The Artist of Death - Chapter 20
Amy lifted the receiver and pushing in the coins, pressed the numbers with trembling fingers. She listened to the familiar tone as the phone rang. Butterflies stampeded in her stomach as she waited for the phone to be answered. It was Saturday. He might be at golf; the weather was warm for the time of year or perhaps run an errand to the mall.
Suddenly she heard his voice. Tears immediately welled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks splashing onto the directories.
"Daddy it's me. I’m home, I'm at the airport. Can you come and get me. I've come home." Her voice caught as she stifled back her sobs. "I love you Daddy. Please hurry."
She rested the phone back on the hook, pushed her cart towards the main doors. She shunted her way past impatient clumps of people as they wrestled their way past her, eager to get inside.
Amy was oblivious to them, her eyes blinded by her tears. She burst into the brilliant sun outside the terminal building, the rays hurting her eyes. The one blessing was that her parents home was no more than an hour’s drive from the airport yet she waited for what seemed like an eternity, each minute carrying the burden of a desperate heart wanting to see her loved ones. Her neck positively ached as her gaze registered each and every vehicle that swept into view and pull up nearby only to either or collect or disgorge excited passengers. She clutched a bunch of tissues that her hands had crushed into a knotted, soggy ball willing for the next car to be hers.
When at last she spotted the silver blue station wagon come into view, she waited only for as long as it took for the vehicle to come to a halt and the door to open before she ran and flung herself into the arms of her father, her mother joining the emotional meeting barely seconds later. Wrapping her arms around his neck and wetting his collar with her tears, she sobbed, "Oh daddy, it's so good to see you. I've missed you so much." Then pulling her mother even closer to her buried her face into her neck and wept uncontrollably.
"Its okay sweetheart, you're home safe now," she said, his own tears expressing her joy.
Rio de Janeiro - Brazil
Alan Rachid stepped back and admired the female effigy as it took pride of place in the glass covered centre piece at the entrance to his jazz night club. The lighting was just right. He nodded with quiet satisfaction, pleased that he had resisted persuasions from his interior designers to have a metal spike driven into it from under the stool to give it more stability. It would ruin the entire effect, he had argued. He gazed once more at the effigy and then smartly turned on his heel and went back inside the main foyer and turned, watching people pause and look at the statue. The purchase was a wise choice. It achieved exactly the effect he wanted.
People grinned, pointed and admired the female jazz singer, her sultry expression and provocative attire adding to the atmosphere of the well placed lighting that illuminated her. Outside Tobin’s masterpiece invited everyone to come in while the plaster case held the secret of its own.
Emma sat motionless, her hands clutched over her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief at what she was hearing. When Tobin finished his graphic account of what happened at Troy’s house and his subsequent mummification, she sat, stunned beyond words.
“Jesus, Tobin,” she muttered, “what the hell are you going to do?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He barely recognized his own voice. All he knew was that he was scared beyond anything that he had ever felt before. “The police suspect that I know something but . . .” Swallowing hard he couldn’t continue.
Emma closed her eyes in utter terror at the situation confronting her. “I don’t know what to tell you, really I don’t. The police have clearly connected you with this guy and the girls disappearance but without concrete proof they won’t arrest you, will they?”
Staring into space he mumbled, “I have no idea what they will do. I know one thing, I’ll have to stay here because if I go away anywhere they bound to get suspicious.”
Emma nodded. “Fuck, what a barrel load of shit to have to deal with and now of all times.” She reached across and grabbed his hand. “The only thing that I can think of right now is do nothing. Are you sure no-one else knows of this?”
He shook his head. “No, no one else knows,” he said, throwing her a sideways look. “But what if they find proof that Troy’s dead and they come back for me, I’ll be in deeper shit for not coming clean earlier.” He squeezed his eyes tight shut and fought back the gut wrenching urge to cry.
In two different parts of Auckland three very different people were puzzling over the unexplained disappearance of Troy Lenning. One was Fossick, frustrated that the artist didn’t crumple, when he seemed sure that, certain, he would. He knew without question that Goffe had information that might settle this case; he‘d give him a few days to stew.
The others were Troy’s mother, Gloria and a nephew of hers who had came to visit when news of Troy’s absence became common knowledge. Wayne Okasene sat motionless starring intently at his aunt listening to every word she uttered. He was a giant of a man, tipping the scales at more that three-hundred pounds and reaching six-feet six inches tall in his bare-feet. A Maori who proudly bore the moko on one side of his face, a design that reflected the tribe that he belonged to; made more fearsome by his long wooly hair that was parted in the middle and fell well past his shoulders.
Wayne nodded quietly when Gloria stopped speaking. “Don’t worry auntie, I’ll find out what has happened to your boy. You just leave it to me, eh,” he said softly. Wayne heaved his huge bulk out of the chair and gave Gloria a hug. “I’ll be back when I got some news, eh.”
He left the house quietly, without fuss, pausing at the gate, pulled put a cigarette and lit it with well practiced habit. He sucked on it hard and long then blew out the smoke through his nose. Wayne had contacts that could unearth information that the law enforcement authorities would drool to have their hands on. One thing he knew, start at where the girlfriend worked and all the pieces of the puzzle would quickly fall into place. Where-ever Troy was or whatever had happened to him and he would soon know. He climbed into his Ford Zephyr, started the engine and surged off towards town.
