“Eight, but you should know they have cameras in the lobby and possibly in the elevators.”
Mairead nodded and then noticed the posters in Vanessa’s hand. “What are they? My wanted posters?”
Vanessa handed her one. “A woman asked if we could put these up. She’s looking for her daughter, who’s been missing two years. They’re from Ukraine.”
The familiar face had Mairead’s skin prickling. She read the information and went to say something, but stopped.
Vanessa frowned. “What?”
“Nothing,” Mairead smiled. “I was just thinking, it must be hell for her, two years not knowing where your daughter is.”
“Yes, I felt terribly sorry for her, and I don’t like her chances of finding her after all this time.”
Mairead nodded thoughtfully. “I need to get going soon, Vanessa.”
“Mairead,” Vanessa reached out and gripped her hand. “Let me take care of you. If James knew you were alone…”
“I’m alright. Just be there on Wednesday. If I don’t check in, then you can start worrying about me then.”
Vanessa snatched her back into a hug and held on. “He needs you to be alright, Mairead. You know that.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“Right.” Vanessa released her. “We need money.”
Mairead held her hand out. “Give me the keys and I’ll go get it. I’d rather you keep watch out here, just in case.”
“Yes, good idea.” She unclipped a bunch of keys from her belt. “Be quick and watch out for the girls or you’ll have more trouble on your hands than you can deal with.”
“I’ll be careful.” She gripped Vanessa’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, because this isn’t what James would have me do. He would expect me to care for you.”
Mairead smiled. “You are caring for me, but for the next four days, I have to care for myself. I want my future with James and… and I’m going to do everything I can to get it.”
* * * * *
There was a light in a ground floor window of the two storey house as Lena walked up the steep driveway. The house was old and gloomy, with the blanket covered couch out front, surrounded by beer cans and tins of cigarette butts. It should have meant that the house was smoke-free as they’d told her, but she knew that wasn’t the case.
It didn’t matter. The rent was cheap and she could pay in cash. The two young student males and one female were polite to her and never bothered her or asked too many questions. In return, she often cooked for them, leaving a stew on the stove or some baking on the table. They were always filled with awe and praise when they saw her, and Lena liked the motherly feeling it gave her.
Opening the door, the stench of tobacco and alcohol was thick in the air. Slowly, Lena approached the lounge room and peered in. The table was littered with empty bottles and filled ashtrays. Someone on the couch was snoring softly.
Further down the passage, her own room was waiting, smoke free and clean, with her bed tidily made and a teddy sitting against her pillows. Flicking on her bedside lamp, she stripped off and folded her clothes, laying them on a chair in the corner, before climbing between crisp sheets and cuddling up to her bear.
She was exhausted, having visited many pubs and clubs before they closed for Sunday morning. There had been a variety of reactions to her mission, with some people being helpful, while others were dismissive or rude. None of their reactions bothered her anymore, not as it had when she had first begun searching for Greta. She had to continue. She had to believe that something would come of it, because if she gave up, there would be no escaping her torment.
Losing her once had been traumatic enough. Lena preferred to dwell on the moment of having had Greta returned to her. It had been a wonderful, emotional moment, but within hours it had become tainted by the loss of the man who had brought her back. Lena had come to believe that her happiness would always have a bitter edge.
Even her marriage had lacked something vital. Danil had been a good husband, and a kind loving father to Greta, but his devotion had been divided between family and the politics of their country. There was none of the passion she had known with another man before being with Danil.
Sometimes, she had to convince herself of its reality in her history. After nineteen years, the man she had often yearned for, was now just someone who frequented her dreams, with his wild, black hair, tattooed body, bulging muscles and hypnotic blue eyes.
Now everyone was gone, and Lena knew that no-one was coming to help her. She was alone with her misery, and finding Greta was all that was keeping her going. At least she didn’t turn to food these days for comfort, not when there was much more mind-numbing substances.
Lately, she was beginning to accept the lethargy seeping back into her life, as each day brought her no closer to Greta. Only sleep brought her peace, but it didn’t come easily. Switching on her lamp, Lena donned her dressing gown and grabbed her bag, taking out a bottle of Vodka.
She preferred Scotch, but several bottles a week got costly. Vodka was cheaper and achieved the same results. From her bedside cabinet, she took her glass and poured her first drink. Saturday night drinking meant she could sleep half of Sunday away, dreaming of better times and a man who was impossible to forget.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Wellington, New Zealand, February 2005
Long ago, Mary had decided that she wasn’t particularly fond of children. They were too loud and unpredictable, lacking manners and any regard for others. No better place was that demonstrated than in the burger restaurant she had placed herself.
Children were running about, heedless to the danger they presented to other customers. Worse were their ignorant parents, engaged in conversations with other adults while their children ran wild. Mary suspected they were deliberately ignorant, as if they couldn’t be held responsible for any mishap their offspring might cause.
It made her job easier to observe the family at a large table in one section of the restaurant. The area had been decorated with balloons and streamers. The children wore party hats and added the blast of whistle blowers to an already amplified atmosphere.
A cake was carried to the table and all eyes became focussed upon the little girl at the end. Other customers looked their way as a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ was struck up by the group. It allowed Mary to study the chubby little face, beaming with excitement and poised to blow her candles out. There were eight of them, as Mary knew there would be.
“Happy birthday, dear Holly…”
As Holly stood up, Mary could see the pretty pink lace frock she was wearing with a pink ribbon in her auburn hair.
“Remarkable,” Mary whispered.
Her parents looked on proudly, clapping as the candles were extinguished. They had their arms around each other, until they were crowding in beside her to have a picture taken. At the same time, Mary took several snaps of her own.
Her next task would be a little more difficult. Emptying her tray of its rubbish, she stacked it with the others and began to make her way towards them. As she drew closer, the girl’s father looked her way and his face registered his surprise.
“Mary? I didn’t know you…”
“I saw you, Mr. Kutcher,” Mary said quickly. “It seemed appropriate to extend a greeting.”
He grinned. “Eh, yes, how are you, Mary?”
“I’m well, thank you.” She looked blankly at his wife, who was looking puzzled.
“Helen, this is Mary Whittaker from work.”
Helen Kutcher beamed and extended her hand. “Mary. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Mary shook her hand but continued to stare, until Helen smiled awkwardly. “It’s our daughter’s eighth birthday today.”
“Yes, I had surmised this.” Mary looked at the girl who was laughing with her friends between mouthfuls of cake. “I will give her a present.”
“Oh, there’s no need…” Helen began, but Mary was already approachi
ng the girl and reaching into her handbag.
The girl hadn’t looked up until Mary was shoving a fifty dollar bill in front of her face. “Happy Birthday, Holly.”
Everyone looked surprised, and Holly stared up at her and then at her parents.
Kutcher smiled back awkwardly. “This is Mary, Holly. She wanted to give you a present.”
Holly timidly took the money, staring warily at her strange benefactor. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Mary bent down and quickly hugged her, causing Holly to look fearfully to her parents, before flinching and making a gasp.
“You’re pulling my hair.”
Mary stood up. “Sorry. Happy Birthday, Holly.”
Everyone watched as Mary walked away, before some of the adults tittered and others exchanged amused and worried glances.
Mary saw none of it as she left the restaurant, her hand retrieving the plastic snap-lock bag and carefully placing the few auburn strands of hair into it.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Mairead reclined back on the pillows of her bunk and pulled her jersey and t-shirt up above her breasts. Her hand rested lightly on her stomach, and she frowned at the lack of concave that was usually there. Instead there was a distinctive smooth rising that she found strange and fascinating. Her other hand touched her breasts and she couldn’t help be amused. They were definitely bigger, producing a satisfying cleavage in her bra.
She wished that James was there to share the moment. The tears pricked her eyes, but gained no momentum. It was as if her soul had dried up and left her with a brittle fury.
Restoring her clothes, she sat up and stared at the blank wall in front of her. Her small room at the motel had a bathroom, a double bed, a microwave, an electric jug and a bar fridge, with a few utensils and crockery. It was all she needed for a few nights. With her cap and dark sunglasses and baggy jersey, the manager had shown no sign of recognising her, though he had grumbled about her midnight arrival. A thick wad of cash had quickly cheered him up, especially when she declined a receipt.
She was comfortable and alone where she could think clearly, and once again her thoughts were focussed upon that fateful day, when James had been shot and Tammy had lost her life.
Someone had made it happen, and when she weighed it all up, only one answer kept coming to her and she was determined to test her theory. If it proved accurate, then she had harder decisions to make.
She knew they were decisions James would never approve of, but he didn’t understand her desperate need for him. Facing a future without him, alone with their child, only sent her into a spiral of depression, unable to cope, crippled and rolled up on the bed, drowning in a darkness that threatened to crush her. At least her plans gave her hope.
Doing nothing had its own dangers. How soon would the police track her down or these men who wanted Dylan? She had to be proactive, while taking every precaution possible to keep safe.
It was Sunday and many shops didn’t open until ten. Mairead decided to head to the city very early while the traffic was scarce. Walking in the open was out of the question and the first taxi she saw, she hailed it down. It meant a long wait hovering in an alley before the shops opened their doors.
The pawnbroker proved to be the only one she needed. It had everything she wanted and a few items she hadn’t thought of, but could prove useful. She was painfully aware of the security camera focussed upon the counter and succeeded in paying for her items away from it.
When she left, she had a new backpack, bulging with her purchases and a black mountain bike with 26” wheels and an eighteen speed full suspension, according to the sales assistant. All Mairead knew was that it would be fast and could manoeuver down narrow streets and narrow alleys better than a car. It would also provide a safe exercise regime to keep herself in peak condition.
Conscious of her exposure, Mairead mounted the bike and cycled back to the motel, arriving before eleven. Plugging in a multi-box, she got out an assortment of cell phones and chargers. It would be an hour before they were fully charged, but plugged in, she could use one immediately.
From her gym bag, she got out Greta’s poster and dialled the number. The ringing went on for a while, before a lazy, tired voice said something in another language. Mairead smiled, knowing she had the right woman.
“Lena Moroz?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“I saw one of your posters. I’d like to talk to you about your daughter.”
There was a pause and then the thickly accented voice became more awake and urgent. “You know where Greta is?”
“I can’t say anything over the phone. If you want to talk, just be waiting out the front of the theatre in Courtney Place at three. A taxi will pick you up and bring you to me. If you have anyone with you, or say anything to anyone, you won’t hear from me again. Is that understood?”
“Yes, I understand. I say nothing. I come alone. Please, tell me something…”
Mairead hung up and breathed out deeply. She could only hope that the little news she had for Lena would assure her that her daughter was still alive. At least, she had been, several weeks ago and strangely in the company of Brendan North. Finding her was going to prove difficult, but the posters were a good start. If she could establish a good friendship with this woman, she might get to see this girl again and find out what Brendan was doing at the club that night. Of course, it could also be a lot of work for no reward. Greta quite possibly knew nothing.
“Every lead, every clue, every possibility,” Mairead told herself firmly.
She gathered up her backpack and put it on her shoulders, before putting on her bike helmet and sunglasses. From the front pocket of her jersey, she took out a pair of gloves and slipped them on.
Outside, she removed the combination lock from her bike and stowed it into the backpack, before taking off. There was something exciting about cycling, having greater freedom than being in a car. Her muscles were coming alive again after such little use in the prison and hospital.
Upon entering the city, Mairead had the route well planned, weaving through the smallest of alleys and across public areas that offered no access to vehicles. The chances of being followed were minimal, and another person on a bike would be struggling to keep up with her.
She took a long detour to make her way to the far side of the city and it was over an hour before she came onto the street she wanted. This was where she grew nervous again, slowing down to study the cars parked on both sides, looking for anyone sitting inside them. After she had passed the apartment block, she sped up again and kept going until she was at the end of the street.
Doing a circuit of the block seemed a sensible idea and she felt more confident upon her return. There was a bike rack out the front of some shops and she stopped to secure the bike. She removed her helmet and locked it to the bike, before pulling the hood of her jersey down low over her head. Taking her time, she strolled down the street, stopping to look in shop windows, while taking sly glances to the cars and the upper windows of buildings.
People walked past her and paid no attention. As Mairead got closer to the apartments, she looked up and counted twenty-four glass balconies, twelve on both ends and windows between. Fishing into her pocket, she got out the key and looked at it again, turning it over to see the number eight scratched into it.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled on a glass door and walked into the building with her head down, entering an empty lobby with shiny black floor tiles and white stark walls. At the end of it were the lifts.
Her heart had picked up speed by the time she got to the fourth floor, where she looked at the two doors across from one another. Slowly, she approached the one with the gold number eight and brought her head close to the door to listen.
There was nothing to be heard and her eyes went to the lock. It seemed to be the right sort of fit. Up until then, she had convinced herself that it wouldn’t be the right key. It had been one among several, but the
only one with an eight. Stealing it from Vanessa’s keys had been simple, and she would hardly notice it missing until she went to use it. With her heart pumping, she watched it slide into the lock perfectly.
She’ll have an alarm, Mairead thought to herself. She’ll be inside, or somebody will be and I have absolutely no story ready if all this goes wrong.
More than ever, she wanted to turn around and get out of there. It was a stupid idea, fanciful, and even if it had substance, there were no guarantees that she was going to find anything useful. Yet, breaking through all the doubts, the memory of James lying unconscious and bleeding in the car brought an icy resolve.
She turned the key and opened the door quietly, straining again to hear or see anything that would indicate an alarm. There was only silence and Mairead entered into a small hallway. Beyond it, she could see a large window and a sliding door leading out to the balcony.
Closing the door behind her, she walked silently to the end, and gazed about the large, white room. It was a lounge, with two couches, a flat panel screen in the corner and a tall, wooden bookcase, next to another hallway. To her right was a dining table and chairs, a kitchenette and two more doors.
Venturing further in, she wandered about silently, listening at each door. Out the window she could see a street in the distance, a few scattered buildings and the harbour behind them. Her attention turned to the bookcase. The majority of the books were written in Dutch, and constituted subjects that looked to be about healthy living and physical fitness. There were English fiction titles that were diverse in their genres, as if there was no particular favourite.
Mairead looked at a row of DVDs. Pulling one out, she grinned at the image of two busty, half naked blondes who were eyeing each other up hungrily. Going through the others, she was a little surprised by the amount of porn, ranging from lesbian sex movies to hard core BDSM.
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