Gladiatrix (9 page)

‘The short version is …' I really hated this. I took a breath. ‘I was found abandoned in a cave. West of Sydney. Twenty years ago.' The words came out like a spray of bullets. He didn't seem to make the
connection, so I did it for him. ‘The same year Celeste went missing. I was found just two weeks after Celeste was kidnapped.'

Valdestiou's expression had become a little fixed. Like most people he didn't know what to make of my story or how to respond to it. But I didn't have the time to dress it up into something less confronting.

‘It was the original police detective in charge of my case who showed me the story on Victoria, he's the one who put it all together and realised that it would explain why there were never any real leads in my case.'

‘No other leads have turned up in all that time — no other possibilities?' He was sympathetic, but still searching for an escape route.

‘No. Not really. Yuki Jarratt, the woman who found me, and Des Carmichael, the detective in charge, never stopped looking. There was only one real lead when I was eleven. But nothing came of it.'

He was keen enough to pick up on what I'd left out. ‘You didn't look yourself? Until now?'

I answered bluntly. ‘Whoever put me in that cave bound my feet and hands together behind my back with wire.' His face froze. ‘It was so tight my wrists and ankles bled.' I showed him my wrists. He tried to look without seeing. They were ringed with faint silver scars. ‘The wire around my hands and feet was connected to a noose around my neck that tightened every time I moved.'

He struggled not to react but at least his eyes didn't show the usual revulsion. It's like a crack opens up in their nice shiny universe and the unthinkable stares back.

‘Yes, that's right.' The bitterness and anger seeped through. ‘I was two years old, and whoever put me in that cave meant to kill me. No-one ever came forward to claim me. No-one.' He got the inference.

‘So, you didn't look because you thought your parents had done it?' Valdestiou was stunned.

‘Yes. That's what everyone thought in the end. For years my face was shown across Australia and no-one came forward. Not one person. I was two, so of course the police thought whoever had charge of me had put me there. If not my parents then someone who'd stood in that role.'

‘But didn't you say there was a lead when you were eleven?' Valdestiou was grasping at straws. Now he really didn't want to think I could be Celeste. Not with that kind of history.

I just sat for a moment. It was bad enough going through the story without this bit.

He prompted. ‘What was the lead?'

‘Have you ever heard of Henry Newman Craig?' I said quietly.

He shook his head. ‘No.'

‘If you were Australian, you would've. He's still in Goulbourn gaol. Maximum security. He's serving life for the murder of eight children.' I added, ‘They're the ones the police know about. The ones they could find.'

Valdestiou's eyes widened.

‘A few years after he was caught and sentenced, Craig told his cell mate that he'd kidnapped the three Kingly children that went missing in Brisbane.' I saw his lack of recognition. ‘Brisbane's in Queensland. On the north coast. It's hot there. They were two girls and a boy, left alone in the summer holidays. Marianne, the eldest, looked after the other two. Marianne was eleven, Billie seven and Marie was three. The eldest girl took the two young ones to the beach one day and they never came back.'

His eyes were retreating into his skull, trying to protect themselves.

‘Craig's cell mate was a snitch. The police knew Craig'd taken other children, so they were patient. Over the course of six months Craig gave the snitch enough information to convince the detectives that he'd taken the Kingly kids. But he never said where the bodies were.'

‘But why did they connect the three with you? Did they think Craig had put you in that cave?'

‘He said he'd kept Marie alive. Because she was so young. Kept her alive for eight months.'

‘My God, how …' He started to speculate, then stopped. ‘Oh my God.'

‘Craig said Marie was the Kanangra Baby. Me.'

‘God!'

‘So the detectives went back to requestion the children's parents. To check up on Craig's details, make sure he wasn't lying. He wasn't. He knew too much. It seemed certain he did take the kids. But one of the detectives let slip a connection to my case.'

‘And the Kinglys demanded to see you?'

‘They flew down to find me. I was eleven. They came to my school.'

He shook his head. ‘No.' He already knew what had to have happened next.

‘Yes, that's right. When the blood test came back negative, the detectives went straight in and questioned Craig. He just laughed in their faces. Said he was bored and wanted some fun.'

‘I don't know what to say, Ms Jarratt. I …'

‘Don't worry, no-one ever does.' I shrugged. ‘But that's why I never looked. Until now.' I gave him a straight look. ‘I've told you all this so that you'll understand. I'm here because, whatever else this may mean for me, I don't want to keep thinking my own parents tried to kill me … if that's not the case.'

‘I'm very sorry, Ms Jarratt. I can't imagine … But still, I have to ask, how could all that fit into Victoria's story?'

I felt worn out now. Going through it always did that to me. ‘Yes I know,' I said tiredly. ‘I have more questions than answers myself, but I can show you what got me over here.'

I pulled my folder out of my bag and laid the front page of the Sydney newspaper, dated twenty years ago, across his desk.

It was slightly yellowed and curled at the edges. The thick black headlines said ‘Baby found in Kanangra cave'. Underneath was a large black-and-white picture that showed me being carried by a policewoman; I was looking straight at the camera. Next to the newspaper I placed the photo of Victoria and Celeste I'd printed from the
Linken Fox
news piece.

He checked the date of the newspaper then the two pictures, scanning one and then moving back to the other several times. His expression changed completely. In that moment he'd begun to consider that I could actually be Celeste. Des had been right all along. Objectively, it was the same little girl with exactly the same white hair and dark eyes in both pictures.

Valdestiou looked across at me as though asking a question.

‘Yes I can prove the Kanangra girl is me. Here's a follow-up the newspaper did on me three years ago.' The newspaper piece I showed him had the old photo of me as a child next to another more recent one. Same hair and eyes.

He studied me, assessing my features more closely.

‘Yes, I know I'm tall, but then Victoria is too, isn't she?'

‘She is shorter than you, but not by much.' He rose, saying, ‘Don't move,' and headed out the office door. He was back in a few minutes with a framed photo. It was a close-up of Victoria. He studied it, then studied me.

She had dark hair and a narrower face and nose, but it was the eyes that held your attention. So black you couldn't tell where the iris ended and the pupil started.

Just like mine.

Valdestiou laid the picture on the desk and trawled his fingers back through his hair. ‘How do I know you didn't fake all this?' He indicated the material spread out in front of him.

‘I was found in a national park just south of Lithgow, and that's the police station that deals with my case. Detective Sergeant John Cooper is in charge of it now.' I'd hoped it would come to this. Des would've set everything up by now. Cooper'd be furious, but he'd tell the truth about me. I checked my watch. ‘Ring Lithgow police station and they'll give you Detective Sergeant Cooper's home number.' I passed the station's number across to him. ‘Oh, and get someone to check that's the right number too. I don't want you to have any doubts.'

He gave me a long look, then said, ‘Okay.' He picked up his phone and gave someone the details. What to check, where to ring, who to ask for. Then he put the phone down again.

This was good. Very good. He was listening to me. Taking me seriously.

‘I can see you're different from the other people who've turned up. And you may actually have a genuine case here. But why would Celeste end up in Australia? That I don't understand.'

‘I don't know. That's exactly why I'm here. Des, the original detective, tried to use his contacts to get more details of the Dupree case. But it was so long ago that no-one really knows anything any more. That's why I need to see Victoria. She's the only one left who knows what happened.'

He didn't say anything, just sat there studying the pictures, his forehead creased.

‘Look, I have to know one way or another,' I said, trying to elicit a response. ‘I know there's a risk that Victoria may never make it back from this mission,' I noticed he didn't jump in and correct me, which chilled me, ‘so tonight may be my only chance to see her. My last chance to find out.'

‘Victoria might not be the only person here who knows what happened.'

‘What? Who do you mean?' I pointed. ‘You?'

‘No, I'm sorry. I don't know much. She doesn't talk about it. So no-one brings it up.' He lifted his shoulders in apology.

‘So who …?'

‘If anyone knows anything, it'd be Mertling. He's been here the longest. And he has all the background files on the marshals. It's part of his job to have a handle on their strengths and weaknesses.'

‘So he'd know about Celeste because …?'

‘Well, it's part of Victoria's psychological profile. And her background checks. Mertling would certainly have access to that kind of information. He'd have to know who he was dealing with and how they'd react to different assignments.'

Before I could respond, the phone rang.

He picked up. ‘Yes, that's right, the NTA.' He grabbed a pen and started writing. ‘Detective Sergeant Cooper?' Then he put down the pen and sat back.
‘That's right. I have a Ms Jarratt sitting opposite me. And … Right, that's right.' He looked over at me. ‘Yes, that's her.' Valdestiou was obviously being given identifying details. ‘Okay. So the application for information is being processed?' He listened intently for a few minutes. ‘Fine. Happy to cooperate.'

Click.

Valdestiou stared through me for a moment then picked up the phone again. ‘Martina? I need an emergency face-to-face with the Chief. He has to meet someone. No, it's not about the Iseum attack. Something else.' He listened. ‘Yes I know he has to see the Governor in a …' He checked his watch. ‘Yes. I know that.'

The person on the other end of the phone seemed to be arguing with him.

‘Yes. It is an emergency, and yes, he has to do it before he sees the Governor. When can he do it?' He listened again. ‘Okay, 301 in fifteen minutes. Ask him to ring me first, I need to brief him.'

He put the phone down. ‘Okay. You're getting your shot.'

301 was a meeting room on the third floor. It was the first part of the NTA building that looked like it'd actually had some money put into it in the past little while. No scuff marks or wear and tear, just beige on more beige in every direction and a long, polished wood table surrounded by leather and steel chairs running down the centre.

While I waited a receptionist brought me in black coffee, with a diet sweetener and a serving of whitener on the saucer, and an apple Danish. I left the coffee and ate the pastry, sucking the stickiness off my fingers while I studied the wall of photos at the far end of the room. Coffee makes me too edgy.

The wall between the two windows was devoted to personnel headshots. They formed a hierarchical pyramid, with the boss at the top. Second from the top was an empty space for Senior Field Officer Marshal Dupree. The missing portrait had to be the one still sitting on Constan Valdestiou's desk. Above the space was Douglas Mertling, Chief Marshal of NTA–San Francisco, literally top of the heap in this facility.
He looked like a balding Santa, heavy and hearty with a smile full of teeth.

The door opened and in walked Mertling. Yep, Santa all right.

‘Miss Jarratt.' He shook my hand, pulled out a chair and sat down.

Hearty handshake, just like his picture. A bit sweaty.

He started speaking before I managed to seat myself. ‘Now. I've been told you're here about the Celeste Dupree disappearance. Can you show me your material?'

Straight to the point, no polite chitchat. I was just a blip on his busy schedule and he'd be out that door before I could count to one hundred.

I laid out the newspaper articles and the photo of Celeste on the table in front of him. He read the text, then carefully compared the pictures, finishing with a close scrutiny of my face.

‘So.' He steepled his fingers and gave me a straight, from-the-shoulder stare. ‘This is all very interesting, and I can see why you have hope. Unfortunately there is no reason to believe that Celeste actually survived the first week of the kidnapping, let alone that she was taken to another country.' He said in a brisk tone, ‘Can you explain the link between the two cases?'

He knew I couldn't, because I was absolutely sure he'd already asked Constan that very question. No Santa here, Mertling was just trying to find a quick way to get rid of me.

I stalled. ‘No. But if you tell me more about the case, maybe I can come up with a link.'

Mertling snorted. ‘I'm afraid this is Marshal Dupree's private business and I have absolutely no intention of discussing it with you.'

Fair enough, that was what I expected. ‘Fine. Then I want to speak to Victoria when she arrives tonight.'

‘Out of the question.' He gave a curt shake of his head. ‘She will be here for an official meeting about the status of her mission and then she goes straight back.'

‘There must be …'

He went from coolly direct to blazing fury in less than a second. ‘Do you honestly think I would jeopardise her safety and, I might add, this mission, by allowing you to upset her?' He was blowing up like a pufferfish, Santa-red cheeks fully extended. ‘I am very sorry for your history, Miss Jarratt, but I am certainly not letting you anywhere near Marshal Dupree. You can wait until it's all finished and then see what she wants to do about your … story.'

I ignored that last jab. Okay, he cared about her, or certainly about the mission. I understood that. If the mission was already dangerous and Victoria went back to it with a head full of ‘ifs' and ‘buts' about who I was then she wasn't going to be paying attention. He was making it his job to get rid of me no matter what.

Would I let him? Could I live with the possibility that I may be passing up my only chance to ever meet her?

No, I couldn't. They had other marshals, but I didn't have another life.

Nope. He and I were just going to have to slug it out.

I said, with precision, ‘So. You want me to wait until she finishes the mission?'

‘That's exactly what you're going to do.' He jabbed his index finger in the direction of my breastbone. ‘There's no choice involved!'

I leant in. ‘You think I'm going to wait? For what? You know the attrition rate for active service in the
NTA better than I do — it's worse than most bomb demolition squads!'

He blinked.

‘Come on!' This man wasn't going to give me anything I didn't force out of him. ‘I've just travelled all this way — do you really think I'm going to leave before I get some answers?'

‘You don't have a choice,' he spat back.

‘Oh I think I do.'

He snorted, and started to rise.

I said, with care, ‘The local media would be very interested in this angle, don't you think? Actually most of them are already outside filming the Iseum dispute. I'd imagine this would make a very nice follow-on segment for the evening news.'

I paused, imagining the picture. ‘Hmm, yes. I can see the title already: “Lost daughter waits outside the NTA for mother to arrive. Will they meet?” Yes, I think there'd be camera crews inside here very quickly, don't you?'

Mertling had gone from red cheeks to one purple vein pulsing down the centre of his forehead.

I stared at the vein. Maybe he was a nice guy, but he wasn't putting his job before my life.

He shoved the newspapers away and glared at me for a searching moment. I could almost see the brain waves crashing.

‘What's it going to be, Mertling? I'll call a press conference in the foyer.'

Then his face changed. The anger subsided and a curiously cold expression replaced it. He'd come to some conclusion about how to handle me. And I didn't like the look of it.

‘All right.' He looked at his watch, calm and back in control. ‘I will give you an overview of what happened,
but nothing more. You'll have to wait for the rest. This is privileged information. The killers were never properly identified so the case is just inactive, not closed.' He gave me hard eyes. ‘Then you have to leave.'

I avoided responding to his ultimatum. ‘The killers? You mean from the homicide she was investigating?'

‘Yes.' Mertling gathered his thoughts. ‘It all started when a couple was found slaughtered in their home in Pacific Heights.' He looked to me for place recognition.

I shook my head.

‘It's a wealthy suburb, northwest of here. The victims were Arnoldo Hernandez and his wife Chloe. The maid arrived back after her night off to find them dead. Tortured to death.'

I felt my face ice over — this was too close to my own trigger points.

‘Victoria had just joined Homicide and she was assigned to work with a senior detective called William Koeller. Koeller was about to retire so he could mentor her without having too heavy a caseload of his own.'

‘You seem to know a lot of detail.'

He looked at me in disgust. ‘Do you really think Victoria Dupree managed to become a Time Marshal without every aspect of her background being examined?'

‘I'm not complaining. Just curious.'

His shoulders hunched defensively at my reply. ‘At first they thought it was the business partner, Edward Warren. He'd disappeared around the same time and all the company's money was missing. It seemed a fair assumption that he'd committed the murders. But then Victoria managed to track down Warren. The problem was he'd been dead as long as the couple.'

‘So someone had set him up as the killer?'

‘Yes. Very carefully, too. So Victoria took another look at the Hernandez' backgrounds. Arnoldo's didn't check out. He was really Phillipe Cruz, a member of a Colombian drug cartel. Only he was supposed to have died years before. He'd faked his own death to get away from his past.'

‘How did she find that out?'

Mertling stopped as though not expecting that question. ‘She …' He had to think. ‘Something to do with his passport. It said he was from Chile, but he had all these family photographs in his house taken in Bogata.'

Hmm, smart woman. ‘So the homicide was drug-related.'

‘Yes. And revenge. Cruz was killed last — after watching his wife die. Seems in his former life, he'd stolen from his boss. The money from some big drug deal went missing and they traced it back to him.'

South America? I still hadn't heard anything that gave me a clue how or if I fitted in.

‘But when they made the drug connection public … Revealed who Hernandez was … That was when the killers intervened.'

‘Why?'

‘I think Victoria was making too many connections, too fast. They probably hadn't expected anyone to find out Cruz's real identity and were still busy cleaning up their trail.'

‘Hmm. Okay, that makes sense, but why did they pick on her and not Koeller?'

He shook his head. ‘Victoria's a very smart woman. And determined. Always has been. By this stage Koeller had developed health problems and was overseeing the case from the office. She was the investigation.'

‘How did they get … Celeste?' I still had problems saying the name.

‘Two men in police uniforms went to the child-care centre and took her. They rang Victoria at her office and told her to back off the investigation. On the surface Homicide stalled the investigation, but they knew if they could find the killers they'd find Celeste. But …' He shrugged. ‘It still took two weeks to track them to a warehouse in the Mission District. By the time they got there it'd burnt to the ground.'

A fire? That was why the San Francisco PD was so negative about reopening the case. ‘But they don't have a body, do they? They don't have any confirmation that Celeste was in that fire.'

‘I've seen the report. A neighbour saw a little girl matching her description at a window. That was how the police found the place. But they got there too late. It was already ablaze, and whoever had set it used enough accelerant to create an extremely hot fire. By the time it was put out they only found enough skeletal fragments to know there'd been at least two adults present. There may have been more bodies, as well as Celeste. They didn't know for sure.'

‘So you're saying that the cartel must have decided to clean house? Get rid of everyone who could be traced back to them, the kidnappers included.'

‘Yes.'

I sat back, searching for hope and the right question to ask. He hadn't told me anything that was of use.

Mertling got in first. ‘So tell me, Miss Jarratt, why would they keep a hostage alive when they even kill their own people?'

I didn't respond. I couldn't think of a reason. Not one that ended in Sydney.

He was determined to get rid of me. ‘You may not know this, but most kidnap victims die in the first twenty-four hours. The San Francisco PD believes … Victoria believes … that Celeste died twenty years ago in that fire. There is absolutely no reason to think otherwise.'

He stood up, rebuttoning his coat, as though to end the interview. ‘Now, I am sorry you came all this way. But I think it was reprehensible of your police to get your hopes up.'

So they had no solid proof of her death? If they did he would have shoved it down my throat. When I didn't move from my seat, he started towards the door, no doubt intending to ask someone else to get rid of me.

I gritted my teeth. ‘Oh, just one thing before you leave.' Mertling looked back, impatient. ‘There is one way to completely remove all doubt about my claim.'

He frowned.

‘A DNA test. When Victoria arrives.' This time I checked my watch. ‘It's only another five hours to wait.'

He simply repeated my words without expression. ‘A DNA test.'

‘I'm sorry about what this may mean for your mission, but only Victoria has the right to make any decisions about this. If you don't give me access to her I will go straight outside to the media. And if you don't let me see her, maybe the Governor will?'

Mertling froze, mouth slightly open, the picture of frustration and fury on the hoof. ‘You …' He had just enough self-control to leave the sentence unfinished.

A middle-aged woman knocked on the doorframe and said, ‘Chief, the Governor's on the phone. You were supposed to …'

‘That's enough, Martina,' he snapped. ‘I'll be there as soon as I can.'

Martina gave me a scowl and disappeared again.

‘So I stay?' He was busy trying to keep all the balls in the air and I was refusing to go home like a good little girl.

Mertling poked his index finger in my direction. ‘You stay in here where I can keep an eye on you until she arrives. But if Marshal Dupree says no deal, you have to leave. I don't care what you try. Media or no media, security will drag you outta here.'

He turned on his heel and left.