by Diane Wood
“What does this mean?” Alex asked, trying to fathom some of the equipment.
“They’ve been recording all the activity in this apartment,” Nathalie stated thoughtfully. “She used to do that with high-profile clients. She called it her protection.”
“So is it recording now?” she asked. “It’s set on the area we were in.”
“It looks like it,” answered Nathalie, a little puzzled. “But why would she record us? With what she was confessing, she’d leave herself wide open to being charged.”
“Unless she didn’t know,” replied Alex suddenly. “Remember George leaving to go to the bathroom? I must admit he looked a whole lot better when he returned. And he did indicate for us to check this back area. He’d know the equipment like the back of his hand, because he would have been the one using it all the time.”
“Let me see if I can get this stuff to playback,” Nat said, moving to the workbench and fiddling with the equipment.
Suddenly one of the screens covering the lounge area went blank. Pressing “Play” on the equipment, they watched as the discussion in that room, complete with sound, played out for them.
“George obviously wanted us to have this,” Alex said as they watched Charlotte telling her story. “I guess he wants to help you after all,” she said quietly.
“Then he wouldn’t have helped her take your mother,” Nathalie said bitterly. “She couldn’t have done this without his help.”
“Maybe he didn’t know the full story. He seemed upset when she was talking about how your mother raised him, especially when she made it very clear that, but for your mother’s interference, she would have gotten rid of him.”
“Then all he had to do was stand up to her and tell us where your mother and the children are being held.”
“Unless he genuinely doesn’t know where they are. If he doesn’t know where she’s holding the children then he’s as much over a barrel as you and I.” Glancing over at the equipment, she asked, “What about these other monitors? Switch them on and see what areas they cover.”
When they lit up they appeared to be looking at another lounge area and three other bedrooms, although two of the bedrooms were in darkness. The women looked at each other questioningly.
“It has to be one of the other apartments in this building,” suggested Alex. “The layout is the same. What if George owns the other apartments? They’d be ideal for his business—very discreet. Perfect for the parties we know he runs.”
“I wonder why those two bedrooms are in darkness,” Nat said, staring at the two dark monitors. “What if your mother and the kids are there?”
“So what do we do?” Alex asked.
“We knock on the door. I’ll make out that George sent me. If we get a response we could be onto something.”
“Then what? They’re bound to be armed?”
“Or maybe there is no them,” Nathalie suggested. “I can’t see any movement at all on the monitors. Maybe everyone’s tied up in those darkened rooms, and whoever brought them there has gone. We have to try.”
“But which flat?” asked Alex worriedly. “We don’t know where these cameras are set up.”
“I think the next floor down,” replied Nathalie. “It makes sense that this bank of monitors would cover this flat and the closest flat to it. We have to give it a try.”
The foyer area on the fourth level looked exactly like the one above, as did the front door of the flat. Knocking tentatively, the two women waited. Nothing happened. This time they knocked much louder, still nothing. The third knock included a loud shout of “Hello,” but the result was the same.
“I’m going to break in,” Nathalie said finally. “I’m willing to bet that George or Charlotte own all of these. There was only the one locked mailbox when we came in, instead of five separate boxes. And this setup is too perfect for the business. Even if there’s nobody in there, there might be information that would be useful. I just have to go back upstairs and get something to fiddle with the lock.”
A minute later she returned with an assortment of items including a tiny ice pick, paperclips and her credit card. “I learned a whole array of skills at Mother’s hands,” Nat commented dryly. “Now maybe they’ll be useful. It’s a fairly flimsy lock, because all the security is concentrated on the outside doors and windows—another reason I think they’re all owned by the same person.”
It was nowhere as simple as it looked in the movies and after ten minutes of fiddling Alex was growing impatient.
“Just trust me,” Nat said gently, recognizing Alex’s fear for her mother. “We will get into the flat, even if we have to batter the door down.”
Suddenly there was a click and the lock sprung open. For a second they both smiled, then, remembering the seriousness of their task, they carefully entered the empty lounge.
It was a replica of the one above, only untidy. Bottles of beer and food wrappers cluttered the expensive coffee table, cushions were disturbed and Playboy magazines were left on chairs or on the floor.
Moving slowly, the women made their way toward the rear of the apartment and began opening bedroom doors. The first bedroom was the one that was lit and it was obvious at first glance that it was empty, even the walk-in closet was open to view. The next room was darkened by shades and curtains but was also empty—although someone had recently used the bed, which was unmade and messy.
It was in the third bedroom that they found Norma Martin.
At first Alex thought her mother was dead. She was lying on the bed with her hands and feet bound. Her arms were behind her and tape was plastered across her mouth. When the light went on, she didn’t move. “Oh God, Mum,” moaned Alex, moving straight to her. “Mum…Mum…can you hear me?”
Still there was no movement.
While Alex tore pointlessly at the rope binding her mother’s arms, Nathalie felt for a pulse. Norma was warm and the pulse was quite discernible.
“She’s alive,” she told Alex. “Get a serrated knife with a thin blade from the kitchen. She’s obviously drugged, but she’s going to be okay.”
“We have to call an ambulance,” Alex argued.
“Just get the knife,” demanded Nathalie, aware that they hadn’t yet found the children. “Then we’ll decide what to do.”
When Alex returned moments later with a steak knife, they cut the ropes on Norma’s wrists and ankles. All the time Alex was talking to her, begging her to respond.
Collecting a cold washcloth, Nathalie began gently wiping the sleeping woman’s face. At first she only moaned, but finally she opened her eyes.
Drowsy and disoriented, she was helped to sit up.
“Oh, Alex…darling,” Norma muttered, pulling Alex into her embrace. “Thank God, you’re okay.”
“Thank God, I’m okay?” questioned Alex in disbelief. “You’re the one they drugged and tied up.”
“They told me you’d been in a car accident,” Norma said, attempting to sit on the side of the bed. “They said you were critical. They had police ID and offered to take me to the hospital.”
“Oh, Mum,” cried Alex, wrapping her mother in a huge bear hug. “I thought they’d killed you.” The tears were pouring down her face now, but she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The relief was unbelievable.
“I don’t remember anything after I got into the car,” she said. “Maybe just a sting on my hand. I actually thought I’d been bitten by something, and then everything went black. I woke up here once, and somebody came into the room and shoved the phone to my mouth to talk to you. Then there was another sting, this time on my neck, and that was the last thing I remember.”
“What about the children?” Nathalie interrupted. “What did they do with the children?”
“What children?”
“My niece and nephew were supposed to be here. Charlotte supposedly grabbed them at the same time as she grabbed you.”
“I’m sorry, Nathalie,” she said slowly. “I never saw the children. W
hat is this all about?”
“It’s too complicated to explain fully,” Alex said gently. “But Charlotte was holding you and the children so that we couldn’t stop her leaving the country. If we went to the police, she threatened to harm you all.”
“So, how did you find me?”
“Just luck,” mumbled Nathalie distractedly. “But we still can’t go to the police because we don’t know if the children are safe or not.”
“Surely she wouldn’t hurt her own grandchildren?” Norma asked, her head still spinning from the drugs.
Alex and Nathalie exchanged glances but said nothing.
“So we have to wait for her call,” muttered Nathalie, the frustration bringing tears to her eyes. “I just don’t trust her.”
Leaving her mother, Alex went to Nat and, taking her in her arms, wiped the tears from her face. “They’ll be all right, darling,” she whispered, not sure if she believed it herself. “George wouldn’t let her harm them. I really believe that.”
“But, as you said, I don’t think he knows where they are. I’m so scared for them,” she whispered back. “I’m so scared they’ll end up…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought.
“I think we have to wait for the call now,” Alex said, helping her mother toward the lounge room. “But in the meantime we can have a look in the other couple of apartments downstairs, just in case.”
They were empty—no sign of occupancy and no children.
Returning to the fifth-floor apartment, they collected the digital recordings of Charlotte’s conversation and then took Norma home. She was feeling better and insisted she didn’t need medical care.
When they each had a hot drink and a sandwich in front of them, Alex told Norma the story.
“I’m so sorry, Nathalie,” Norma said at the end. “I’d already come to believe that you and George were her victims, but I really had no idea how bad it was.”
In the end they dozed off. The phone call might not come for hours, but Nathalie wasn’t willing to risk the children. She knew how vicious Charlotte could be if crossed and she didn’t want to force her hand. She just had to trust that ultimately George would protect his family.
Chapter Fifteen
Taking a Stand
When Nathalie’s mobile went off, it woke them with a fright.
“Nathalie Duncan?” asked the slightly accented voice on the other end.
“Yes,” she mumbled, knowing this was the call, but wondering why it had come so early.
“Ms. Duncan, it’s Detective Sergeant Michael Russo, from the Federal Police attached to Sydney Airport,” the voice explained unexpectedly. “Do you have a brother named George Silver?”
“Yes,” she stuttered, wondering what was happening.
“It’s my understanding that you’re a serving police officer in the New South Wales Police Force and also a lawyer. Is that true?”
“Yes…yes,” she stated impatiently. “What’s going on?”
“Ms. Duncan, we have your brother, George Silver, in custody at Mascot Police Station. He’s given me your number and asked me to contact you. He won’t give us any kind of statement or even speak to us until you’re present.”
“Why is he there?” she asked, completely confused.
“I think we need to talk to you about that at the station, but it’s not good news, I’m afraid,” he finished on a more kindly note.
“Please, we’re both in the job,” she begged. “Just tell me what’s happened for him to be in custody.”
For a moment or two he hesitated. “I’m afraid there’s been a shooting at the airport. We have no real idea what happened. But the pilot of their private plane told us that your brother got into an argument with your mother when she tried to take two small children onto the plane with them. It seems your brother pulled a gun, forced the pilot to leave the hangar and take the children with him. He also told him to call the police when he got to safety. A few moments later the pilot heard two shots. When airport police arrived, your brother was sitting beside the body of your mother and a Smith and Wesson revolver was on the floor. Police arrested your brother, but he refused to say anything, except to give them your phone number and the phone numbers for the children’s families.”
Numerous scenarios flooded her brain. Charlotte was dead, the children were safe and George…
“Ms. Duncan, are you there?” The detective’s voice was worried now. Had he overstepped the mark telling a relative that her family was in serious trouble over the phone?
“Yes. I understand. I’ll come straight over to the station,” she managed finally. “And thank you for letting me know what was happening.”
Norma insisted that Alex go with Nathalie. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little groggy, but I fully intend to sleep that off. At least we know the children are safe and that will help me rest.”
* * *
They were expecting her, and as soon as she showed her ID at the counter they ushered both women into the detectives’ office.
Michael Russo was a big middle-aged man dressed in an immaculate suit. He had a highly professional and disciplined attitude, yet Alex could imagine him with a lap full of laughing grandchildren. After introducing himself and his subordinate, he asked who Alex was.
“She’s my partner,” Nathalie answered openly, “but she’s also a clinical psychologist and knows all about the situation.”
“And what situation would that be?” Russo asked in his best interrogation voice.
“I need to speak to my brother first, please,” she insisted, looking him squarely in the eyes.
They’d spoken about it on the way to the station—how much to tell, how much to keep back. Nathalie decided it was pointless to tell anyone the full story. Charlotte was dead, the children were safe and George was in custody. Besides, who would believe it if she started from the beginning? So they’d decided on an abridged version and hoped that they could get that message to George.
“I can’t let you do that,” Russo replied. “You of all people should know that.”
“Then I guess I’m wasting my time,” she answered stubbornly. “Because until I can speak to him privately I won’t be telling you anything, and as a lawyer, I’ll be recommending that George Silver doesn’t say anything either.”
“That’s a conflict of interest,” he stated firmly. “You’re putting your job on the line. If you have information in your mother’s death, then you need to pass it on now.”
“Charlotte Silver wasn’t my mother,” she explained coolly. “She was George’s mother. I don’t know what happened, but, providing I can have time alone with him, I will encourage George to tell you what happened. Obviously he’s not denying killing her.”
“No,” he replied reluctantly. “He said he did it to keep you and the children safe—whatever that means. Then he refused to give us further information. The pilot had lodged a flight plan for Darwin and then another for Indonesia, supposedly with a cargo of children’s clothes. There was no manifest for passengers, so whatever your family was doing, it was obviously illegal.”
Nathalie didn’t say a word but continued the eye contact.
There was frustration on Russo’s face as well as reluctant respect, but he continued to be professional. “I don’t have the authority to let you speak to him,” he insisted. “But I can put it upstairs. If they agree, I’ll give you ten minutes alone. No sound, but visual observation.”
It was agreed, providing Alex could monitor the observation.
It was more than thirty minutes before Russo returned. “It was a fight,” he said. “But they’re willing to let you see him, provided we get a full statement, from both Silver and you.”
* * *
George didn’t look too bad. In fact he seemed to have grown straighter—the cowed look he left the flat with, gone. “I killed her,” he said, reaching out to touch her hand.
“We only have a short time,” she stated deliberately. “So I need to
know what happened.”
“She was going to take the children. She lied to me,” he said, his eyes glistening with anger. “I suspected as much when she had the children in a different place to Alex’s mother, but I didn’t know where they were, so I couldn’t do anything earlier.”
“So you just killed her?”
“I tried to talk to her, but she laughed at me,” he sighed. “I think I knew I’d have to kill her even back at the flat. You see, while she was talking about Olivia I was remembering. I remembered Olivia’s smell and how safe and loved I felt with her, how she’d play with me and talk to me—how affectionate she was. I even have vague memories of your father—his kindness, his gentleness. Then they were gone and everything changed. And I never felt safe again…except with you.”
For a moment he was deep in thought.
“If I hadn’t killed her, Jeremy and Samantha would never have been safe,” he continued, unapologetically. “It would have been you and me all over again.”
“So you just pulled the gun and shot her?”
“No. After the pilot left with the children I asked her if, even for one moment, she’d ever loved me. That’s when I shot her.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me that of course she did. She told me that I was better in bed than anyone else.” Now the tears were streaming down his face. “That’s what she said to me—that I was a good lover. All I could think about was what you once said about us being the only ones standing between the children and Mother. Suddenly she wasn’t my mother, she was just this woman who used us and controlled us and hurt us our whole lives. If it wasn’t my children, Nat, it would have been someone else’s. If I’d let her live, she’d go on destroying innocent lives. I had no choice.”
Now she moved her hands to his. “I don’t want you to do an interview until I get you a decent lawyer,” she said quietly. “Russo will be mad as hell, but that’s his problem, and don’t admit to anything else. We’ll use the abuse—”
