KAITLYN swapped the phone to her other ear and spoke slowly. The receiver felt like it was scorching her skin.
‘I can’t provide my husband’s signature. He’s dead. I don’t have a death certificate because in cases where there’s no body, it can take seven years for the issue of such a certificate. It’s coming up on five years now. I did fill in the B-9 form that explained all that.’ Kaitlyn was trying not to lose her temper with the woman from the Immigration Department.
‘But if you’d just let me explain,’ the woman replied. ‘It’s not the lack of proof or incorrect forms. Our records show that Chris Jackson is still alive.’
Her voice was heavily accented and Kaitlyn had to remind herself to be patient. This might just be a language problem. She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and exhaled. Phone conversations always lost the subtle nuances.
‘Look, buried in your database is the fact Christopher Jackson died in a Canberra fire five years ago on Wednesday the third of December. His body was never found, but he was presumed dead as there was very little left of the house.’ Or my father, or my life, she thought, the silence stretching out.
‘I see.’ But it was clear the woman didn’t see. ‘I’ll need to check with my supervisor. What number is best to contact you?’
‘I’ll hold, thanks,’ Kaitlyn replied, knowing full well that if she waited for them to ring her back it might take days. The squeaky wheel was the only way to get results, and clogging up the phone line made her a squeaky.
‘Just one moment, madam.’
The hold recording droned on, and on, and on. The way this was going, Julia would be back from dropping Dan at school before she was off the phone, and Kait would be late for work. Again.
She tapped her fingers on the benchtop, a monotonous drumming keeping time to the words. Two more years and she’d have the damn piece of paper saying Chris was dead.
Her fingers stopped and she looked down at them. Would there ever be a time when her blood didn’t heat in anger, her skin tighten with humiliation, and her eyes burn with the loss, the grief?
She missed her father, not her husband. If the fire hadn’t got Chris she doubted they would still have been together. The inescapable truth was that they should never have married in the first place. An unexpected child was no reason to tie two very different people together.
‘Hello?’
‘Yes, I’m still here.’
‘Thank you for holding; we appreciate your patience.’
Kaitlyn didn’t say anything. Like she had a choice.
‘I’m afraid this is more complicated than your application indicated. You’ll need to provide additional information. Our records definitely show that Christopher Jackson is alive and well.’
‘He can’t be!’ Kait wanted to shout down the phone as the knot in her stomach grew. ‘It’s a mistake. Can you check his details again?’ She recited his date of birth and their previous address in Canberra, and heard fingers tapping on a keyboard.
‘I’m afraid it’s not a mistake,’ the woman said.
‘Where? What address? I’ll go and get him to sign the bloody thing.’ She was shaking now, blood roaring in her ears.
‘I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.’
‘You have to, otherwise how the hell am I supposed to get the form signed?’
The pause lasted for what felt like minutes. ‘Kairi, Queensland.’ The words were clipped. ‘He’s been living at the address for two years. That’s all I can give you. I shouldn’t even be giving you that.’
‘Kairi? K-A-I-R-I?’
‘Yes.’
Her head throbbed. Just up the road, half an hour away? How could that be? Surely if he’d survived the fire he would have been in contact? Goosebumps spread down the backs of her arms and she gripped the receiver with both hands, feeling it rattle against her ear. Surely they were wrong? They had to be wrong.
‘Are you there, Ms Scott? Hello?’
Kaitlyn swallowed, trying to find enough saliva to wet her lips. ‘Thanks for your time,’ she croaked, and hung up.
She stood up, pushing the stool back with her foot. Where the hell did she go from here? The police?
‘I’ve no damn idea,’ she muttered, striding out onto her long, wide veranda. Across the way she could see early sunlight glinting off the windows of Jerry’s place. The air held a faint taint of smoke. Left over from the night.
She stomped the full length of the house. How could it be? Was she supposed to believe that her husband had faked his death to escape prosecution and now lived close enough to make contact with his son, but hadn’t bothered to do so? She wanted to scream, throw something, rant, but it was not her nature to be impulsive. The one time she’d acted on impulse she’d been rewarded with an unexpected pregnancy, then a beautiful son. She closed her eyes against the strength of the memory and slumped against a post.
Chris had been a local fireman who her father, Stephen, had befriended at a fire scene. The younger man had shown an interest in the intricacies of arson investigation and Stephen was always keen to share his knowledge. Kait had been introduced not long after. She’d been flattered by the golden-haired man with calm green eyes who showed her such respect. They’d gone on a date to the movies, then several times to dinner. She liked him, he made her laugh, but there was no fire, no passion – more the comfortable fit of a friend. But he was persistent.
She succumbed to his gentle charm two months after they met, never dreaming one shy encounter might lead to something more permanent. By the time she realised she was pregnant an abortion was out of the question. Secretly, she’d been glad. To make a choice would have been heartbreaking. Daniel was born healthy, late and very much wanted by his mother. His father was a different matter.
In hindsight, Chris had married her out of respect for her father. Stephen and Julia were from a generation for whom the stigma of an illegitimate child was still strong. They were appalled to find their serious, studious daughter was pregnant out of wedlock. But they’d supported her.
A shift of breeze brought a stronger smell of smoke in from the west and Kait scanned the horizon. No sign of telltale build-ups or columns of smoke. She straightened up. She’d never believed the accusation that Chris had lit the fires. That was as likely as accusing her father of lighting them. The two men were professionals who understood the fascination and the power of fire. Stephen had always maintained that there was a little pyromaniac in all of us, but most of us were too scared to do anything silly.
Just why Stephen had gone to his daughter’s house that day, no one knew. Nor could anyone explain why Chris’s ute had been stacked with full fuel drums if he’d been the one responsible for starting the spot fires that had destroyed the Greentrees plantations. Surely to God he would have known better than to torch the trees bordering his own property. Being a fireman, he would have known the chances of that fire getting away. The frantic phone calls he made from the property calling for assistance didn’t make sense if he was the arsonist. She’d heard them all. The police had insisted she identify his voice. Unfortunately, she’d been able to do just that. Her father’s badly burnt body was found partly covered by roofing iron. He’d suffered a head wound but the autopsy indicated he’d been unconscious when the fire roared through. That only served to point the finger more directly at Chris, and yet …
And yet she would have bet her life on the man. He may not have been husband material, or even father material, but he was no more an arsonist than she was.
His gutted ute, scraps of his clothes, and his twisted and melted mobile phone were all they recovered from the fire. That, along with some human remains that were a match for his DNA, was deemed to be proof that he’d died in the fire he was accused of lighting. At the fire station where he worked, his locker was found empty of any personal items. That contributed to the theory that he was planning to die that day, that he’d deliberately cleaned out any evidence before he’d torched his own home.
For Kaitlyn, it had always raised the spectre that Chris was planning on leaving her. So why did she find this latest twist with Immigration so shocking? Hadn’t she always wondered if there was another explanation? Did someone murder him? Or was he still alive? If he was, why had he lit the fire? Too many questions.
She stopped pacing and stared across the valley, seeing the tops of the trees shiver in a shift of wind. When she’d bought this land the native plantation in the valley was owned by Greentrees. At the time, their safety record in North Queensland was enviable, but now they were in receivership and the plantation was untended.
Maybe Julia had a point. Maybe Kait had chosen to thumb her nose at the gods of fire and build something strong, impregnable, on the very precipice of an inferno.
And why? Because you wanted to prove you’d put the shame, the fear, the anger behind you. Maybe that shame and anger had followed you and your family after all.
‘No,’ she said into the stillness. ‘No, Chris. This will not destroy us. If you are alive, I’ll hunt you down and make you pay for what you’ve done. If there’s another explanation, another answer, then I’ll find it this time. And if you’ve been wronged, then I’ll lay you to rest.’
She strode back inside, anger still heating her skin.
For a fruitless thirty minutes she trawled the online phone directory, Google, Facebook, several other sites, and even the Australian archives. There were the death and funeral notices she knew all too well and a few matches on Facebook that she quickly discounted. She hadn’t really expected to find anything. If a man was going to fake his own death and then disappear, he was unlikely to shout his activities from the rooftops.
The chair seemed to sigh as she stretched back in it. For a long moment she hesitated, then sat forward in a rush. What use were contacts if they couldn’t provide information when you needed it?
The number she dialled wasn’t listed, but she knew it off by heart. The answer was a distracted mumble.
‘Martin?’
‘Speaking, speaking.’
‘Martin, it’s Kaitlyn, Stephen Scott’s daughter. I’m sorry to trouble you at work.’
‘Kaitlyn? How lovely to hear your voice, a welcome distraction. How’s Julia and your lad?’ The voice was creaky, but she knew the brain behind it was still sharp. Martin Farrell would in all probability be carted out of his office in a body bag. His job as an arson investigator had always been consuming, but once Maggie, his wife of forty years, had died, it became his life. He didn’t even have a pet any more. The scruffy little mutt who’d been part of his family for so long hadn’t survived Maggie by many weeks.
Kaitlyn doubted that Martin ate anything at home and, if his secretary hadn’t taken it upon herself to feed him lunch, he would be even more skeletal than he was.
‘Doing well, thanks, Martin. The pace is pretty slow up here. Having a yarn seems more important than getting the job done. I think it suits Julia. She’s even playing the piano again. And Dan?’ She laughed. ‘Dan’s most pressing problem is his recent and burning desire for a horse, which his mean and improbably hard mother won’t buy for him.’
Martin laughed. ‘I’m glad Julia’s playing again. Your father would have liked that.’
‘You’re right. Dad would have been sad if that beautiful piano had stayed silent.’
‘And you? You always played so well.’
Kaitlyn shook her head. ‘I don’t play like Julia. I was only ever adequate.’
‘No, no. Maybe you didn’t play as brilliantly as Julia, but maybe you didn’t apply yourself, either. If you had, who knows?’ Kaitlyn could almost see him shrug, gangly shoulders rising up to meet ears that stood out from his long head. ‘But you didn’t ring for a lecture. What can I help you with?’
‘I’m sorry, Martin, it’s complicated. Is now a good time or are you busy?’
‘Complicated is good and I have all the time in the world for you.’
‘Thanks.’ Kaitlyn hesitated, paranoia raising its ugly head. ‘Julia wants to go back to England for a visit. She wants to take Stephen’s ashes back to the village where they met as children and wants us to go with her. Dan’s never been. So I applied for a passport for Daniel and there’s been a hitch. It seems there’s a problem with the paperwork. It’s a long shot, but I have no one else to ask.’
‘You need a reference? A title search?’
‘Not that easy, Martin. I wish it were.’ She tried to steady herself, but her words came out in a rush. ‘They’re saying Chris is still alive, that I need to get him to sign the forms before they can issue a passport. I don’t know where to begin. I thought I’d dealt with all this and put it behind us.’ She knew her voice had a catch in it, but there was nothing she could do.
‘I see,’ Martin replied. ‘That’s a big call. It’s been five years now. I guess they haven’t issued a death certificate either?’
‘No, they haven’t.’
There was a pause as Martin thought it through. ‘So, you need to prove he did indeed die or, if he’s alive, find him.’
‘Yep. In a nutshell, that’s it. I can try to follow up the identity side of things, but the possibility that he did survive the fire? I have no idea how to do that.’
‘But I do, and I have your father’s case notes prior to that final fire. What about the police?’
‘I haven’t even discussed this with Julia yet. I haven’t decided what to do. Everyone up here knows us as the Scotts. It was the best I could do for Dan. If I go to the police I’ll have to explain everything. A small place like this … it could get out. I don’t want my son to have to bear the stigma of being an arsonist’s son.’
‘Of course you don’t. Did Immigration give you any other information?’
‘They said Chris is allegedly living quite close, in Kairi, but they didn’t give me an address.’
‘You’ve tried using all the usual sources?’
‘Yes. There’s no one by that name listed anywhere in North Queensland. A couple I found on Facebook matched up with phone listings in other states and they are way too young for Chris anyway.’
‘Right.’ It sounded like he’d sat up straight, his words decisive. ‘I’ll need to get back to you, review the notes again. Is this the best number to contact you on?’
‘No, can you phone my mobile?’ She rattled off the number and he repeated it back before she continued. ‘I don’t want Julia to find out about this until I know one way or the other.’
‘Of course, of course. Nor Dan. You know …’ He trailed off before he started again. ‘I know you always had concerns, as did I, that something was wrong with that crime scene. Did someone else want us to think Chris lit the fire? Or did he really start it so he could disappear, but the plan went wrong?’
‘He may have wanted out, Martin, but I can’t believe he would torch an entire neighbourhood just to free himself from a burdensome wife and child. He loved Stephen, even if he didn’t love us. I can’t accept that he would have killed Dad first, then set a fire that would cause so much devastation. I just can’t. He was scared of commitment, but that’s not a crime.’
‘No, it’s not. Stephen loved Chris as a son, and your father was a very astute man. He wouldn’t have welcomed him into the family if he thought he was a danger.’
‘I know. And as to someone else lighting the fire? You and I both know we never caught the arsonist I was tracking that day in the aircraft. I’ll never stop wondering if he was the one really responsible. If he could have started both fires.’ She couldn’t stop a deep sigh from escaping. ‘One day soon I’ll have to tell Dan the truth about his father’s death.’
‘The truth might never be found. The rest is conjecture.’
‘Maybe. With this latest development, maybe not.’
‘If I play the devil’s advocate and say Immigration’s right, then Chris living up near you is perfectly within the profile of an arsonist. Look for him as a park ranger or a firefighter, maybe SES. Whoever lit that fire in Canberra knew what they were doing. They lit it with the breeze in the worst quadrant and in an area that was hard to access. They knew full well what would happen.’
Kaitlyn was nodding as Martin spoke. She knew all that. She’d pored over the evidence in the months that led up to the coronial inquest. She’d seen the evidence her lawyers had been given. It all pointed to the same conclusion. The fire was the work of an arsonist who understood fire. The injuries to Stephen showed little or no struggle took place. He’d know his assailant. He’d been murdered.
‘Thanks, Martin. I don’t want to tell Julia just yet. I’ll try the softly, softly approach and see what I can turn up.’
‘Do that. I’ll be in touch. Give my regards to Julia and say hi to Daniel. And Kaitlyn? Try not to worry too much. This might just be a clerical error.’
‘Thanks. I hope so.’
The phone dangled from her hand, buzzing with the disconnect signal as she stared out the window. ‘I hope so, for all our sakes.’
‘Kaitlyn? What’s going on? What don’t you want to tell me?’
Kait swung around. Julia had parked the car in the driveway and Kait hadn’t heard her slip through the front door. Her mother was ashen-faced, her hand spread like a protective star between her breasts. Kait could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She had no choice but to tell her.
‘Sit down, Mum.’ She held out her hand and squeezed her mother’s fingers tight against the tremors. ‘It’s complicated.’ Julia moved to one of the upright chairs, relinquishing Kait’s fingers.
‘Try me.’ Julia sat with her spine straight and her chin up. Kait thought of it as her concert pianist posture.
Though her cheeks flushed pink, Julia’s face remained composed as Kait told her what the Immigration Department had said.
‘So if Immigration are right, Chris is alive and well, living in Kairi,’ Kait finished up with a shake of her head.
‘But we would know. We would have seen him. They’re mistaken.’ Julia was trying for businesslike now, sorting, analysing, discarding. ‘What did Martin say?’
‘Hello to you, for starters. He’s delighted you’re playing again.’ Kaitlyn managed a tiny smile.
‘Oh.’ For an instant Julia looked girlish and flustered before she gathered herself. ‘And what else?’
‘He’s going to take another look at the findings of the inquest.’
‘Damn investigators didn’t look hard enough.’ The use of language was uncharacteristic.
‘Martin always did speculate that Chris may have been framed, or even caught in the fire accidentally. Either way, he should be able to get an address for the current Chris Jackson. Where to from there?’ Kait shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Could …’ Julia stopped, pressing her lips together. ‘Do you think …’ She tried again. The words came out in a rush. ‘Is it possible, after all this time, to find the truth?’ She wanted reassurance, but Kait couldn’t give it unreservedly.
‘I don’t know, Mum. In my heart I don’t believe Chris did it. He loved Stephen and you.’ She paused. ‘I don’t believe he could have killed Dad, not like that.’
‘And he loved you and Dan too.’ Julia always could read her daughter. ‘I know you don’t believe me, but he was only guilty of being scared. Scared of being a poor parent, of letting you down, letting Dan down. He told Stephen he hated his own father. I don’t know what the trouble was – for Stephen, what was talked about in confidence stayed in confidence. But whatever it was, it made Chris doubt his ability to be a father. He would have come round eventually. How could he not have, when we were all so close?’
‘Oh, Mum, you can’t say that.’ Kait didn’t want to hear any of this. It was easier believing she and Chris never had a future anyway, than to grieve all over again for what might have been. All she’d ever wanted for Dan was the same loving, supportive childhood she herself had had. This soul-searching didn’t bring her son’s father back, didn’t give Dan a hard chest to hug tight, a role model to learn from, or footsteps to follow.
‘I can. Your father believed it. You must never doubt Chris’s love for you and Dan.’ Julia’s voice quavered on the last word. Tears glistened in her eyes, spilling over her lashes.
‘Mum, I’m so sorry.’ Kaitlyn wrapped her arms around Julia, needing to give her comfort even while she craved it herself. ‘That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you worried or upset.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault.’ Julia’s voice was thick, her cheek pressed tight to Kait’s. ‘You’ve kept us safe.’
But Kait knew it would always feel like it was her fault. Julia had lost the love of her life. No matter the calm veneer she wore as a shield, Kait had watched her mother age dramatically after the fire. Some of the spark was back now, but the real joy, the laughter, hadn’t fully returned.
How could it, when she’d lost so much?