Vanishing Point - Page 40

Katherine remained silent, biting her lip, in spite of the pain. She could smell the sweet smoke of the angel dust cigarettes and knew Karl sat outside on the porch, listening. She realised she had lost the battle of wills and surrendered everything she stood for.

The whole episode lasted only a few minutes. Benjamin made animal noises that echoed around the Factory. Outside, Karl was laughing between gulps of whisky.

Katherine tried desperately not to think of the only other man she had been intimate with. It was her husband, her Alec, a man she loved, and there was pleasure in the sex act.

After it was over Benjamin’s heavy weight collapsed on her, his breath coming in gasps.

‘I can’t breath,’ she mumbled.

He lay for a few moments longer until he shrank out of her then rolled off. He grunted and pushed her from the bed. ‘Go woman. Go ta ya own place.’

In rolling off her he partly lay on the torn shift. She struggled to pull it free but he angrily said, ‘Leave me, leave it. Go. Git out now, woman, git ta ya own place. Now. Go.’

She pulled again but it was trapped under his heavy weight.

Trying to maintain as much dignity as she could muster she quickly ran across the veranda to her own quarters, past the grinning Karl whose eyes never left her. From her room grabbed a towel and fled to the shower. In spite of the cold night air she soaped and scrubbed herself thoroughly, not caring about how much water she used.

* * *

Katherine’s life began to improve slightly. Benjamin provided her with more material to make clothes, some toys and books for Carolyn. He even bought her a long skirt from Kalgoorlie.

In exchange Benjamin demanded that she come to his room regularly. Each visit was similar to the first but lasted much longer. She suffered less from physical pain but more from the longer time exposed to emotional pain. If she appeared hesitant, he told her that it was her duty as a wife. If she refused, he reminded her that Carolyn was now big enough to go shooting with Karl. He provided no contraceptives, citing an obscure Biblical text about Onan, so she knew it would be just a matter of time before her own primitive methods failed.

Alec’s rented apartment in the tree-rich suburb of Briar Hill, northwest of the hustle and bustle of Melbourne city, provided an ideal home for a single person. With lower rent and good proximity to the busy railway station at Greensborough, Alec found he spent so little on accommodation and transport, that he saved money at a great rate. In spite of the hills making his cycling difficult, he found it a convenient place to live.

It was some months since Petri’s last visit so social outings were limited to just Alec and Shelley. After a matinee concert by Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, they shared a pleasant meal of crumbed veal, washed down with several glasses of vintage Penfold’s cabernet sauvignon. Alec, living on his own, had become a competent, if not cordon bleu, cook.

The friendship with Shelley had developed into warm, mutual understanding although, to an outside observer, Shelley was driving the relationship. Slowly, through regularly shared coffee breaks at the Agora and discussions together or with Petri, they learned more about each other and the mutual attraction increased. Now, with that satisfied feeling of cosiness following a good meal, they sat side by side on the floor in the semi-darkened lounge, sipping wine while the tape recorder softly played a selection of music taped by Alec. The heater warmed the room against the Melbourne winter chill.

Alec was finally feeling comfortable enough to explain what happened to his wife and child. ‘People talk about ‘closure’ but, as far as I’m concerned, that just doesn’t happen. There is just life before they disappeared and life afterwards. You never have so-called closure.’

‘The police never found anything?’ Shelley asked.

‘Nothing. There is a special unit that deals with missing persons in each state and I still call the South Australian one regularly, even now. But the story is always the same. A case of missing persons is never closed but as time passes there is less and less chance of finding out what happened. I’m not sure if the different state units talk much with each other.’

‘What do you think might have happened?’

‘Well, obviously I don’t know. At first I thought someone might have come along and she accepted a ride into Ceduna. But I spent several days in Ceduna waiting and looking, then months with the police and even time with a private detective without a result. I finally had to accept that something really terrible must have happened.’

‘Like what? I mean, it sounds terrible, but do you think they were murdered?’

‘Well, the tracker pretty well confirmed there was another vehicle along that track after we broke down. It towed our Kombi for a bit, then left it in the bush, partly hidden. Very little was taken. Apart from Katherine’s personal bag and the few baby items, including the bassinette, everything was left, even her purse.

‘So it wasn’t robbery.’

‘No, anyway, Katherine didn’t have much money. Anyway, what she did have she left behind.’

‘What, then?’

Alec took a mouthful of wine before answering. ‘Whoever stopped there must have kidnapped them both, that’s all I can think of. It has been so long now that I’ve come to accept that maybe they were murdered, either there or later. The area was well searched, so whatever happened must have taken place away from where the Kombi was left.’

Alec swallowed hard, his eyes watered. Even after six years the loss was painful. The mere thought of what might have happened would always distress him.

‘Oh! Alec. Why would anyone do anything like that?’

His voice tremulous and hoarse, Alec replied, ‘I don’t know. Maybe it was a sex crime. I just wish I knew what happened to them. It would be better to know for sure, no matter how terrible, than be left always to wonder.’

Shelley leaned over and gave him a hug. Her eyes were moist. Alec put his arms around her and they kissed gently. Although initiated as a hug of sympathy, the kiss became something more, a touch of sensual passion.

Tags: Alan Moore Mystery
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