by Derek Hansen
She seemed perfectly sincere. She was the open, honest, innocent, loving Annemieke he adored with every cell in his body. He was heartened, and felt guilty at what he now determined was a typical Argentinian over-reaction. He made a mental note to call off the watchdogs.
They finished dinner and made love like newly-weds. It was a very weary Eduardo who dragged himself to the airport the following morning, and onto the aircraft. He never needed his computer. For the first time he fell asleep. Even as the undercarriage retracted, his eyes closed and he forgot all about his mental memo to the private investigators. He would be gone for three weeks.
Anders never told Annemieke about the call Eduardo had intercepted. Perhaps he didn’t consider the effect it might have had on Eduardo. Perhaps he realised the first hint of possible discovery would be enough to frighten Annemieke away, and he hadn’t yet finished with her. Either way, he took the soft option and kept his mouth shut.
As soon as her last student had left, Annemieke went straight to Anders’ apartment in Potts Point. Often as not, they no longer bothered with the pretext of a show or concert. She couldn’t know, as Anders with his years of experience surely did, that their affair was fast approaching the terminal stage. Anders would not be sorry when it finished. He just hoped she’d be realistic when the time came, and wouldn’t ruin it all with tears and hysteria.
Neither of them considered for a second that Annemieke might have been followed to her assignation, and certainly not by two people, each working independently of the other and for entirely different reasons. One was the boy Roberto, lurking miserably in the shadows beneath the concrete steps that led down from the street above, wishing he could somehow storm the castle and rescue his lady and her honour. Instead, he caught the bus, and went home to pour out his misery in his poetry.
The other sat with a thermos of coffee, a pack of cheese sandwiches, a transistor radio tuned into 2KY—the racing station—and an earplug screwed firmly into his ear. He’d removed the bulb from the interior light of his Honda so that he could open the car door occasionally to admit the breeze. He kept his log sheets and his form guide on the dash, in the spill from the overhead street light. He was an experienced agent. You pay for the best, you get the best.
In the three weeks that Eduardo was away, Roberto found himself outside the building that housed Anders’ penthouse on four occasions. On his third visit he became aware that he was not alone. He saw the Honda. Saw the shadowy figure inside. Saw the eyes watching. His first instinct was to bolt, for it revived in him long suppressed fears. Fears of night raids by secret police. Of people being dragged from their beds to horrifying deaths in the blood house of the city morgue. His heart raced and his head pounded. He felt faint. He summoned up all his courage and stayed. Nothing happened. The longer he stayed, the calmer he felt. He stayed until the last bus was due, and sneaked off to catch it.
He had to warn Annemieke. But how could he, without exposing his own covert activities? Without revealing his own shy and furtive love? Instead he vowed to watch her even more closely. The man in the car intended to hurt her. He could not allow that to happen. He could not sit by and lose her as he had lost his own mother.
Ramon finished speaking, yet he refused to acknowledge the others. He appeared vacant and distant, as if focused on events that only he could see. His friends watched him, caught up in the tension of the story which Ramon’s silence prolonged.
‘Your coffee, Ramon. You deserve it.’ Milos made room for Gancio to serve. ‘You have earned a rest. Perhaps Lucio can dig out one of his stories.’
Ramon downed his espresso in one gulp and motioned for another.
‘There is nothing I can say,’ said Lucio. ‘I don’t like the way this story is heading and I’ve never felt less like laughing in my life. That Anders is a bastard. If this is true story, you give me his address and I’ll go punch his face. He won’t be so handsome when I finish with him.’
‘Alas, my friend, it is all too late.’
‘Is Eduardo any better than Anders?’ Neil asked. ‘After all, he set out to seduce Rosa in much the same way for much the same reasons. And he did it twice.’
‘No! It’s not the same,’ Lucio protested. ‘Eduardo loved Rosa. What he did, he did for love. Love can drive a man and make him do things. But Anders is selfish and cruel. He is just a greedy spoilt child! You can’t compare the two.’
‘You can, as far as I’m concerned. In my book they’re both bastards. What do you think, Milos?’
‘I reserve my opinion. Ramon is not yet finished with Eduardo. I think by the end of the day we will know what kind of man Eduardo is. Am I right, Ramon?’
‘As always,’ Ramon replied, but without a trace of warmth or humour in his voice. ‘Whatever you think of Eduardo or Anders, what does it matter now? It’s all too late. Much, much too late.’ Ramon finished his second espresso as he had the first, and sat back to complete his story.
‘It is not too late, Ramon,’ cautioned Milos. ‘It is not too late. You know what I’m saying, no?’
‘The story has to be told, Milos.’
Normally, at this stage, Ramon’s audience would be on the edge of their seats, eager for the conclusion. But today was different and they all sensed it. There was an air of doom, of impending tragedy. It was hard to put a finger on, but it was there. They were still keen, of course, to hear how the story developed. The problem wasn’t the story. It was the ending they were apprehensive about. How would it all end?
Chapter Forty-six
Eduardo was devastated. His wife and his best friend! It took time for the double betrayal to sink in. He’d convinced himself that the call had been innocent, because that was what he wanted to believe. What stunned him most was that he knew that Annemieke loved him. She wasn’t play-acting, stringing him along with cold, calculating deception. She loved him! He was sure of it. Yet he looked at the log the investigators had kept, and despaired over the photos.
Anders. He should have known better. A soft groan escaped his lips as he confronted his own stupidity. He winced when he thought of the fax he had sent to Anders. And the number of times he’d thanked him personally for taking care of Annemieke. But how could she let him con her? Seduce her? She knew what he was like. There was no sense to it.
The private investigators had learned from experience to let the evidence do the talking. They kept in the background, watching their client surreptitiously. This way, if he spat the dummy he’d just rip up the reports and photos rather than directing his anger and hostility towards them. They waited to see Eduardo’s reaction.
‘I must compliment you on your thoroughness,’ he said. ‘I wish there were some mistake. The evidence, unfortunately, is overwhelming.’
Their account was pinned to the log. He paid in cash. He left immediately, without shaking hands. That was something else they’d learned to expect.
Eduardo needed time to think. He couldn’t face his office and he couldn’t go home. He caught a taxi to Circular Quay and bought a return ticket on the Manly ferry. He travelled back and forth across the harbour, oblivious to its beauty, and to the other passengers. Strangely, he felt no anger, just an overwhelming sorrow and sense of loss.
It was inevitable he realised, that Anders would do what he had done. Anders had charm to burn, and was a formidable seducer of women. Adultery, like crime, is ninety percent opportunity, and Anders had never lacked for opportunity. Indeed, Eduardo had provided him with endless opportunity, gift wrapped it, and given it his blessing. Still, he had expected more of Annemieke. This is what troubled him the most. He knew that she would be no more than a passing fancy to Anders, a sop to his ego. But what was he to Annemieke? After Anders, would there be someone else? And someone else after that? Would they all simply be encounters? The gap between their ages yawned as wide as the entrance to Sydney Harbour.
Eduardo loved Annemieke more than ever now that he faced the prospect of one day losing her for good. The thought was too pain
ful to contemplate, yet he had to consider the possibility. He could never let her go, no matter what. But how could he keep her when he was so often away from home? When his wife was so young and beautiful? The ferry bumped and bobbed as it tied up at Manly.
‘Do you want me to order you dinner?’ said the deckhand as he walked past him for the umpteenth time.
Eduardo ignored him, fascinated by a sudden thought. It hit him with the force of a sharp kick to the head. Yet he hesitated, unsure. Had the intervening years taught him nothing? But what choice did he have? What choice?
When Eduardo arrived home that night, Annemieke could see that something had upset him. He was depressed and unusually uncommunicative. She brought him a glass of wine, a 1980 St George. She’d opened it to cheer him up. She watched him absently take a sip. He knew what it was immediately. But before he could remonstrate with her for raiding his classic wines, she threw her arms around him and planted her lips over his so he couldn’t speak. She giggled and wouldn’t stop kissing him until he responded in kind.
‘You deserve it,’ she said, ‘for working so hard and being such an adorable husband.’
She wriggled out of his grasp and walked away with an exaggerated sway of her hips. What she imagined was a street girl’s walk.
The irony was not lost on Eduardo, yet still he smiled. Whatever the attraction was with Anders, Eduardo could not doubt her love for him. Clearly, Annemieke was not putting on an act.
‘Damn you, Anders,’ he said to himself. But despite his Argentinian blood, he could not contemplate revenge. He might just as well have said ‘Damn you, Eduardo’, for he knew where the blame really lay.
He resolved not to think about Anders, because the thought of him with Annemieke would deaden him in a way Annemieke couldn’t help but notice. And it was important to the plan twisting and turning in his mind that she suspect nothing.
He watched as she brought him some French brie and biscuits, and duck pate. He watched as she knelt straight-backed, and placed the tray on the table in front of him. Her every movement spoke of grace and elegance. She was beautiful. So beautiful. Every man in the world would look at her and see her as he did. He had no choice, and the realisation brought a wave of such overwhelming sadness that he reached out and grasped her hand.
Annemieke was puzzled, but smiled in a way that only confirmed his conviction. His plan was as simple as it was terrible. He would put Annemieke beyond the reach of other predators. He would send her back to the shadows. He would take back his engagement present.
Eduardo announced his intention to return to Jakarta the following week. This gave Annemieke five days notice. The investigator’s log suggested this would be sufficient time for her to arrange a meeting with Anders, even though he intended to limit their options.
‘Just a lightning visit,’ he said. ‘One meeting, that’s it. Up Thursday morning, back Saturday morning.’
Annemieke saw this as an opportunity to end her relationship with Anders. It had gone on too long. All she’d wanted was to experience another man. She hadn’t expected to fall victim to Anders’ charm. She hadn’t expected Anders to fall in love with her. Oh, he’d told her often enough how desperately he loved her, and she felt guilty for leading him on. She couldn’t tell him it was over on the phone because that would be cowardly, and she didn’t know how badly he’d take it. No, she would go to his apartment, she would tell him of her decision in person, and then they would part. Still friends, for Eduardo’s sake. She loved Eduardo and he loved and trusted her. She would never betray Eduardo again.
Eduardo rose early on the day of his departure, confirmed the status of his flight from the bedside phone, and gently kissed Annemieke goodbye. He picked up his Mont Blanc pen from her bedside table, screwed its top back on, and slipped it into his case. Annemieke was always borrowing his pen, but could never remember to put the top back on. Half awake, half asleep, she looked so beautiful and vulnerable, and so utterly desirable that he nearly aborted his plans right there. He considered confronting her, there and then, with his knowledge. They could talk it through. She would weep and beg his forgiveness, and she would be sincere in her pledges of fidelity. But she’d made that pledge once before, at their wedding, and Eduardo knew that the world was full of Anders Petersons. How could he ever completely trust again where his trust had been betrayed? He couldn’t take the risk of losing her.
He took a last look at her sleepy face, so perfect, so content, so unsuspecting, and engraved it upon his memory. He thought of all that Annemieke had been through in Los Angeles. He closed his eyes for a moment at the thought of what he had to do. Then he turned and walked away.
His taxi was waiting but it didn’t take him to the airport. It took him instead, to the Sebel Town House, a small and exclusive hotel favoured by visiting musicians and entertainers. It was less than a kilometre from Anders’ apartment.
Eduardo began his preparations. He listed the things he would need. An open razor headed the list. He would not be foolish enough to buy that in the Cross. And cottonwool pads. A black tracksuit, cheap and nondescript, of a type he’d never wear. It must have pockets. He wrote down Old Spice aftershave and deodorant, a far cry from the Egoiste he normally wore. He added rubber gloves to the list, and sneakers. In each case, the darker the better.
Borer killer was last on his list. He wanted a particular brand which had long since disappeared off the shelves of most hardware stores. He knew one store that still stocked it, because Jan had found it there and bought it to treat the woodworm that attacked artifacts they held in storage. The label wisely cautioned against use in confined spaces. It was eighty percent chloroform.
Eduardo put his list in his pocket. He walked away from the hotel before hailing a cab to take him to Camperdown. Eduardo knew he’d picked the right man when the driver looked up Missenden Road in his street directory. Eduardo would walk the rest of the way to the shops in Newtown. He probably didn’t need to be so careful, but he took a perverse pride in exercising the caution he’d learned in Buenos Aires.
Anders rang at four-fifteen to confirm their arrangements. Roberto watched Annemieke get up and walk to the phone. He watched her fingers tense and her lips draw tight. She barely mumbled into the phone, but he heard every word. His heart ached. She saw him watching as she hung up and smiled. But it was a shadow of a smile.
He began to play the piece again, his playing indifferent, but Annemieke didn’t pick him up on it. She was distracted and inattentive.
‘Perhaps I should come back another time,’ Roberto said.
‘What?’
Annemieke looked at Roberto in surprise. She’d forgotten all about him! She was startled by the expression on his face. As if he were reproaching her for something.
‘I’m sorry Roberto,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to ignore you. Let’s start again. Chopin demands that both of us concentrate.’
But both teacher and pupil were distracted, and Annemieke cut the lesson short. Roberto gathered his music books and sullenly stood to leave.
‘Use the rest of the day for practice at home,’ Annemieke said. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you since you passed your exam. Your playing has gone backwards.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ve been busy with other things.’
He looked up at her as he left and Annemieke thought he was about to cry. She wondered if something at home was upsetting him. Maybe he’d found a girl who hadn’t yet found him. He was the right age. She watched him pedal off down the street then forgot him.
Chapter Forty-seven
Eduardo wondered if the Kings Cross slasher was as thorough in his preparations. Probably not, he reasoned, for the slasher had no set target, and just struck where opportunity presented itself. Where the risk of capture was least. The slasher was an amateur. He, Eduardo, would be the professional. He lay his purchases down on the hotel bed, and checked them.
There were one or two discrepancies in his plan that worried him. Th
e slasher always went for the body. His trademark was the horizontal slash across the breasts. Eduardo would be aiming higher. Also, the slasher didn’t anaesthetise his victims before he struck. Nevertheless, Eduardo was certain the slasher would be blamed. Besides, the papers had already hinted at the possibility of copycats. He would leave Annemieke’s handbag and jewellery intact to rule out theft as a motive. No. He was confident the attack would be seen as just another senseless act of violence by a maniac with a grudge against women. Sydney had its share of them.
He knew from the investigator’s logbook that Annemieke never met Anders before eight-thirty in the evening unless they were going to a show. He knew she would arrive by taxi, get out at the corner, and walk down the narrow street to Anders’ apartment. She would walk on the lower side, the same side as the building. She had each time before. He would be waiting for her, in the narrow lane between the apartment building and the first of the terraces. There was little risk of discovery. The lane was barely wide enough to accommodate the handlebars of a bike. And it had steps. He hoped she’d come. He couldn’t bear to go through with it all again.
He showered. He used the hotel shampoo. He washed off every trace of the toiletries he normally used. Annemieke had little sense of smell but he took no chances. He shaved, then splashed on Old Spice. He hated it. He lay on the bed with a towel around his waist. He thought about what he had to do.
Two incisions, he reasoned, half a centimetre apart and parallel. That should be enough. It would only take seconds, and he’d be gone. The chloroform would keep Annemieke unconscious for about a minute. That would be enough. Then she’d come to, realise what had happened and scream. People would hear and come to her help. She wouldn’t suffer long. If they didn’t come, she could easily make it to Anders’ apartment. The blood would be messy but, whichever way, she would not suffer long.
Her suffering would come later. She was all too aware of Dr Tannen’s caution. She knew there was no second chance. But Eduardo would be there to comfort her, to cocoon her in his love and soften the blow. She would be devastated, of course, but he would help her through it. His devotion would only make her love him more.
