by Robin Storey
‘That’s me and him. I was six and he was four. His name’s Jacob Van Graf. He’s my half-brother. This was taken just before we both went into foster care – it’s the only one I have of him.’
I waited while she took a drag of her cigarette. ‘We both went to different foster parents even though they’re supposed to keep siblings together. They also promised me I’d be able to see him, but that didn’t happen either.’
Her voice was hard with bitterness. She stared at the photo. ‘I haven’t seen him since they took him away. I’ve tried to find him and all I know is that the foster family he went to when he was 10 adopted him when he was 12. And because they don’t want their details given out, I can’t find out anything more. I’ve spent a fortune putting public notices in newspapers asking him to contact me or anyone who knows him. For all I know, he could have changed his name.’
‘Isn’t there an agency you can register with if you’re looking for a family member who’s been adopted?’
‘Yes, the Reunion and Information Register. I’ve registered with them, but Jake hasn’t. They can only help you if both parties are on it.’
She leaned over and stubbed her cigarette out forcefully on the rock border of the garden. ‘So I just wondered, with you being a lawyer, whether you’d be able to track him down. I’m not good with people in government departments – they just piss me off and I end up swearing at them.’
‘If the foster family don’t want their details disclosed, it will be difficult to track him down. But I can give it a go. I’ll need you to sign a form authorising me to get information on your behalf. Even then, the authorities may not tell me anything. Have you got an email address?’
She nodded. I took a pen and notebook out of my briefcase and handed it to her. ‘Write it down, as well as your phone number. And your brother’s name and date of birth, and your address before he went into the foster home. Do you know the name of the foster family he went to or where they lived?’
She shook her head. ‘They tell you nothing; you’re just another kid to them. I didn’t even know we were going to be separated until the child safety officers came to the house to take him to his foster family. When they told me I wasn’t going with him, I screamed and tried to drag Jake away from them; and then I tried to get in the car with them. One of them had to stay behind with me to try and calm me down, but I refused to.’
She took the pen and started writing.
‘So why were you both put in a foster home? Where were your parents?’
‘My father left when I was a baby. Mum’s partner, Jake’s dad, left her for another woman. She started drinking again and couldn’t look after us. We didn’t have any other family.’
‘Give me the names and dates of birth of your mother and Jake’s father as well. The more information I have, the better.’
She finished writing, gave me back the notebook, then dug into her handbag and handed me a crumpled sheet of paper. ‘This is my Adoption Information Certificate, which says I’ve got the right to search for information about Jake.’
She gave me a sideways glance. ‘I appreciate you doing this. I can’t afford to pay you.’
‘I don’t expect you to. Consider yourself my pro bono project for the year. Just have a coffee with me occasionally, that’s all I ask.’’
Stony silence.
‘Purely as your legal advisor of course.’
‘I can’t meet you for coffee. If we have to meet, we can do it in my lunch hour. If that suits you,’ she added grudgingly.
She looked at her watch and sprang to her feet. ‘I gotta go.’
I took hold of her arm. She tried to wrench it away, but I kept a firm hold. ‘Frankie, I’m more than happy to help you, and if you want to meet in your lunch hour, that’s fine. But I want you to be straight with me. Why are you so jumpy? Who or what are you afraid of?’
She stared at a point somewhere over my shoulder. ‘If Eddie finds out I’ve been talking to you, he’ll send someone around to beat me up. And you.’
‘Why? Doesn’t he want you to find your brother?’
‘It’s got nothing to do with that. He doesn’t want me to have anything to do with other men while he’s in jail.’
‘That’s ridiculous! How’s he going to know?’
‘He has lots of mates on the outside; they report back to him.’
‘So his mates are following your every move? That sounds like bullshit to me.’
‘You don’t know him; you don’t know what he’s capable of.’
Then, obviously remembering my part in the hold-up, she added, ‘In a relationship, I mean.’
On the one hand, I wanted to say,’ Tell me then. What does he do to you?’ And another part of me didn’t want to know.
‘I’ll let you get back to work,’ I said. ‘I’ll email you the authority form; and after you sign it and email it back to me, I’ll get started.’
Chapter 8
FRANKIE emailed me the signed authority form the next day. In my lunch hour at work, over my salad wrap, I studied the information she’d given me. Jacob Mitchell Van Graf DOB 6 June 1983. Frances Margaret Slater DOB 23 March 1981. That made Jacob 23, two years younger than Frankie. Address 64 Bryants Rd Macquarie Fields. Mother Adele Pauline Hoffman DOB 13 July 1959. Father of Jacob, Thomas Witton. Frankie didn’t know his second name or date of birth.
It took two weeks of phone calls and emails to Family and Community Services to obtain any information. I came to the same roadblock that Frankie had. Jacob had lived with a number of different foster families before being taken in by a foster family at the age of 10, who officially adopted him when he was 12. They requested that their details not be disclosed to anyone outside the department; and despite my turning on all the charm I could muster, the clerk refused to divulge if Jacob had changed his name upon adoption, or even the town he’d lived in.
There was nothing for it but to play my one and only trump card. I called Family and Community Services again and made sure I was talking to a female clerk I hadn’t spoken to before. I figured a woman was more likely to respond to my tactic. I told her the whole story of my search and explained my predicament.
‘I know you have your confidentiality policy and I respect that. Normally I wouldn’t even think of asking you this, but these are special circumstances. Ms Slater is ill with cancer and the doctors have given her six months maximum. And the only thing she wants to do before she dies is to find her brother. Now, as I’m sure you know, the doctors can only guess when it comes to cancer – she might live for two years or she may only last two months, so time is of the essence. She realises that Jake, for whatever reason, may not want anything to do with her; but she’s prepared for that. She just wants to find him and know he’s okay, so she can die in peace.’
Silence.
‘I can email you a doctor’s certificate if you like, verifying her illness.’
Please don’t say yes.
The clerk, who’d identified herself as Leslie, gave a deep sigh. ‘What I can do is phone the foster parents myself and ask them if they’re prepared to talk to you. If they are, I can pass on your contact details; then it’s up to them.’
‘That would be much appreciated.’
Leslie called back two days later. ‘I tried to contact the family, but both the home and mobile numbers have been disconnected. It’s been a while since we’ve had contact with them, so they’ve either changed their phone numbers or moved house. There’s really nothing more I can do.’
It was obvious I’d already stretched our friendship to its limits. But I had to give it one last try.
‘I appreciate your help and I don’t want to take up any more of your time, so I’m wondering if you could do one last thing for me – for Frankie. Could you tell me the town Jacob was living in with his adoptive family?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t do that.’
‘It would be an enormous help. Otherwise we have no idea where to start searching and time is r
unning out for Frankie.’
‘Mr McPherson, you know as well as I do that I’d be breaching confidentiality to disclose that information. I can’t help you any further.’
She hung up. I stared at the overflowing in-tray on my desk. There had to be a way. I was still mulling over it when my phone rang twenty minutes later. An unknown mobile number.
‘Mr McPherson, it’s Lesley from Family and Community Services. I’m ringing you from my personal mobile phone – our conversations on the department line are recorded.’
She paused then said in a rush, ‘I can tell you the name of the town Jacob was living in, but please don’t tell anyone that I told you, not even Ms Slater. I’d get fired if anyone found out.’
‘Thanks, Leslie, I appreciate it and you have my word that I’ll tell no-one, including Frankie.’
‘He was living in Gosford. That’s all I can tell you.’
I thanked her, hung up and did a fist pump in the air. But when I came down from my high, I reminded myself there was still a lot I didn’t know. In my lunch hour, I took a cab to the electoral office in Haymarket (easier than driving there and trying to find a parking space) and searched in all states for Jacob van Graf. Nothing. Which meant he’d changed his name, had never registered for voting or was living in another country.
#
When I got back to the office, I rang Frankie. She answered straight away.
‘I’ve made some progress. I’ve found out that Jake was living in Gosford.’
‘Fucking fantastic! Whereabouts in Gosford?’
‘They wouldn’t give me the address. I had to lie through my teeth to get that much information.’
‘How are we going to find him? That’s if he’s even still living there.’
‘That’s the million dollar question. He may not still be living with his family; but at least if we can find them, they’ll know where he is.’
‘I’ll have to go to Gosford and see if I can find anyone who knows him.’
‘The other complication is that the family may no longer be in Gosford either.’ I told her about Leslie’s attempts to phone Jacob’s family.
‘But it’s a start, isn’t it?’ Frankie said. ‘If we can find out where he used to live, someone might know where he’s gone.’
‘It’s a slim hope, but it’s all we’ve got,’ I agreed.
‘That settles it. I’m definitely going to Gosford. The boss probably won’t give me leave, so I’ll have to quit my job.’
‘Don’t quit your job. Not yet. I’ll do some more digging around, see what I can find.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate you doing this.’
After dinner I sat on my deck with a beer and a notebook and pen, brainstorming further ideas for tracking down Jacob. Below me on the road, the car lights winked through the Norfolk pines. The rhythmic crash of the surf was clear in the night air, the fresh breeze carrying its salty tang. The ocean views were the main reason I’d bought the apartment at Coogee Beach and I never tired of the sound and smell of the sea.
Gosford was a city with a population of over 160,000. To find someone who had lived there but may not live there any more, and who may well have changed his name was a challenge, to say the least. By the end of the night I had three items on my list. Schools, sporting clubs and police check.
Chapter 9
MY SEARCH results were disheartening. I phoned every primary and secondary school in Gosford asking if they’d had a student named Jacob van Graf who may have changed his surname at 12. But of course they told me nothing and my signed authority form didn’t impress them at all. The same with the sporting clubs. As I was not a criminal lawyer, an enquiry for a police check would arouse suspicions, so I asked my criminal lawyer mate Jerry to do a criminal history check for Jacob, on the off-chance he could be traced through the courts or was in jail.
‘What’s this for?’ Jerry asked.
‘Just helping out a friend.’
‘Female, by any chance?’
‘Yes, but not that sort of friend.’
‘Why not? You’re not still upset about Angela, are you? That was ages ago.’
‘Angelique. And no, I’m not still upset about her. Unlike you, I’m picky about the women I go out with. I prefer someone who can string a few words together without giggling and thrusting her cleavage at me.’
‘Your standards are way too high, mate.’
Jerry phoned back a couple of hours later. ‘Sorry, nothing on Mr van Graf. Gotta go. I’m due back in court. I’ll invite you and your girlfriend who’s not a girlfriend over for a barbecue soon.’
What now? This exercise was turning into a maze, full of dead ends. I thought back over the calls I’d made to the schools in Gosford. There was one to Northwoods State Secondary College. I’d spoken to the principal’s personal assistant, a youngish-sounding woman named Amanda. She gave me the usual spiel about not being able to divulge information and when I played my trump card about Frankie’s terminal cancer, she hesitated as if about to say something, then said hurriedly, ‘I’m really sorry about your client’s illness, but unfortunately I still can’t give out that information.’
Her momentary hesitation made me think that she’d recognised the name. If Jacob had stayed at high school until Year 12, he would have left only 6 years ago. If she’d been working at the school back then, she’d more than likely remember him. His unusual name and circumstances, as a child in a foster/adoptive family would have set him apart from the rest of the students. It was a long shot but our only lead. And the only way to get any further was to front up to the school in person.
#
As Frankie was doing an early shift, I arranged to meet her at 3.30 after work.
‘Will you be back this afternoon?’ Chloe asked me as I headed out the door.
‘Probably not.’
From the look she gave me, I knew what she was thinking. You’re up to something and it involves a woman.
Frankie was working at Bondi again but at a different resort – a glittering oceanfront high-rise. She met me in the foyer and I followed her into the service room, tripping over a bucket on the way in. We were surrounded by an army of brooms, mops and vacuum cleaners.
‘We’ll have to stop meeting like this,’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to meet out in the open to prove to your boyfriend’s thug mates that we have nothing to hide?’
Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to call him by his first name.
‘Eddie wouldn’t see it like that. Anyhow, you’re the one who wanted to meet in person. We could just as easily talk about this on the phone.’
She had me there. I’d used this as an excuse to see her.
‘The truth is I have a plan. It’s a good and necessary plan but you’re not going to like it, so I thought I should discuss it with you in person, so I’d have a better chance of talking you into it.’’
She folded her arms across her chest, making her breasts jut out even more. ‘Hit me with it and watch me resist your charms.’
‘How would you like to do a road trip with me? To Gosford.’
‘No friggin’ way. I’m going to Gosford on my own, even if I have to quit my job.’
‘Let me explain why that’s not a good idea. Mind if I sit down? Thanks.’
I removed a pile of wet cloths draped over the side of a bucket, turned it upside down and plonked myself on it.
‘If you go down there on your own, you’re just one woman demanding information that no-one either can or wants to give you. If you have me as your lawyer with you, I can verify that you’re who you say you are and that the reasons for your search are authentic. People will be much more inclined to listen and once they’re listening, we’ve got a much better chance of getting information from them. And my ability to talk to officials without swearing at them is a definite plus, wouldn’t you agree?’
Frankie pursed her lips but said nothing.
‘There’s something else. I told Family and Community Services that you h
ave terminal cancer – it was the only way I could persuade them to tell me what town Jake had lived in. And I think I’ve found the high school he went to, but of course they couldn’t reveal that. So if we fronted up in person with that story, we might persuade them to give us some information.’
Frankie stared at me, open-mouthed. ‘You told them I’m dying? You, a fine upstanding lawyer, told an outright lie?’
There was more than a hint of ironic amusement in her eyes. I’d been wrestling with that question myself. Not only had I lied, but I’d also breached my code of ethics.
I shrugged. ‘Let’s hope the end justifies the means. My going to Gosford with you is your best hope, Frankie.’
She looked away. Her hair glinted red under the fluorescent lights of the service room. I imagined it let loose from under her cap, tumbling over her bare neck, soft as feathers. I imagined running my fingers through it and pressed my hands firmly onto my knees.
‘What if Eddie finds out?’
‘How would he find out? Have someone tail us all the way to Gosford?’
‘He’d find out, believe me.’
I thought quickly. ‘Okay, here’s what we’ll do. See if you can get a couple of days off work during the week, say Monday to Wednesday. We have to go while school’s on. I’ll pick you up in a pre-arranged spot, somewhere in the city where it’s crowded. Where do you live?’
‘Bankstown.’
‘Quite a way to travel to work.’
‘Eddie’s mum lives in Bondi Junction. I stay with her when I’m working on this side of town. Saves me quite a bit of money in fuel.’
‘If you catch a train to Central, I’ll meet you near the station. If you really think you’re going to be followed, go into the Ladies and change into a disguise. Wear a fat suit or a false nose if you have to.’
Frankie refused to smile. ‘Where would we stay?’
‘We’ll find a motel somewhere.’
‘You’ll have to book separate rooms.’
‘Of course.’
I could see her weighing up the stakes – the desire to find her brother vs. possible repercussions from Eddie if he found out she’d gone away in the company of another man.
