparently, he loves his own space and goes off
frequently. The girlfriend is only new, but I sense she won’t be
hanging around much longer. She finds some of his quirks a little
off putting.” Ethan paused. “Think he’s involved?”

“
Don’t know.
But he certainly knows more than he’s telling.” Reardon pulled
Claudia’s phone from his pocket. He spent the next few seconds
reading Milo’s text, and then passed the phone to Ethan.

“I guess that at least explains how our
Alice got into Zephyr,” Ethan said after reading it. “And possibly
the mystery of the birthday cards.”

Reardon had
already considered that Milo had been the go-between, but wondered
what would induce a teenager, and by the sounds of it, not a
particularly empathetic one, into helping a woman his family
detested. “I’m more interested in what Milo intimated; that Alice
was killed because of something she knew, something she wanted to
tell Claudia. And considering that it meant breaking her religious
promise, it had to have been something bloody
important.”

“
The
possibilities are endless. Like you said, mate, not enough
facts.”

For now, Reardon set aside the ongoing
puzzlement of Alice Polinski and Milo Cabriati. “What else have
you?”

Ethan’s
response came back fast.
“Charles
Smith.”

Reardon
froze, shot Ethan a long, sideways look. And immediately knew.
Ethan had something worthwhile on Smith. Reardon’s muscles tensed,
his breathing slowed. It was his equivalent to crossing fingers.
“What about him?”

When Ethan answered, his pitch had lowered,
not one that Reardon had heard before. “I decided to follow an idea
I had today.”

Reardon
stayed quiet.
Just how many
waking hours did Ethan spend on all this?

Ethan bent
towards Reardon and clasped his hands together; his rock-hard stare
glued to him. “We already know Claudia had some connection with
Smith. Or at least with whomever Smith was working for.”

A sequence of anticipatory shivers stirred
through Reardon. “Go on.”

“
Remember
Thomas Bellante’s final e-mail with Smith?”
Ethan went on to paraphrase it word by word.

“
E-mail
dated November 23, 2009:

Bellante:
In
reference to Claudia Cabriati, he has accepted the
request.

Smith:
Good. What
about the other matter.

Bellante:
It’ll work
out.

Smith:
It better… or
else….
”

Reardon
nodded.
How could he ever
forget?

“
If this
Smith, whoever the hell he is, is asking for confirmation about
Claudia, the next question I’d be asking is – who is he and what
was the request? So, I re-searched back.”

Ethan’s body language screamed
self-assurance. Reardon shifted, waiting, expectant.

“
Judging by
that super-stunned look on your face, mate, you never thought of
doing that? Surprising for someone of your impeccable
caliber.”

“
We had
already studied Thomas Bellante’s past transcripts
‘til we almost passed out.”

Ethan threw
up his long, index finger. “Um… I had passed out, with the help of
multiple bourbons. You probably didn’t notice.”

Reardon kept
his muscles tensed and alert, and then said in a soft monotone,
“There was nothing in Bellante’s past e-mails that had Claudia’s
name tagged to it.”

But a fresh brand of hope took hold of him,
like a strong, virulent virus requiring immediate feeding. Had
Ethan done the impossible and found a connection? A connection
between Charles Smith, Thomas Bellante and the men he so
desperately searched for.