Lunch with the Generals

by Derek Hansen

  He collected his key from the desk. The night clerk put his shaking hands down to exhaustion. Why did people jog? He couldn’t see the point.

  Eduardo poured himself a large scotch, and drank it so quickly it hurt. He poured another. He stripped off his tracksuit and checked it for blood spots. There were several. But he’d chosen his tracksuit well. The fleecy-lined cotton had absorbed the blood like blotting paper and, against the black, the blood spots looked no different to sweat.

  He put the tracksuit back into the plastic bag it had come in. He did the same with his shoes and socks. He packed the lot into a carton and taped it up. Tomorrow he would send it by courier to Jakarta. He’d dispose of it there.

  He showered. He took his time and scrubbed himself from head to toe. He towelled himself dry, then splashed on his familiar Egoiste. He lay down on the bed, naked and exhausted, a glass by his side, and a bottle by the glass.

  Returning to the alley for the second time had taken more nerve than he had thought he possessed. Now that it was over, he was glad Annemieke hadn’t turned up on the first night. The police or Jan would have spent all day Friday trying to track him down in Indonesia. He smiled. Phil and Don had tried to find him often enough, and never succeeded. Still, they might have checked with the airline, and that could have proved embarrassing.

  Then it was time to face his thoughts, to consider what he’d done. To let remorse wash over him, to purge his regrets. He had to be over doubt and self-recriminations by morning. He let the bitter tears flow, and wallowed in whisky and self-pity.

  He got up at five, not having slept, and phoned the airport. Garuda flight GA 899 was due in at six forty-five am. He dressed without showering and caught a taxi to the airport. He arrived at the airport as dishevelled as any incoming businessman. He knew from previous experience that it takes roughly twenty minutes to clear immigration and customs, when you don’t have to stand around the carousel waiting for bags.

  He bought the Sydney Morning Herald and the Telegraph, and sat down to wait out the time. The Telegraph carried the story on the third page, with a front page banner leading the way. ‘Kings Cross Slasher Claims Fourth Victim!’ Not bad, he thought. But the sub-head grabbed his full attention. ‘Police hunt tall youth.’ He raced through the story. Two witnesses had seen the youth running from the crime scene. He was tall, he was thin, and he might have had long hair. They saw him run up the same steps he had.

  Eduardo felt the onset of panic. Who was he? What had he seen? What was he doing there? Why hadn’t he spotted him? If he’d seen anything, wouldn’t he have done something? Yelled out? Come to help Annemieke? Eduardo calmed his mind and began to think. There was a lot of crime and illicit activity in the Cross. The kid might have been there to buy or sell drugs. Or sell his arse.

  He could be a runaway. Or already wanted by the police. There could be any number of reasons why he hadn’t cried out, why he wanted to be somewhere else when the cops came. That’s if he saw anything. But he did, didn’t he?

  It didn’t matter. The kid wasn’t going to say anything. And if he did, could he recognise him? Eduardo doubted it. At least the kid had served a purpose. He was the prime suspect.

  He turned his attention to other matters. The story identified Annemieke as ‘the wife of businessman and socialite, Eduardo Gallegos’. He noted that she had been taken to St Vincent’s. It spoke of multiple lacerations, yet he had planned only two. Exaggeration? He tried to think, to take his mind back to the blind panic of those fateful few seconds. What had he done? He had a dreadful feeling that he’d done a lot more damage than he’d intended. He felt sickened. His control was badly shaken. Dear God. Poor Annemieke!

  He read on. Her family had been notified. Police believed her husband was away on business in Indonesia. That much of his plan was still in place. It reassured him. He checked his watch. Five past seven. Time to make his way down the escalator to the arrivals hall. Time to mingle with the tired travellers from flight GA 899, and join the queue for a cab.

  He went directly to St Vincent’s, arriving shortly after eight. They took care of his overnight bag, and escorted him to his wife’s bedside. They said they’d notify the police.

  They’d put Annemieke in a four-person ward and tightly curtained off her bed. She was asleep, still feeling the effects of her post-op sedation. Eduardo sat by her side and he took her hand.

  The lower part of her face was swathed in bandages though none covered her eyes. He could see she was pale, deathly pale, but what did he expect? His heart went out to her. Tears filled his eyes. But he knew that what he had done he’d done for love. There was honour in his motive. It was necessary. It would never be necessary again.

  He rubbed her hand and kissed it. He sat there, unmoving, for an hour and a half while she slept. He never took his eyes off her. Her eyes flickered. He squeezed her hand. Her eyes met his. She tried to speak and couldn’t, but it didn’t matter. What could she say that the distress in her eyes hadn’t already made obvious?

  ‘You’re all right, Annemieke. You’re safe now.’

  Annemieke looked into his face, looking desperately for a sign of hope. She hung on his words.

  ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘No matter what, I love you. You will always be beautiful to me.’

  Annemieke closed her eyes. Tears slid onto the pillow. Her body heaved with sobs.

  Eduardo collected his bag from reception, and a message to phone Detective Sergeant Lenehan at Kings Cross police station. He rang from the hospital.

  Lenehan extended his regrets, admitted that they had little to go on, and added nothing to what Eduardo had already read in the paper. He promised to keep Eduardo informed the minute there were any new developments. Eduardo thanked him sincerely, gave him some contact numbers, and went home. He didn’t expect to hear from him again. After he had showered, he rang Jan and Lita. They were devastated. Eduardo gave them what comfort he could.

  He returned to visit Annemieke in the afternoon. Jan and Lita were there. They hugged and consoled each other. They stayed by Annemieke’s side for two hours but she didn’t wake up.

  Eduardo asked to speak to the surgeon and was given Peter Metcalf’s number. He rang immediately. ‘Please God,’ he thought to himself. ‘Don’t let it all have been in vain!’ He knew how skilled Metcalf was.

  The receptionist put him through.

  ‘Hello, Peter?’

  ‘Eduardo, my dear fellow. What can one say? What a tragedy.’

  ‘I’m relieved that it was you who operated on Annemieke. I don’t know how that came about, but I sincerely appreciate it. If anyone can help her, you can.’

  Peter Metcalf was a good doctor and no fool. He didn’t know what Annemieke was doing in Anders’ apartment while Eduardo was away and he wasn’t going to be the one who raised it with Eduardo. He would comment only in his professional capacity.

  ‘We’ve done all we can. You appreciate we’re not playing on a level pitch here. Normally, a clean cut with a razor wouldn’t present too many problems. There were five major lacerations. Only three cut across her right cheek. Her nose took the impact of the other two. The nose is not a problem. Her right cheek is another matter.

  ‘Two of the lacerations cut right across Dr Tannen’s work. There was not a lot we could do there. I’ve spoken to Dr Tannen and he would like to examine Annemieke as soon as she is fit to travel. He is not optimistic, and from now on, time is your greatest enemy. If I were you, Eduardo, I’d get her on a plane bandages and all. Dr Tannen can do things we’re not yet equipped to do. I’m very sorry that I can’t be more encouraging, Eduardo. That poor girl, your poor wife, she doesn’t deserve this.’

  ‘Thanks, Peter. Thanks for all you’ve done.’ Eduardo was silent for a moment. ‘Let me know when you think Annemieke can fly. We’ll grab whatever chance we can.’

  Eduardo knew there was little cause for hope. Dr Tannen had made that clear. But it would give Annemieke something to hang on to, something to help her over
the initial shock. He would give her his full encouragement. He went to a florist and ordered a huge bouquet of cornflowers and freesias. He found a card with a baby monkey on it. The monkey had a bandage around its head as if it had toothache. He signed it ‘From Osh’, and framed the signature with little x’s.

  He returned to St Vincent’s that evening. He was the perfect husband, the adoring lover, and her best friend.

  By the following morning, Annemieke had begun to come to terms with her new injury. She clung desperately to the hope that Dr Tannen could help her as he had before. Eduardo was a tower of strength and she bitterly regretted having deceived him. Time and again she thought of confessing. But what would it accomplish? It was all over. Why cause him more pain?

  He came to see her on the way to his office. It was Sunday, but he had a lot of work to catch up on. He held her hand and filled her with optimism. He’d already booked their flight to Los Angeles. Peter Metcalf thought she could travel in two days. She’d be uncomfortable, but she’d have pain killers and sedatives. He kissed her again, told her how much he loved her, and went to his office.

  Her brothers came at noon and, then at six o’clock, Roberto came to visit her.

  Roberto looked terrible, as if he hadn’t slept for weeks. He seemed unable to look at her. She couldn’t smile to put him at ease, so she held out her hand. To her surprise, he took her hand and kissed it, and clutched it to his chest.

  ‘Annemieke,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘I have something to tell you.’

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Eduardo was surprised to see Annemieke’s visitor, the boy Roberto. Eduardo had not thought to ring him. His presence irritated him.

  Eduardo stood awkwardly at the foot of her bed with yet another bouquet of flowers, not knowing whether he should intrude. Roberto seemed embarrassed, but then, he always did.

  ‘I was just going,’ he said.

  ‘No hurry, Roberto. You are welcome to stay.’ Eduardo smiled. ‘Annemieke is probably getting tired of my company anyway.’

  The boy just looked at him as if he’d never seen him before, then turned to Annemieke.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. And left.

  ‘Strange boy,’ said Eduardo.

  Annemieke’s bandages had been replaced. Thin pads were taped to her cheeks and across her nose. Eduardo bent over and kissed her. Her response was listless.

  ‘Soon you will be able to open your own florist shop,’ he said, not knowing where to put his latest offering. ‘Soon the hospital will run out of vases, and they’ll have to put your flowers in the bottles people pee in.’

  But she didn’t react to his attempts at humour. She seemed far away, distracted. She didn’t avoid contact with his eyes so much as make no effort to establish it. He took her hand gently.

  ‘What’s the matter, sweetheart? Eh? I know this must be difficult for you. It’s unfair. And it’s cruel. But don’t give up hope.’ He squeezed her hand gently, but she still looked away.

  ‘I stayed back late at the office so I could ring the Feldman Clinic. You are booked into surgery on Wednesday. Dr Tannen is delighted that we can move so quickly. That’s good news, isn’t it.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I spoke to Peter Metcalf again. He said you’re healing very well, and there won’t be any scars. None that other people will notice.’

  Annemieke turned her head to look at him. She looked pale and drawn.

  ‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘Too much has happened. Would you mind …’

  Eduardo was being dismissed. It took a moment or two for it to register.

  ‘You want me to leave?’

  She squeezed his hand, an instinctive reaction to the childlike incredulity in his voice.

  ‘Please, darling. I’m very tired.’

  ‘I’ll come back later.’

  ‘Tomorrow will be fine.’

  Eduardo wandered down the corridor towards the elevator. What’s gone wrong, he wondered? How could she be so tired? She’d slept most of the day. Then he realised that what seemed past history to him was only forty-eight hours to her. What he was shutting out of his mind, she was reliving.

  He could imagine the thoughts going through her head. If she hadn’t been unfaithful to him, none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t have been outside Anders’ apartment to fall victim to the Slasher.

  ‘She has a lot to come to terms with,’ he thought. ‘No wonder she’s tired. Poor Annemieke.’

  These were his thoughts as he stepped out onto the pavement, paused to adjust his eyes to the darkness, and began walking towards his car.

  ‘How do you feel now, Jorge Luis Masot?’

  Eduardo froze. The surprise was so complete he was caught totally off-guard.

  ‘You killed my mother and father. Now you have mutilated your wife.’

  Sickened, he turned. It was Roberto. He stood in the pathway of a rundown terrace house, in the shadow of its overgrown garden.

  ‘Roberto … I …’

  Roberto came up to him, eyes blazing, walking slightly sideways as if fearing he’d get struck at any second.

  ‘Don’t try to deny it,’ he said. ‘I saw your reaction.’

  ‘What? You startled me, that’s all. What are you saying?’

  ‘I saw your reaction, Jorge Luis Masot.’ The boy crabbed around him as if he were an exhibit in a gallery, never taking his wild eyes off him. ‘And I saw you two nights ago. In the alley.’

  The boy seen running away. Tall. Thin. Dear God! It was Roberto! Eduardo fought hard to control his panic. It seemed like forever, but only milliseconds had passed. Anger reared up inside him. This boy, this snivelling pathetic wimp was going to destroy him. He couldn’t let it happen. He had to think, take control.

  ‘What nonsense are you talking, Roberto? God knows what’s going on inside your childish brain. I am not listening to any more of this.’

  Eduardo began to walk away, but the boy walked with him.

  ‘Oh you’ll listen to me, Jorge Luis Masot. If you don’t, I’m sure the police will.’

  Eduardo stiffened. He kept walking, thinking. The police would check with immigration and the airline and he’d be history. The boy had him. He had to listen. But he could still argue.

  ‘If you wish to continue this insane conversation, we shall do so in my car. Look! See how people are staring.’

  They walked in silence to his car. Eduardo needed the time to think. To plan. He unlocked the car. Roberto climbed into the front passenger seat. His hands were shaking. The boy was so immature.

  ‘Now tell me, Roberto,’ Eduardo said gently. ‘You are obviously upset. Look at you! You are shaking. And you’re not thinking clearly. I don’t know how you came to see the terrible thing that happened to Annemieke, but if you were there, why didn’t you get help?’

  The fire had gone from the boy. His store of courage was exhausted. Now he again had to face his cowardice.

  ‘I know what I saw, Eduardo. I saw you. I knew Annemieke was going to see that man who upset her. I got there before her and hid under the concrete steps.’

  So that’s where the little wimp had been! Why hadn’t he seen him arrive? He thought back. He couldn’t see the steps from inside the alley. It was too narrow.

  ‘I thought she was in danger. There was another man. In a car. He’d been watching her.’

  Jesus Christ! How long had he been following her? The pup was in love with her!

  ‘I saw Annemieke walk up to the building. I saw you jump out of the alley and put something over her mouth. You looked up and down the street and the light shone on your face. I saw you clearly.’

  Roberto’s voice had begun to rise and he fought to hold down the sobs that were building up inside him.

  ‘I saw then who you really are.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘How could I forget the face of the man who betrayed my parents? You are the man who saw me hiding in the rug beneath the stairs. You are Jorge Luis Masot!
’

  Roberto began to sob uncontrollably.

  ‘You are Jorge Luis Masot. That is why you were sick the night I came to your house, and told you my real name.’

  ‘That was fever. The doctor confirmed it next day.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes, Roberto.’ Eduardo waited until the boy had calmed down. ‘You poor boy.’ The tide had turned for Eduardo. With a softness and tenderness he did not feel, he began to reason with the boy.

  ‘God knows you have had an unfortunate life, Roberto. What happened to you is unspeakable. But things like that can scar you for ever, Roberto. It can distort your mind. Make you believe you see things which aren’t true. This is what happened to you.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes, Roberto. You followed Annemieke because you love her. No, don’t deny it. It is not hard to love Annemieke. You say you saw the man attack her. Come out of the alley and grab her.’

  ‘It was you!’

  Eduardo ignored him.

  ‘Tell me, Roberto, why didn’t you go to Annemieke’s help? Even if you had just rushed out and stood in the middle of the street shouting, the man would have run away.’

  Roberto couldn’t look at him.

  ‘Don’t you realise what happened to you? Your mind played tricks on you. The terror you felt unlocked the terror of your past. Suddenly you were back in La Boca, a petrified six year old. You became confused. You confused what you were seeing in your mind with what was happening in front of you. You saw a face, and you thought it was the face of the man called Jorge who betrayed your parents.’

  ‘No! It was the same man. It was your face.’

  ‘Roberto, you were only six years old.’ Eduardo’s eyes bored into him. His words came unrelentingly, pummelling and chipping away at Roberto’s conviction. ‘You would have trouble now recognising your own parents. You have admitted as much.’