The Recipient (24 page)

Shelley turned and left Casey alone on The Walk.

Casey let her go, holding the piece of paper before her. She examined the numbers again, her mind numb with disbelief and realisation.

She was trying to tell me
, she thought.

And then she noticed something else.

Her eyes were drawn to the top right-hand corner of the paper, where it had been torn, presumably, from some sort of notepad.

Though the logo of the letterhead was largely missing, Casey felt a sudden shock of a recognition at the name printed in bold Georgian font.

And then she felt sick.

It read, ‘Slattery & Ger…'

CHAPTER 25.

C
asey parked the Volkswagen in the lot above the beach and peered through the windshield. Across the grass, she spotted Lionel sitting at the table in front of the jetty. She smiled wearily. He was holding a newspaper in both hands before him, and occasionally he absently lifted a cup of coffee that was sitting beside him without looking up from his reading. He appeared completely at peace.

Getting out of the car, Casey stretched wearily then grabbed her backpack from the passenger seat. She trooped down the steps.

Lionel sensed her presence even before he saw her. He turned and looked in her direction. “There you are,” he greeted with gruff cheerfulness.

Folding the newspaper, he set it aside and lifted a second cup of coffee into view, setting it before her as she sat down opposite him. He then lifted an open bag of potato crisps and held it out toward her. Her eyes twinkled as she eagerly dipped her hand into the bag.

“If you had been another five minutes, I would have devoured the entire packet.”

“Glad I didn't stick to the speed limit then.”

Lionel's brow furrowed until Casey disarmed him with a weary smile.

“So,” he ventured. “You can claim quite the achievement. Driving all that way on your own.”

“I was
pissed off
enough that the agoraphobia didn't even get a chance,” Casey responded.

Lionel's bushy eyebrows flicked up. “And how did you fare?”

“She opened up,” Casey slung her backpack down on the seat beside her. “As soon as I showed her the Audi, it was clear to me that she knew.”

“Just like that?”

Casey nodded. “Just like that. Actually, I think she was relieved to be finally able to tell someone.”

She paused, shaking her head slowly as she collected her thoughts. She took a sip from her cup and looked at Lionel.

“It seems that Saskia was involved with someone. And, we can be pretty certain that he was driving that car the night of her accident.”

Lionel's eyes widened. “Wait a minute, Shelley Agutter
knew
him?”

“No. That's the thing, she didn't. Shelley says she never met him.”

“I don't follow,” Lionel's expression tightened in confusion.

“I think I do,” Casey said, taking the photograph of Shelley and Saskia at the Pleasant Festival out of her bag.

“Saskia had been in trouble over her student visa. Something about working more hours than she was legally allowed to. She was reported to the authorities and, because she was deemed to be in breach of her visa conditions, she was sent to the Flaxley Park Immigration Detention Facility pending a review. That was where Shelley believed that she met a guy.”

“Someone from the facility?”

Casey shrugged. “Shelley doesn't know. Seems that Saskia was a lot more private than anyone gave her credit for—even with her best friend. Whoever it was, Shelley believes that he had a lot to do with Saskia getting out. I think it was someone in a position of influence.” Casey handed Lionel the photograph. “It happened all of a sudden. One minute, Saskia was caught in this legal limbo with no apparent end and then, out of the blue, she got a call from Saskia to come and pick her up.”

“Did her grandmother know about any of this?”

“Apparently not. It happened during her hospital admission. Shelley and Saskia deliberately kept the detention from Lesia so as not to worry her.”

“That seems rather a risky decision?” Lionel remarked. “What would they have done if she hadn't been released?”

“Well,” Casey said. “It's a stretch, but I think that Saskia might have known that things were always going to fall in her favour, especially if this
someone
had a hand in helping fast-track her case.”

Casey tapped her finger on the photograph, over the car. “This doesn't strike me as the kind of car that just anybody drives, certainly not a fellow detainee.”

“Not likely. They had influence over decision-making?” Lionel ventured, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Casey leaned forward and stood, stretching her legs. “It's only a theory. I've got nothing really to base it on just yet.”

“What happened after? I don't quite understand how Shelley didn't meet this person. Weren't she and Saskia best friends?”

“That's the thing,” Casey frowned. “Shelley said she noticed a change in Saskia after she was released. She became really secretive—or, at least, more secretive than usual. Saskia wouldn't talk about him. She deflected any questions about him. Shelley said it put a strain on their friendship. Then, all of sudden, the relationship with the mystery man went cold.”

“Cold?”

“Saskia just kinda returned. Became like her old self again. She still wouldn't say anything about the guy but Shelley was just relieved to have Saskia back. She decided to let it go. And then, that last night down at the Pleasant Festival, he turned up.”

Lionel's eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. “I'm confused. I thought you said she never met him.”

“No, she didn't
meet him
as such,” Casey held up her fingers and wiggled them for effect. “She only saw him from a distance and not very clearly.”

Casey paused, swinging her hand around as she searched for the right words to explain herself.

“The group had been taking drugs. Shelley admitted they were pretty wasted, so no one could remember him in any great detail. Her only recollection was that he seemed intense. She became worried when Saskia said that he wanted her to leave the Festival with him.”

“And she agreed to go,” Lionel said, his voice trailing away.

Casey's expression tightened. Her hand drifted down to her pocket, to the bulk of the small purse that Shelley had given her. Lionel watched as she took out the small object and cradled it in her hands before her. She gulped softly.

“What's wrong, Casey?” he ventured as she opened the purse and plucked a small square of paper from inside. Gingerly, she handed it to Lionel.

“Shelley gave me this,” Casey said as she watched him unfold his glasses and place them on.

He frowned, studying the scrawled handwriting.

“Saskia gave it to Shelley, that final night at Pleasant. Saskia was adamant that she take it. But she wouldn't say why. Then she was gone. That was the last time that anyone saw her alive.”

Lionel inspected the numbers on the piece of paper, running his thumb down each of them in turn, mouthing the numerals as he went. “These look like…
file
numbers.”

“Yeah, but file numbers for what?”

Lionel lowered his hands and gazed at Casey.

“Saskia Andrutsiv was detained in a federal immigration detention facility,” he said. “I'll wager that these are detainee case file numbers.”

“What would she be doing with case file numbers from a detention facility?” she ventured, as much to herself as to Lionel. “I mean, I get why she would have her own, but why would she have these other numbers?”

“I think it's more reasonable to ask what would
anyone
be doing with case file numbers from a detention facility. I would very much like to know who this person was that Saskia was seeing. He apparently had the means to have her released from Flaxley.”

Lionel paused as he looked down at the numbers again. “She got these numbers from him?”

Casey shrugged. Turning slightly, she studied her grandfather as he continued to mull over the numbers.

“There's something else,” she said.

Lionel squinted. “Something else?”

Casey reached out and pointed to the letterhead fragment in the top right-hand corner of the paper. He squinted through his glasses.

“You don't recognise it?”

He shrugged momentarily.

“Slattery and Ge…,” he began.

His voice caught, in part because there was nothing left to read, but also because the familiarity of the words struck him.

“Slattery & Gerard,” he said.

Lionel drew in a sudden and sharp intake of air and he looked up at Casey.

“Edie's law firm?”

“They do legal aid work for immigrants,” Casey said. “They have done it for a while. They've represented asylum seekers and visa holders who have disputes over their status. Edie told me herself.”

“And Saskia Andrutsiv was one of them?”

Casey's gaze drifted out across the water. Without realising it, her jaw had set hard. “That letterhead would suggest that she was.”

Lionel looked up from the note and studied Casey, conflict welling up inside him. “Wait,” he continued. “What are you thinking, Casey?”

Casey stiffened and retreated from her grandfather. “I don't know. I just…I was shocked when I saw that.”

Lionel abruptly stood from the bench and stepped forward, gripping the piece of paper.

“You can't honestly be thinking that…your mother—
my daughter—
might know something about this?”

Casey flinched at the flash of anger in Lionel's voice.

“I…don't know, Pa. She told me that they had done that type of work, pro bono in a lot of cases. And she said that a lot of that work came about because of Simeera Fedele. When I saw that, I was just—it shocked me. It might be worth asking her.”

Lionel glowered at Casey. “I think you are venturing into dangerous territory with your thinking, young lady.”

“But, Pa, I just—”

“No!” Lionel snarled, thrusting his finger out at Casey to silence her. She jumped where she sat. Tears threatened her as he turned away and shook his head angrily.

Casey desperately cast her mind back over the conversation with Shelley, the photograph of Saskia and Shelley, the numbers Lionel held in his hand, the detention facility.

The detention facility
.

Taking out her smartphone, she opened a maps application and entered “Flaxley Park Immigration Detention Facility” into the search pane.

Lionel turned around and blinked in disbelief. Casey's attention was now firmly concentrated on the device. She scrolled the display with her fingers, centering it over a satellite image of the detention facility.

“What on Earth are you doing?” he probed fearfully, stepping forward. He frowned in confusion as he looked down at the satellite image on the display.

When Casey did not answer, Lionel proffered the square of paper between them, gazing at it as the sunlight splashed across the back of the it and the breeze caught the underside of it, causing it to flutter in his grip.

“I think we should take this to Whittaker,” Lionel said.

Casey looked up from the screen. Her expression had shifted. To his utter exasperation, a curious smile tugged the corners of her mouth.

“I think I've got a better idea.”

___

Casey skipped up the warehouse stairs and was already unlocking the door while Lionel followed, exasperated, in her wake.

“Casey!” he called after her, his voice plagued with frustration. “I really think you should slow down and think about this. I believe that Whittaker will take a look at these numbers.”

Ignoring him, Casey went to the computer, touching her thumb to the biometric pad on her keyboard. She dropped her backpack to the floor and sat, examining the screen intently.

“Casey,” he repeated breathlessly, stumbling through the open door.

“Pa,” she said distractedly. “On their own, it's not enough. And, besides, we're talking about a Federal Immigration Detention facility here. If we go to him with this alone, Whittaker will laugh us out of the building.” She turned in her seat as he stood before her. “I need more to go on.”

“What do you mean more?” Lionel shot back. “You've identified the car. You can prove that it existed and you've extracted new information from Shelley Agutter in the form of
these
numbers
. It's tangible, Casey, and it'll be tangible for Whittaker, too. I know him.”

Casey paused in the middle of typing and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply to quell her frustration.

“I know
him,
too,” she countered. “The picture of a car—it's just a picture and it's not a very good one at that. And the numbers, we can't be even sure what they mean at this point.”

“I really don't believe that Whittaker will dismiss—” Lionel began before Casey cut him off.

“You've said it yourself, he's pissed off enough already because of my poking around. Pissed off enough to let Prishna off her leash.”

“Prishna?” Lionel's eyebrows rose.

Casey ground her teeth together. “I didn't tell you before, but Prishna confronted me at the college. She told me that Whittaker was watching us. He found out about Lesia Andrutsiv.” She shook her head angrily. “If I go to him with this, not only will he rubbish it, but he'll likely force us to stop searching.”

Casey turned to him then stopped, realising that she was beginning to lose her patience. She did everything she could to soften her expression. “I need to dig a little deeper. I have to be sure about this.”

“By hacking into a government computer system?”

Lionel shook his head and placed his hands on his hips. He knew he was struggling. Casey's dogged streak was rearing itself once again. When he looked up from the floor, his eyes fell across the computer's screen. Casey had brought up a web entry for the Flaxley Park Immigration Detention Facility, located in Melbourne's inner northern suburbs. She began scanning through the address details, making a note of the surrounding geography.

Lionel's eyes bulged.

“Wait…what are you proposing to do?” he pressed, his eyes moving between Casey and the screen. “You can't possibly be thinking of going sniffing around a Federal Immigration facility.”

A light bulb went off and she stopped cold. She glanced over at him.