One Way Or Another You Will Pay (27 page)

“Look,
you need to see this,” I say in a weary voice, as I hit play on my phone.

As
she watches him laugh and mock her, a myriad of expressions flit across her face – shock, disbelief, confusion, before her nostrils flare and her lips purse.

Another
awkward silence follows.

I
break the silence. “What do you want to do?”

She
shrugs and wipes away tears.

With
my eyes fastened to the tablecloth, I contemplate the future.

There
is no word as to whether Tom’s present condition is permanent.

Then
there is every possibility that Ingrid might want to visit Tom. Obviously, she is weak and unable to just walk away like she should. I get that. I
should
get that, considering how long it took me to leave Tom.

“Ingrid,”
I say, “My deal with you is over.” The alternative to those words is to grab her and shake her.

Her
eyes fly to mine.

“Your
actions almost cost me my life and my family’s life. You double-crossed us after we tried to help you. After we were prepared to overlook a major fact – you stole into our house and snatched my baby.”

She
shifts about in her chair, but does not apologize.

“Now
you are in even more trouble.” I point at the video. “You will probably spend …well, with the kidnapping, the diaries, and this incriminating video; you will spend about sixty years in prison.”

No
answer, no reaction.

With
a frustrated sigh, I stand up.

Ritchie
also stands up.

Ingrid
remains seated, her eyes on her lap.

Ritchie
and I start to walk away.

She
runs after us and catches us in the parking lot.

“I
can’t help it!” she cries. “I love him.”

I
whirl around and look at her.

“I
love him. I’m weak. I’m sick.” Tears roll down her face.

Before
I can answer, Ritchie does. “More than your fucking children? Are you serious? What about your kids when you’re in prison, huh?”

“I…I
just wanna see him one more time.”

“Aaaarrrggghhhh!”
I cry, palm to forehead.

Shaking
my head, I get into the car with Ritchie and drive off, leaving her standing in the parking lot with tears streaming down her face.

“I
feel like grabbing and shaking some sense into her!” Ritchie says. “Now she’s a volunteer, not a victim. In my books, that is.” He glances at me. “What do we do now? What if she goes and sees him? She’s no longer employed at Remington, so she’s free to visit him as a friend.”

I
turn to look at him, my mind a muddle through trauma, lack of sleep, and Ingrid’s confusing and frustrating behavior.

“If
you give her the money, chances are she’s going to come back to visit him here. What then?”

I
stare ahead into the blur I’m in. “I don’t know, Ritchie. I just don’t know what to do.”

Ritchie
glances at me. “Wait and see?”

I
nod. “Wait and see.”

Why
the hell didn’t you kill Tom, Bear?

One month later

I park my car in Ingrid’s driveway, walk up to her front door, and knock several times.

No
answer.

Cupping
my hands, I peer into her window. Empty.

It’s
seems like Ingrid has disappeared. Her phone number has been disconnected and her house is empty. I’m really worried. Where could she be? How is she managing financially?

Has
she perhaps gone back to Tom?

“Hello?!”

I whirl around to look into the face of a young man. In his hand is a real estate sign board.

He
flashes me a huge, real estate agent’s smile. “You interested in buying a property?”

“Oh,
no, I’m looking for Ingrid.”

“Oh,
Ingrid’s moved out since the house was sold.”

“Oh.”
She sold her house? Wow!

“Has
…has she left for Indonesia already?”

“Yes.”
He indicates the board. “Just have to erect this sold sign.”

“S…ure.
Well, if you hear from her, tell her that Arena called.”

“Will
do. But it’s her solicitor we deal with.”

I
leave the property really confused. How much did she sell the house for?

How
did she get money to buy plane tickets to Indonesia?

I
call Bear and fill him in.

“What’s
she gonna do for money?” he asks, sounding as confused as I am.

“I
dunno, but Bear, I’m telling you, something’s not right and I’m worried. Maybe I was too short with her the last time. I mean, I was angry and …”

“Okay,
how ’bout we get a private investigator on her? I can enlist Jai’s help?”

“But
she’s in Jakarta?!”

“Oh,
he has contacts all over the world.”

“Okay…”
My main concern is Warren and Sasha.

How
will she afford to look after them with no job and no money?

If
she is in Jakarta, I would have to send her some money. It’s the least I can do.

****

3 MONTHS LATER

Bear and I are parked in a blue Honda Prelude, watching a house in Castle Hill, a Suburb in Sydney.

According
to Jai, this is where Ingrid resides. No Jakarta like I was led to believe.

It’s
a beautiful house, double-storey, facebrick, manicured lawns, and probably five bedrooms.

How
does she afford to rent a place like this?

Any
time now, we expect her black Camry to appear.

About
fifteen minutes later, Ingrid drives by, but not in a beaten-up black Camry. She drives a Mercedes SLK into her driveway and parks into her garage.

“Wow!
New boyfriend?” I ask.

“New
rich
boyfriend,” Bear says, looking equally surprised.

We
watch as Ingrid gets out from behind the wheel of the car. An older woman alights from the front passenger’s seat. I cannot help but notice that they bear a striking resemblance to each other.

Ingrid
unstraps her two kids from the back of the Merc and ushers them inside the house before she closes the garage door.

“That
Merc cost around $166,000,” Bear says, his brows knitted.

“So…so
where did she get the money from?” I ask in a bewildered voice.

Bear
shrugs and for a few moments we sit in silence and stare at the house.

Then
my phone rings. A number I don’t recognize.

“Answer,”
Bear says.

I
do.

“Hello,
Arena.”

My
jaw drops at the sound of Ingrid’s voice.

“What?”
Bear asks.

“Ingrid!”
I mouth.

Now
his jaw drops.

I
quickly hit speakerphone. “Ingrid?”

“Come
in and have a cup of coffee with me,” she says in a casual, relaxed voice. “You can meet my mother.”

Stunned,
I look at Bear.

He’s
recovered from his shock and gestures wildly for me to accept her invitation.

“O…kay,”
I say and end the call.

“What
the fuck, Arena?” Bear says, slipping the car into gear. “How the hell did she spot us?”

Sporting
a sheepish grin, Bear cruises down the street and eases the Honda into her driveway.

“Hello,
my friends!” Her greeting is warm and effusive and she actually looks pleased to see us.

“Hello,
Ingrid,” we chorus in voices strained with awkwardness.

“Spread
them,” she says to me.

My
eyes dart around. “You want to frisk me? Are you kidding?”

She
shrugs. “Just to make sure you’re not wearing a wire.”

“I’m
not!”

With
a grin, she gestures for me to put up my hands.

I
do, and with the skill of prison officer, she pats me down, checks my chest for a wire, and moves onto Bear.

“Aw,
c’mon!” Bear says as she manhandles him, giggling like a girl as she does.

“Jeez,
Ingrid,” Bear says, his hand above his head, a red tide over his face as she prods and pats.

“You
have a nice body, Bear,” she says in a flirtatious voice, her hands running slowly over him, pausing between his legs, leaving no stone unturned, if you know what I mean. “Big and strong. Sexy!”

Both
of us laugh at the stricken look on Bear’s face.

“Okay,”
she says, stepping away from him. “Take a seat.”

Bear
and I sit on what looks like new, white leather couches. It smells of new leather, anyway.

The
lounge is beautifully decorated – off-white carpet, feature walls with huge pieces of all wall-art, designer blingy cushions, floor lamps that look like they come out of lighting catalogue, and a silver and white cashmere throw completes the look.

“Wow,
this place looks lovely!” I say.

“Thank
you!”

We
are interrupted by the white-haired lady bearing coffee and macaroons on a tray.

Ingrid
introduces us to her mother.

“Nice
to meet you,” Bear and I say.

The
old woman nods and quickly retreats back to the kitchen.

I
eye the coffee warily. What if it’s spiked?

“Relax,
my Mum won’t poison you,” Ingrid says, her eyes shining with amusement.

A
chuckle escapes me. “You brought your Mum over?”

“Yeah.
I had to pay $40,000 to the Australian government for them to grant her a one-year visiting visa. A bond, sort of. Now, she helps me with the children.”

“O…kay.
Wow!”

How,
Ingrid? How the hell can you afford all of this?

My
eyes sweep over her, take in her physical renaissance.

That
God-awful bob she sported? Gone.

Her
hair is longer and flat-ironed, light brown with mustardy highlights. Not very different from mine but with a lot more sheen.

Her
charcoal pants and matching jacket is formal and tailored. The silk shirt she’s wearing gathers loosely at the waist and covers a multitude of sins.

She
wears only lipstick and a little face powder, yet she glows. From within too.

Although
she has gained some weight, she wears it well.

She
could easily pass as an attorney. A successful one at that.

“I
was expecting you guys,” she says. “Used to always watch out for cars parked around, watching my house. That’s how I spotted you both.”

Bear
and I emit short, strained laughs. Silly crooks that we are.

“You’re
wondering where I got the money from, right?” She sweeps her hand grandly to her stylish surrounds.

“Right!”
Bear and I chorus.

She
laughs behind her hand, exposing silver and black acrylics, studded with diamond chips. The kind you don’t want to do dishes with.

“While
I was with Tom, I watched him a lot. The thing about me; I have very good eyesight and a mind for numbers. Seriously. I can see things a distance away and my memory is great. That’s how I saw you guys. Spotted you two.”

“Okay,”
I say, then take a sip of my coffee.

“Anyway,
I watched him log on and log off the computer, the online accounts, and I got to know his passwords for various accounts. His passwords were usually the names he called them, like Fuckwitrogers, Dumbassrodney and Tomthegreat.”