The Recipient

  The screen flashed violently then went dark.

  “Wait for it.”

  Several seconds ticked by. The screen flashed again and came to life.

  Lionel gasped.

  ‘Welcome to Vic Roads Intranet.’

  “Did you just hack into Vehicles’ registration?” he croaked.

  Casey nodded with a satisfied smile. “This kind of network, unlike Flaxley, is terrible for detecting outside incursions. We can snoop around in here freely.”

  Lionel rubbed his mouth in bewilderment.

  “I showed Scott the image you found from the Pleasant Festival,” Casey explained. “It turns out that the Audi S5 coupe is a pretty special motor vehicle in Australia.”

  “You got that from Scott?”

  “Oh trust me,” Casey said, handing Lionel the image of Saskia and Shelley from the Pleasant Festival. “If there is anything anyone needs to know about cars, Sasquatch knows.”

  “Okay,” Lionel responded as he examined the Pleasant image.

  “They were imported in small numbers and were affordable only to a select few. He reckons that there were probably no more than fifty or sixty registered in Victoria in 2011.”

  Lionel watched on as Casey tapped the vehicle details and the year of manufacture into the search pane, then waited. The instant the results flashed up, Casey hissed victoriously and pointed.

  ‘Showing 58 results of 58.’

  Lifting his glasses, Lionel squinted at the screen and examined the information there.

  “These are all 2011 Audi S5s?”

  “Registered in the state of Victoria in 2011, or thereabouts,” Casey said, clicking on the printscreen function. The printer underneath the workstation hummed to life. “Now all we need to do is work out which one is our S5.”

  Casey took the sheets from the printer tray as they emerged, while Lionel retrieved a marker pen. Casey handed him the printouts and he began to study them.

  “Where do we begin?”

  “We can start by crossing out any of the vehicles whose license plate doesn’t begin with a W.”

  Seeing puzzlement in Lionel’s eyes, Casey tapped the Pleasant Festival image, her finger hovering over the partially obscured plate.

  “We’re pretty certain that’s a W.”

  “Hmm,” Lionel agreed, nodding slowly.

  Turning his attention to the page, he scanned down it and began crossing out entries with the marker pen. Within moments, he had excluded every entry on that page. He turned to the next, repeating the same action. Casey smiled as she watched him work.

  He had whittled the list down by half in under a minute. The pages which he had excluded every entry he let drop to the floor.

  “Okay,” he said, checking through the remaining entries. “That’s them accounted for. We’re down to 23 possibles.”

  Casey thought for a moment. “We’re pretty sure that whoever this person was, it was likely they were based here in the city right?”

  Lionel nodded. “It would seem to make sense. We suspect that Saskia was making frequent trips to see this person. She wasn’t gone for any great lengths of time.”

  “So,” Casey said. “Let’s rule out any registrations that weren’t garaged here in the city itself and any rural or regional addresses.”

  Lionel nodded and returned to the pages, checking each entry’s address and crossing out those that weren’t in metropolitan Melbourne.

  “We now have eleven.”

  He glanced across at Casey and couldn’t help but smile.

  “Eleven possibles. Now what?”

  Casey leaned back in her seat, thinking.

  Eleven possible registrations from that year.

  “Dammit,” she whispered.

  Lionel held his hand up, waving it steadily.

  “Okay, wait a moment,” he began. “Let’s look at what we have. Saskia met this person. Is there any way we can establish how she met with him?”

  A light bulb flashed on in Casey’s head and she gnashed her teeth together victoriously. “There is.”

  Opening the bottom drawer of the cabinet, Casey reached in and pulled out a bizarre, box-like object that had a cord snaking out from within two exposed circuit boards. As she set it down on the glass surface in between her and Lionel he noted a thin slot that was roughly the size of a credit card at the opposite end of the contraption.

  “I’m not even going to ask you what this is,” Lionel remarked as he inspected the upper most circuit board with its exposed chips, LEDs, resistors and miniature roadways of metal in between.

  Casey plucked up the end of the cable and inserted it into a USB port on the monitor. A green light on the circuit board winked to life and blinked steadily.

  Casey pointed at her shoulder bag on the kitchen counter. “Hand me my bag, Pa.”

  Lionel complied and watched as Casey took it and reached inside, taking out Saskia’s beaded purse. Casey unzipped the purse and took out a rectangular card.

  She held it up. It was Saskia’s public transport card.

  Tapping the surface of the card, Casey pointed at the bottom corner of its upper surface, upon which Saskia’s name was printed.

  “See this?” she said. “This bus card is a registered card.”

  Casey handed him the card and gestured at the box. He slid it into the slot until they both heard a soft click. The green light flickered on the circuit board, then went solid.

  “It’s embedded with a chip that stores data,” Casey explained as she turned her attention to the laptop and started manipulating screens with brisk finger taps and keyboard commands. “The data is supposed to be secure but, with a little tinkering, I should be able to access it.”

  “What’s stored on it?” Lionel asked.

  “Mundane stuff usually. Transaction history, remaining balance. But, because Saskia had it registered with the Public Transport Authority, it’ll link with the card owner’s account on the PTA web portal. That’ll give us access to the travel history of this card.”

  Lionel smiled at his granddaughter. “A-ha,” he mused.

  “The tricky part is breaking the encryption on the chip,” Casey added.

  “I can’t imagine that will be too much of a hurdle for you.” Again, Casey smiled out of the corner of her mouth.

  Casey studied the reams of data that scrolled downwards in quick succession, tracing her finger beside a long list of indecipherable code until she stopped at a line near the bottom.

  Highlighting a string there, she copied it, then switched over to the public access website for Public Transport Victoria. Ignoring the login screen, Casey instead brought up a separate command window over the top and pasted the code there.

  “Now,” she murmured, her finger hovering over the ‘Enter’ key. “Let’s see what we can…see.”

  Hitting the key, the browser window transitioned directly into Saskia Andrutsiv’s account page.

  “We’re in,” she clapped her hands.

  Scanning this new page, Casey spotted a travel history tab and tapped.

  “We should be able to see the last six months of her travel.”

  “That’s good, but what exactly are we hoping to find?”

  “Saskia never told Shelley who she was seeing and she baulked whenever Shelley offered to drive her to this guy’s place. My hunch is that she used public transport to meet with him and I’ll bet it was where that car was…”

  Casey scrolled through the history. Many of the entries covered travel between the university and a stop just near Lesia Andrutsiv’s home. There were also a handful of entries between both the Andrutsiv house and the university into the city centre. Interspersed among these however, were journeys from the university to another location in the eastern suburbs of Melbourne. Casey cocked her head.

  “Look,” she said briskly. “This one.”

  Lionel leaned in and peered through his glasses.

  “Faraday Street, Carlton travelling to…Cotham Road in Kew. She took a bu
s for part of the journey, then transferred to a tram for the rest of it.”

  “Kew,” Lionel remarked. “Rather a luxurious suburb. Lots of money there.”

  Scanning the list, both Casey and Lionel bobbed their heads in unison as they counted the entries: one, two, three, four, five, continuing on down the page until they reached the bottom. Clicking over the page, they counted at least a dozen more. The last transaction was recorded two weeks before her death.

  “When exactly was she released from the centre?” Lionel queried.

  Casey flipped through to the pages of her notebook to where she had scribbled notes whilst talking to Shelley Agutter.

  “October 2011.”

  Lionel traced his finger back up the screen.

  “These trips occurred with almost clockwork frequency from October…right up until late January the following year.”

  “And then they stopped,” Casey added. “Completely.”

  Lionel bowed his head thoughtfully. Turning in his chair, he retrieved the printout of the vehicle registrations and plucked a black marker from the desk. He scanned through the pages, marking lines through the remaining entries on the list.

  Casey watched him. “What are you doing?”

  “A final process of deduction,” Lionel responded. Lionel continued over the page where he eliminated two more entries. “Where did those tram journeys terminate exactly?” he asked.

  Casey entered the details of the tram stop from Saskia’s travel history in a search bar overlaying the satellite image. The screen scrolled from left to right over the built-up areas of the city.

  “Stop 41,” she answered. “Cotham Road.”

  “Okay,” Lionel began, pausing to check back through the pages. “I’ve dispensed with most of these entries. Let’s focus on five, no, six vehicles that were registered at the time of Saskia’s death. All were registered to inner city addresses extending from the bay side northwards.

  Glancing between the page and the satellite image displayed on screen, he pointed over Casey’s shoulder.

  “Only…two…were registered to addresses in the Kew area.”

  “She wouldn’t have taken public transport if the address weren’t convenient,” Casey mused.

  “No,” Lionel agreed. “Kew is quite a pretty suburb to walk in.”

  He set the page down on the glass between them and circled one of the entries. “Number 5 Arbelside Avenue, Kew,” he declared.

  Casey leaned in and examined the page, then looked back at the screen, centering the image over a large house on a leafy, tree lined street.

  “Let’s get a closer look at that one,” Lionel said, resuming his seat next to Casey.

  Placing a cursor over the street immediately in front of the house, Casey switched to street view.

  They were now looking at a two-storey house that was partially obscured by thick trees and dense foliage behind a tall fence. Casey squinted, trying to focus on the front of the house through hanging branches.

  Large awnings were drawn down over the windows of the upper storey and on closer examination Casey noted that they appeared tattered and torn in places. The cladding on house itself appeared to be dirty, falling into disrepair. Zooming out, she refocused the image on an empty carport in front of the house. The timbers of the structure appeared to be rotting. Weeds sprouted from the cracks between brick paving stones.

  “It looks terrible,” she remarked.

  Lionel nodded slowly. “It does. Terrible and unoccupied. How old is this image?”

  Casey checked the image capture date at the bottom of the screen. “December 2013.”

  Lionel referred back to the print-out. “It says here that the S5 at this address was registered to a Marco Davich.”

  Casey switched to another window and tapped out ‘Marco Davich’ then ‘Arbelside Avenue’ in the search pane. The subsequent results flashed up and she studied them until her eyes fell across one that caused her expression to tighten.

  Clicking on the text ‘Death Notice’, a new page opened.

  “Marco Davich. Born 4th February 1936 and died 11th November 2010.”

  “A car registered to a dead person,” Lionel mused.

  “An old, dead person,” Casey added.

  Lionel tapped the desktop.

  “What are you thinking, Pa?”

  “I think we should take this to Whittaker,” he said solemnly.

  Casey clicked back to the image of the house, gazing at it intently.

  “Casey, don’t even think about it.“

  Her jaw tightened.

  “It would be good to get a closer look at that house. I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

  Lionel forced down a lump in his throat.

  “I have a bad feeling about it too. But don’t you think we’ve had enough? This is tangible. I believe we can get Whittaker on board with this.”

  “And what if we can’t!” Casey blurted out angrily, slapping the desk with her hand, causing Lionel to flinch.

  Immediately regretting her action, Casey stood up and paced towards the balcony before turning back to face her grandfather.

  “I don’t think he’ll believe us, Pa,” she said, rubbing her forehead in frustration.

  Her eyes darted between the computer screen and her grandfather. There was a fire in her eyes. Her teeth were clenched together.

  “I have to know. Whoever this person is, they’ve struck twice. First with Saskia and now with Josephine Catea,” she breathed. “It’s my fault.”

  Lionel held his hands up in front him, desperate to calm her.

  “You can’t stop this on your own,” he said as softly as he could. “Look, I believe you. I think exactly the same way. But we must do this properly and let others take over for the very reason you’ve just pointed to: Josephine.”

  Lionel grabbed a newspaper from the kitchen counter. He held it up, showing her the front page. The fiery image of a burning vehicle was splashed across it, with firefighters desperately trying to extinguish the blaze.

  A wash of guilt came over Casey and she faltered where she stood.

  “You weren’t responsible for this,” Lionel responded. “But you’ve stirred up something—something evil—and we must tread carefully. For your own sake, because I don’t want this to end up happening to you.”

  Casey couldn’t respond. Only the sound of the computer’s fan punctuated the quiet.

  Finally she slumped down onto the sofa and drew her legs up, folding them to one side.

  “I know you want it all to stop,” Lionel said. “The nightmares. Saskia’s memories.”

  She nodded tensely, processing her grandfathers words, angry that he made so much sense. Finally, exhaustion appeared to overtake her. She looked up at Lionel.

  “Okay,” she said simply. “Call Whittaker.”

  ___

  Lionel tossed and turned in his bed, unable to relax, unable to fall asleep.

  Despite repeated calls to St. Kilda Road and leaving urgent messages, Farnham Whittaker had not yet returned any of their calls.

  Lionel had done all he could to distract Casey, reassuring her that this was the right course of action, but his efforts had been mentally exhausting. Casey was like a caged animal, spending the entire rest of the day constantly going over all the evidence they’d managed to collect. All the while, the satellite image of the house at Arbelside Road remained on her computer screen.

  Somewhere in the early hours, Lionel rose from his bed, went to the bathroom, then trudged downstairs to the kitchen.

  Careful not to make a noise, he flipped the range hood light on over the cooker, then took a glass from an overhead cupboard and poured himself a glass of water. He stood before the sink, leaning against it as he sipped quietly, closing his eyes and rocking gently.

  In his reverie, he set the glass down on the edge of the counter. As he took he hand away, the glass tipped and fell. He didn’t react in time and the glass smashed on the tiled floor at his feet and he s
narled in the darkness. Then he paused.

  He detected no sign of disturbance from Casey’s room. No sound at all. He stiffened and rose to his feet quickly, listening carefully. A knot tightened in his throat as his worst fears bubbled to the surface.

  Stepping around the broken glass, Lionel nearly ran out of the kitchen, past the Modigliani on the wall. He peered around the corner, through the gap between the wall and the wardrobe, into Casey’s room.

  The bed was empty.

  CHAPTER 30.

  Slowing as she passed by a trundling Melbourne tram, Casey spied the street sign up ahead and signalled. She turned from the busy Cotham Road onto the much quieter Arbelside Avenue.

  She continued at a slow crawl as she scanned the leafy, residential street. Ahead, a tall brush fence came into view on her left, illuminated by the orange glow of a street lamp. Her eyes fell across a brass numeral affixed to the fence beside a pair of gates and she gulped softly.

  Number 5, Arbelside Avenue.

  Casey drew the Volkswagen alongside the kerb and leaned across to peer out through the passenger window. Despite the darkness, she could just make out a dense border of thick foliage behind the tall fence that appeared to run along the entire width of the property. The foliage and the fence combined to form an impenetrable barrier, preventing her from seeing the house beyond.

  Casey frowned as her foot hovered on the brake pedal. Even though all the evidence indicated that the house was empty, it was physically impossible to confirm it from this vantage point.

  She decided to drive on a short distance to ensure she was clear, and then doubled back and brought the car to a stop on the opposite side of the street. She extinguished the engine and sat in the darkness.

  In the glow of the street lamp, she could just make out the top of the terracotta tiled roof through a gap in the fence at the corner of the property. Unlike the neighbouring houses, which were well lit from within, Casey couldn’t see anything comparable from Number 5. It was as dark as a tomb.

  Releasing her seatbelt, Casey took hold of her rucksack, then checked the street ahead. Another tram rumbled through the intersection, while over her shoulder the avenue behind her appeared empty.

  Guilt prickled the back of her neck as the memory of Lionel’s face nagged at her conscience. His pleas for her to pause and consider the risks of plunging headlong into the unknown echoed in the cabin.