Faceless, page 14
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
She actually scoffed, laughed out loud, and Max cursed himself for uttering that thought. Again it was a case of wrong person, wrong question. She didn’t bother answering, and he didn’t bother repeating the query. It left an awkwardness in the air between them, which marked the time for him to leave. He sat back and was about to get up and go when she dropped a few words that stopped him dead.
‘I ran into Helena the other day.’ The words were said quietly enough, but the effect they had on Max was anything but. He felt the sweat break out across his face, while a chill sensation swept along his back. The way his heart thudded in his chest, he wondered if he was going to have a coronary.
‘She asked after you, if anyone had seen you, knew where you were. I had to tell her no. Maybe you should get in touch.’
Max’s breath came in short gasps. He could feel the griping in his stomach and the lumps of date scone threatening to come back up.
‘Jesus, I gotta go.’
He hauled himself to his feet and without looking her way stumbled off and across the turning lane, the blast of a car horn punishing him for his inattention.
‘Max,’ she called out after him. ‘Max, you have to face up to this sometime.’ He placed his hands over his ears, but he could still hear her words slip through his fingers, felt them chase him, stab into his back. ‘You can’t run forever. It’s never going to go away.’
Bradley
He stood in his garage, in front of the workbench, and pulled the coarse, coiled tendril between his fingers, stretched it till it was straight, then relaxed his hands so the curl sprang back to its natural length. He did it several more times, and with each stretch and spring the smile that curled the corners of his mouth climbed higher, until he started to laugh out loud. He couldn’t believe he’d done it. Couldn’t believe he’d followed through with his plan, that he’d managed to work up the guts. He hadn’t wimped out: he’d ridden out her protests, and actually gone through with it. And best of all, he didn’t feel that bad about it – after all, he hadn’t actually harmed her. But he’d done something he’d set out to do, he had been in command of the situation and he’d finished the job. And, fuck, it felt good. He felt elated, and strong, and horny, so fucking horny. The kids were in bed, and Ange was in the house, probably tidying up everything, getting the house picture-perfect as it had to be, nothing out of place, everything how she liked it, her way, and all he wanted to do was grab her, rip her clothes off and strip her naked and then to feel the softness of her hair running through his fingers while he fucked her. She was his, all his. He stretched the curl out one more time before raising it to his lips, and then placing it carefully in the bottom drawer of his tool chest. Then he turned back to the house and with an unbearable anticipation went to hunt out his wife.
Billy
On her knees, she gathers up the remnants of her hair, sweeping her arms around like a mother gathering in her children, collecting as much as she can reach. She then pulls them in tight, crouches over them, squeezing the tendrils against her chest, her head bent low, forehead on the cold concrete. The wetness of her tears runs down through her eyebrows. Her scalp crawls with the cold, feels so exposed, so weightless, but she can’t bring herself to reach up and feel what is left. All she can do is clutch at what she has lost.
Bradley
He lay spooned against her back, his body exquisitely aware of her skin touching his; he felt as if every pore was charged with electricity. He nuzzled his face into her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.
‘Bradley?’ Her voice was quiet, uncertain.
‘Hmmmm?’ he murmured dreamily.
‘Are you having an affair?’
He felt like he’d been slapped. His body tensed with her words – and hers responded in kind. What had she noticed? He’d dropped those stained trousers into the drycleaners, thank God that suit came with a spare pair, and he’d disposed of all her soiled clothes. Had she smelt something on him? Surely not – he’d showered. Then he asked himself her question, an affair? Was he having an affair? Technically, did it count? And he decided, with a sense of relief, of course he wasn’t, there was no love involved, not even lust – well, not towards the girl, anyway. It was something entirely different – it was something … something indescribable but it wasn’t an affair. He breathed out and let his body relax again.
‘No, of course not. Why would you think that?’
There was silence for a while. He could imagine her trying to find the right words. She must have been worried, because words had always been her primary weapon and she generally fired them without pause. Finding the right words had always been his weakness.
‘You wouldn’t lie to me?’ She sounded so vulnerable.
He pulled himself up onto his elbow and gently rolled her over so he could make out the outline of her face in the dark, the whites of her eyes softly reflecting the little light there was. ‘You know I couldn’t lie to you. I’m not having an affair. Why would you think I am?’
‘Because you’ve been doing so much overtime at work. Because of this – because you’re suddenly showing me some attention after years of not being very…’ she paused, again hunting for the right word ‘…giving. It’s a classic sign, you know, a change of habits, suddenly wanting sex. You’ve been different these last few days.’
He felt different. Whereas before he’d felt withered by her dictatorial and perfectionist ways, now he felt empowered, that he was the one in the driving seat. He gently twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. ‘I know I’ve been a bit different, but in a good way. Believe me, I’m not having an affair.’ He paused, deciding how to spin this. ‘I guess I just had a sort of epiphany. Work has been like a treadmill, and I guess I’d let that slowly wear away at me till I was always too tired, or distracted, and I felt so much pressure to be the best, to give them more and more. The workload and expectation has been ridiculous since the restructure, you know it has. And when I was at the gym the other day, and I looked at all the other sad, middle-aged bastards who looked as hounded and as tired as I felt, I thought, why am I doing this? Why am I letting it get to me like this? If I keep on at this rate I’ll be dead in a decade, another bloody corporate heart attack, and you know, I want to live to see our little girls grow up, and I want to be around to grow old with you. And you know what’s funny? I was always worried you’d be the one to run off and have an affair, get tired of how much I’d neglected you and go find some better, more attentive man. I want you to stay with me and I’ve finally come to appreciate how much I’ve put my job first and how much that hurt everyone. I decided to change that.’
He heard her sniff; she was crying. Ange never cried, she was from the ‘don’t show your true feelings’ school of life, and this sudden display of softness stirred something deep within him.
‘I’ve decided to make every day count. I’m sure that I’ll slip up occasionally and lapse back into my old ways, and when I do, you can slap me around a bit and tell me to snap out of it. But I’ve made that conscious decision. I love you, and I want to be here for you and the kids.’
‘It’s been so long since you said that.’ She cupped his face with her hand.
‘Said what?’
‘That you love me.’
‘Well, I do,’ he said, and he realised he actually meant it.
Max
Max stood at the entrance to the alleyway, his alleyway. Somehow, in the course of this single day, its significance had changed. The rhythmic swoosh of cars on the road had once been comforting; now it grated. In his mind the alleyway now held some kind of menace, the shadows loomed deeper, the blackness of doorways an invitation to oblivion, and he became aware he couldn’t sleep rough there tonight. But that little voice inside him kept picking away at his conscience. What if she came back? What if she came back and she needed him? And anyway, where else did he have to go? He pushed his reluctant feet forward to take those first steps down its maw. He had a job to do. He had to check it out, just in case she had returned and was there, although in his heart he knew she wouldn’t be. In his mind she was somewhere, somewhere strangely like this – cold, dark, foul – and she was alone. But she was alive, he was certain of it. He had to find her.
The alleyway held a stench he hadn’t noticed before. He smiled to himself at the irony of suddenly being precious about smells, when he’d reeked for so long. Her spot was empty, as he knew it would be. He looked across the way to where he used to doss down and recoiled at the sight of the darkened alcove. He moved further along the alleyway, his footfalls sounded unnaturally loud in the chasm of concrete buildings. A darkened mass to his left began to move.
‘Who’s there?’ a cigarette-scratched voice called out from the gloom.
‘It’s me,’ he said.
‘What do you want?’ The voice had changed from cautious to its usual antagonistic.
‘To strike a deal.’
He heard a derisive chuckle, then as he got closer a sharp intake of breath. ‘Bugger me, what have you done to yourself?’ Skeet said. There was nothing wrong with his eyesight.
‘The girl, Billy, she’s missing.’
‘So, maybe she saw sense and went home, or shacked up with some fella. What do you care?’
‘I care a lot, as it happens. I need you to keep an eye out for her, in case she comes back here.’
‘Why would I do that?’ Skeet said, the hook in his voice indicating exactly what it would take to get him to share that kind of information.
Max slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a precious five-dollar note. He handed it to the wily old bugger.
Skeet held it up towards the light at the end of the alley, checking the denomination. ‘Humph. It’s going to take more than that. Couldn’t even get myself a packet of cigs with that.’
‘Call it a token of goodwill,’ Max said. ‘I’ll be back each day to check in. If you see her, you let her know I’m looking for her. If you can prove she was here, there’s a bottle of whisky in it for you.’
‘A big one, not a hip flask.’ It was a statement, not a request.
‘Of course, the big one.’
Skeet tucked the money away and settled himself back into his digs. ‘Why don’t you hang around yourself, see if she turns up? Or are you too good for us now?’
Some people he could feel sorry for, with the circumstances life gave them; some people deserved what they got. Max wasn’t going to miss Skeet.
‘Like I said, if you see her, tell her I’m looking.’ With that he turned and walked back towards the light.
Meredith
It had been over a decade since she’d last set foot in a church. She could even remember the date – as she should; you’re supposed to remember your wedding day, after all. Not that she had cause to celebrate it anymore – the philandering bastard had buggered off years ago. Unfortunately it was with her sister. She didn’t miss the bastard, but she did miss what she’d once had with her sister. It didn’t do much for interfamily relations, of course, and after a couple of disastrous family Christmases they’d all given up the pretence of trying to make it work out, and, to her mother’s great sorrow, the family had basically disintegrated. So much for love.
This church was huge – it had to be, to service its large Pacific Island community. The carpark was a sea of asphalt large enough to accommodate several basketball courts. She could hear the melodic strains of a choir practising in the main auditorium beyond the large foyer in which she stood. Through the glass double doors she caught a glimpse of colourful floral prints wrapped around big, beautiful women.
‘They sound good, don’t they?’ A huge Polynesian man stepped towards her with a warm smile and his hand outstretched. Her hand was dwarfed in his as they greeted each other.
‘Thomas Mara, minister of this church, we talked earlier. You must be Detective Peters.’
‘Detective Sergeant,’ she said, but didn’t offer her Christian name. ‘Thank you for your help with this, and facilitating a meeting.’
‘That’s okay, I’m just glad I recognised Vilimena from the description you gave. It’s a serious matter. I had no idea how serious until I received your phone call. Come this way.’ He guided her towards some offices down a corridor to the left. ‘It appears the Naitakus have not been honest with me about their dealings with their daughter. I had understood, after the troubles they had with her, that she had been sent back to relatives in Fiji, so I was shocked to hear she had been living rough on the streets all this time. Please believe me, if we had known the truth of the matter the Church would have stepped in and done something for the girl. I’m horrified at the thought she has been unsupported all this time.’
She could tell from his distress that he meant it. ‘We appreciate the help you’re giving now. Hopefully her parents will be able to give us some information that will help track her down.’ She wasn’t going to hold her breath on that front, given what she’d been told by the minister on the phone. Although she was supposed to go into situations like this with an open mind, she had already formed an opinion of the Naitakus and it wasn’t very flattering.
‘They have asked that I be present at this meeting, if you don’t mind. They’re just through here.’ Given what she now knew of the situation, a buffer would be a good thing. He knocked twice on the door and entered. The room had several rectangular tables arranged in the middle, giving the effect of one large, boardroom-like table. The drawn curtains were an overly cheerful orange; they were complemented by inspirational pictures on the walls. Meredith tried not to scoff at a Bible quote that said ‘Love is patient, love is kind’ – that was clearly not the case here. Billy’s parents were seated side by side. Lily Naitaku looked nervous – make that guilty – a rotund woman with her coarse, greying hair pulled back from her high forehead and tied in a bun, a fake frangipani flower behind one ear. In contrast William sat with his arms crossed across a muscular chest, a sulky defiance in his eyes. Meredith knew the type straight away, and she trusted her instincts well enough to predict she would have to do a lot of tongue-biting in the course of this interview. She sat opposite them and was glad when the Reverend took a place between them along the side.
‘William, Lily, this is Detective Sergeant Peters. She is here to ask some questions about Vilimena. I expect your full cooperation in this matter. Please answer as honestly as you can.’ His voice was tight, the tone making it perfectly clear he was unimpressed with the two members of his flock before him.
‘Did you bring a picture of your daughter with you?’
Lily Naitaku nodded and bent down, extracting a five-by-seven photograph from a large woven kete. She slid it across the table, avoiding eye contact. Meredith spun the picture around, taking in the fresh-faced schoolgirl who smiled back at her. She was a pretty little thing with sparkling eyes and an open face. And they had cast her out. Who could do that to their child?
‘What is her date of birth?’ Meredith jotted down the date, given in halting English by the mother: it confirmed she would be eighteen years old now. Most kids that age were still happily at school, hanging out with their friends, worrying about what to wear and how their hair looked – not trying to survive alone on the streets. Well, she hadn’t been completely alone – she had Max. Small mercies.
‘When was the last time you saw her?’ She tried to keep her voice carefully even, but couldn’t help the hint of disapproval that snuck in.
‘We haven’t seen Vilimena for a year. That was when she left our home.’ William spoke of his namesake as if she was some boarder, not his daughter. His English was better than his wife’s, but still strongly accented. His choice of words was interesting.
‘I have been told by several sources that she did not voluntarily leave your home. Can you tell me what happened?’
‘She had to go. She broke the rules of our house and was being a bad example to her younger brothers and sisters. She couldn’t stay under our roof.’ William Naitaku spoke with the manner of a man who was unaccustomed to being questioned by anyone, and when he finished speaking he eyeballed Meredith, as if that was all that needed explaining, end of story.
‘Why not? What exactly did she do wrong?’
He snorted, nostrils flared like a horse, as if it was all such a bother.
‘It is a private matter.’
‘Mr Naitaku, your daughter has been reported missing and we have grave fears for her safety. If you have any concern for her welfare whatsoever, you will answer my questions. What happened the last time you saw her?’
His eyes narrowed at being questioned further, and he looked to his minister for support. If he thought he was going to get moral support from that department he was mistaken.
‘William, answer the questions, and truthfully this time. Your deceptions have done enough damage already.’
Meredith felt a surge of satisfaction at the look of annoyance and embarrassment on his face, but wasn’t surprised to see how quickly it was overcome by one of defiant pride.
‘She got involved with a boy. She was not allowed to date until she was eighteen, that is the rules, but she went against my wishes and sees this boy behind my back. She was told not to, and was punished for it. If that was not bad enough, she then came and told us she was pregnant. How do you think that made us feel? She brought shame upon our family, and shame upon herself in the eyes of God. I am a youth pastor at this church, how do you think that would make me look? My own daughter acting like a harlot? She could not stay. I told her to leave, I threw her out.’
Meredith clenched her teeth. His actions had indeed resulted in her becoming just that, a harlot, all because he worried about what other people would think. She was sure they’d agree he was a pillar of society now. While the husband spoke like a puffed-up self-righteous git, his wife sat still, eyes downcast, hands held together so tightly, her fingers had paled.
