Friday morning. Josh was still a sticking point. I’d been to his house twice since starting the investigation, each time when I was fairly certain Zac would be out. I’d sat with him in his living room, tried to perk him up.
On both occasions I’d gone to his bathroom, stuck my head into Zac’s room – two boxes, tea chests – my heart beating quickly. I could sneak in, have a quick look. My kids – there might be something incriminating in the boxes or somewhere else in the room. I needed to know, just needed to.
But Josh’s mental state meant he might inadvertently give the game away if he knew about Zac too soon.
I’d phoned in sick at work, yes, sorry, I’ll get the presentation notes finished off from my deathbed, and, excuse me, a fake cough, yes, just give me a few hours.
I stood in the back garden in my boxers, sweating, the leaves and branches swaying gently. The kids were at school, Sarah was at uni. Most of the plan rested on Josh, and timing was crucial. Biddy knew the drill, was on stand-by. This was it.
I texted Zac: Hey man! You free this evening? Fancy meeting for a beer?
Heartbeat.
Three dots: I’m meant to be meeting Rhiannon later but … sure. Where?
Me: The Green at eight sharp?
Three dots: See you there!
Kudos.
To Sarah: It’s on. Can you confirm with Kyle he can be here?? X
We hadn’t seen Kyle in months – he was definitely due a babysitting turn provided he was sober. The kids missed him. What kind of uncle was he anyway?
From Sarah: Will do x
Did we have any smokes? I went into the house, pulled open drawers in search of the emergency stash, nothing, looked on top of the fridge. A cigarette, one of Zac’s, bent out of shape – that’d do. I took it to the garden, lit it, inhaled.
To Josh: Can I call you?
I tilted my face to the sky, exhaled, took the brunt of the sun.
From Josh: I’ll call you. Five minutes?
Nothing connected Zac to child abuse, and there was no way I was going to ask Sophie and Oliver about it before confronting him and forcing some kind of confession. The boxes, his boxes – I had to know what was in them before he knew the game was up and ditched the evidence. Photos, maybe. Their names scribbled on a pad next to love hearts. Photos of other children in a state of undress. Cut-out pictures from magazines.
My phone ringing – Josh. ‘Hey, brother.’ His voice was weak, still anxious.
‘Hey. Sorry to bother you at work, man. This is a bit difficult to say, so I’ll just spit it out. Zac’s a fraud. Everything he’s told us is a lie.’
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘Some pretty weird shit’s come to light. He’s not enrolled at uni, he’s been forging documents, he wasn’t in prison.’
Did Josh have someone with him? Was he at his desk, unable to speak freely? Was he taking any of this in?
He said, ‘And you’re sure about this? This isn’t a prank?’
‘I wish. Yeah, look, I’ve got something to ask and it’s a really big favour. Can you just not go home until after eight tonight? I’m meeting him for a drink and I’m going to confront him, but I need the element of surprise. It’s maybe best he doesn’t see you …’
A sigh. ‘I’m supposed to be cooking dinner for my mate Nathan.’
‘Man, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t be asking if –’
‘I can bail on it, brother, no problem. I’ll let Nathan know.’
‘I’m worried about what he might have done to my kids, Josh.’
‘What’s that? I didn’t hear you right.’
Bile in my throat. ‘I’m concerned he’s … done something to Oliver and Sophie.’
Silence. ‘Zac? Your kids? Surely not.’
Don’t hang up, Josh. Don’t spiral.
‘If Biddy comes to yours just after eight, can she look through Zac’s room, his boxes and stuff, in case there’s –?’
‘Woah.’
Fuck. ‘I know that’s a lot to ask, man.’
Branches swaying. A dog barking. Warm breeze.
‘I just …’ His voice was tinny, diminished. ‘I just believe in transparency. Maybe if Zac was there while she’s doing it, but … I’m just not sure how I feel about that.’
‘Right. Yeah. OK.’ I wasn’t going to turn him this quickly – fuck. Fucking fuck. ‘It’s a lot to take in, man. I’m still struggling with it myself, to be honest. Can I send you what I have on him?’
Silence. Was he there still? Had he gone?
‘Send it through, brother. I’ll have a look.’
Kyle looked sober. He’d lost weight, changed his hairstyle, grown his fringe. Big deal.
‘I’m picking Himari up at ten-thirty,’ he said. ‘You’ll be back by then, yeah?’
‘Yeah, definitely,’ Sarah said. ‘One of us will be, for sure.’
He was taking Himari out after her late shift to mark Valentine’s Day, a day late. Sarah, Biddy and I had spent ours together at the dining room table, plotting and hypothesising.
‘Can we play chasey?’ Oliver said, tugging at Kyle’s arm.
‘And hide-and-seek?’ Sophie said, looking up at him. ‘Our friend Zac loves it.’
‘We better go,’ I said, looking at my watch. ‘Thanks so much for doing this, mate.’
‘No worries,’ he said. ‘Sorry I haven’t seen you guys for so long.’
I hugged him, crouched down, hugged Oliver and Sophie.
‘Be good kids for Kyle,’ Sarah said, crouching, hugging. ‘Love you.’ She looked great, smelt great, was wearing the silk scarf I’d bought her – to hide Jack’s handiwork, mainly, but it suited her all the same. We had to –
I looked at my watch, 7.23 pm. The Green was less than a ten-minute bike ride away but, fucking come on, hurry the fuck up. I checked the manila envelope was still in my bag, wheeled my bike from the hallway – hurry up – waited outside for Sarah to emerge with hers. We rode – ya! – Sarah in my slipstream, then alongside each other, made it over the train tracks just as the boom gates started descending. Being out on our bikes together was a rare occurrence these days, but we’d ridden round Paris once, picnicked by the Seine. We should relax, enjoy ourselves, make the most of … How could we?
She drew alongside me again. ‘Can you slow down a bit, hun?’
‘Not really, no.’
Zac had furnished me with at least 90 per cent of my intelligence on Sarah’s sex life since we’d opened our marriage. I’d discussed less than 10 per cent of it with Sarah. More than 90 per cent of what we thought we knew about Zac was a lie. Sarah had lied about using condoms with at least 90 per cent of her lovers. Jack the Dom, ironically enough, was a stickler for protected sex – according to Zac. I was nearly 100 per cent sure I didn’t know what the fuck was going on.
‘Shit.’ I gripped the brakes. ‘Do you have any cash?’
‘Just my card,’ Sarah said, gripping hers.
‘The Green only takes cash.’ My heartbeat, temples, boom, boom, boom …
‘Calm down, Chris. Remember those breathing exercises. The supermarket’s just there. I’ll get cash out.’
She was good in a crisis, and this was a crisis, all of it. We were in full-time crisis mode.
‘Watch the bikes,’ I said. ‘I’ll go in.’
No line at the till – that was good, I had to buy something to be able to withdraw cash. A Bounty bar, one dollar on special, that’d do. I scanned it, beep, held it, waited for the prompt, pressed the Card and Cash Out option, typed in fifty dollars, tapped … Fucking hell, the payWave wasn’t working. I rammed the card into the slot, keyed in fifty dollars again. Which account: Credit, Cheque or Savings? How the fuck would I know? Just give me my fucking cash, you fucking dills. Credit ? I pressed it. No. Savings? No. Was this place for fucking real? Cheque? Probably not, the way things were –
Yes. Fucking yes. The yellow note slipped out slowly. I nearly ripped it, shoved it into my pocket, put the Bounty in my bag.
I straddled my bike, fastened my helmet, barely looked at –
Dingding. Biddy: Good luck! No word from Josh yet. I’ll let you know if that changes :( X
I texted: X
The Green was just round the corner, we’d be there in plenty of time. Unless Zac arrived in plenty of time, too. A tactical advantage to being there first, choosing the table, getting the beer, making sure my phone was well positioned and ready to record him.
I said to Sarah, ‘Do you have a buckled chain or something? Is that why you’re so slow?’
Her dirty look, one of her classics.
We chained our bikes to a pole, went in, stood at the bar. I gave Sarah the money to order the beer – I was in no state. I walked through to the beer garden, eyeing everyone I passed, suspicious of them all … Zac wasn’t there. Lots of laughter, people smoking, drinking, having a good time. What did they think this was – a place to unwind?
Sarah came up alongside me with a jug of pale ale and two glasses. ‘No sign of him, hun?’
‘What about that table over there?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
It was raised, up a couple of steps, had good sightlines. Sarah put down the beer and glasses. I got rid of one chair, arranged the others so she and I would be sitting at one side of the table, with Zac – J’accuse! – on the other.
She was a kind soul; I had to be mindful of that. ‘Don’t let him draw you in emotionally, you know how well he can –’
‘Chris, look,’ she said. ‘He’s here.’
It was ten to. He’d come early to steal a march on me, hadn’t seen us. He sat down at a table a few metres away, his back to us, got out his phone. J’accuse! J’accuse! J’accuse! I put my bag next to my chair, opened the zip, hit Record on my phone, slipped it under the drinks menu. Calm, I had to be calm, the weight of evidence we’d gathered was …
I called out. ‘Zac.’ He turned, looked in the wrong direction. ‘Zac, we’re over here.’
He nodded, stood, approached, saw Sarah, smiled. ‘I didn’t expect both of you.’ He sat. Something was up, he could sense it, but that didn’t matter now. ‘Is Biddy with the kids?’
‘They’re with Kyle,’ Sarah said.
My heartrate was –
‘We both wanted to talk to you,’ I said. ‘I’ll launch right into it, if you like.’
He took out a cigarette, offered us one, we declined, lit up. ‘Sure. Go ahead.’
‘OK, so there are some things I’m going to ask you about, and I want you to think very carefully before answering.’
He smiled, eyes flitting between Sarah’s and mine. ‘Sure.’
‘I’ll go backwards chronologically, and –’
‘Chris, what is all this?’
‘Why are you lying about doing a masters degree?’
J’accuse!
‘Um, well, I’m not,’ he said. ‘I was in class today, my summer intensive. The masters starts at the end of the month.’
My hands were shaking. Zac’s weren’t. Sarah seemed OK. I reached down, pulled the dossier from my bag, placed it on the table. He looked at the cover sheet, glanced at Sarah, at me, laughed.
‘The Confirmation of Enrolment you sent me was a fake.’
‘You didn’t even go to the rental viewing,’ he said. ‘I was there, Chris. You didn’t turn up. And the agent said he hadn’t spoken to you.’
Calm, calm. ‘Can we stick to the point – the letter was a forgery.’
He seemed relieved, relaxed, drew on his cigarette. ‘OK, well, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but it wasn’t a forged document.’
‘So the university was wrong when they told me it was fake?’
‘Sounds like it.’ He took a sip of his beer, looked at Sarah. I looked at her too, she looked at me.
‘So that’s your answer?’ I said. ‘Take as much time as you need. I’ve got plenty more questions.’
‘Why were you looking into this in the first place?’
‘That’s not the question.’
‘Well, it is actually, because it’s my privacy we’re talking about, and –’
‘Your privacy?’ Don’t get emotional, Chris. Stay calm. The weight of evidence. Sophie and Oliver. ‘OK, so … Why did you lie about being in prison?’
‘Uh, I didn’t.’ He adjusted his glasses. ‘I have plenty of documentation to prove it.’
‘Zac,’ Sarah said, ‘I took the photocopy you gave me to the court. They said it was a fake and you didn’t serve any time.’ There was compassion in her voice. Fuck compassion.
He sighed, smiled. ‘Look, Sarah, I don’t consider myself a stupid person or whatever. Courts can’t divulge that kind of information because of confidentiality. Where was I if I wasn’t in prison? Why would I lie about that?’
‘That’s our question,’ I said. ‘The police have a copy of this, by the way.’ I patted the dossier. ‘They’re very interested in the information we’ve given them.’
‘They can look into it as much as they want,’ Zac said. ‘It’ll take them about five minutes to confirm I was in prison. These things are well documented.’
Two haymakers in a row, and he hadn’t even flinched.
I said, ‘Shall we move on to the next question?’
‘Please, go right ahead, Chris.’
‘Why did you lie about working at Natural Opulence?’
Was he bored? He looked it.
He shook his head. ‘Again, not true.’
‘The logistics manager for Natural Opulence is –’
‘Olivia Jung.’
‘Olivia Jung,’ I said. ‘Not Zac Batista.’
He stubbed out his cigarette, got another, lit it, looked at Sarah, at me. ‘I believe I might have mentioned this, but I was sacked from the company in November, Chris. Olivia is my replacement.’
‘They’ve never even heard of you there. I phoned them.’
‘Who did you speak to?’
‘A young woman on reception.’
‘That was probably Clare. She started just after I left.’
‘Zac, none of this adds up,’ Sarah said. ‘Can you not see that?’
‘I’m just answering your questions,’ he said. ‘If I knew –’
I leant forwards. ‘Why are you posting someone else’s pictures on Instagram and claiming they’re yours?’
‘What?’
I started flicking through the dossier, trying to find the … ‘Just so you know, when we’re finished here, I’m sending all of this information to our mutual friends – Josh, Mel, Jacqui …’
‘It’s just Instagram,’ he said. ‘It’s phenomenology.’
What was …?
‘What’s that?’ Sarah said.
‘Oh, I forgot, you’re a medical practitioner not a philosopher.’
‘All your Facebook posts,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘Chris, this is quite the paranoid fantasy. You think the police give a shit about my Facebook account?’
Sophie. Oliver. The weight of evidence.
I played my wild card, the big bluff, had no choice. ‘Why did you lie about your mum dying in a hotel fire?’
Bang, take that – a winning blow. He looked at the ground, nodded reluctantly, looked up. Shit. Was he crying? ‘That’s also not true, Chris.’ He got his fingers under his lenses, rubbed his eyes.
I looked at Sarah, she looked at me. Was Zac’s mother one of the sixteen unnamed victims? Had I fucked this up?
‘Her death’s on the public record,’ he said, voice wavering. ‘I can show you that. And for what it’s worth, which is clearly nothing, that’s deeply offensive for you to bring up.’
No, Sarah, back off, tears were good – I could work with those. ‘More offensive than pretending your mum’s been flambéed?’
‘Chris,’ Sarah said. ‘Look, Zac, some of the things we’re telling you are –’
‘Have you touched my kids?’ I asked.
Boom.
‘What are you talking about, Chris? What are you even –?’
‘Have you abused our children?’
‘Chris, please,’ Sarah said, frowning.
Zac looked shocked. ‘I don’t know how you could –’
‘It’s yes or no, Zac. Their school knows you’re a danger to them. Child Protection is actively investigating you with a view to prosecution and will be contacting you in a couple of days. We’ve told the kids they can’t be with you under any circumstances ever again.’
Tears – he was on the ropes. ‘What do you think I’ve done with your children? I mean, Chris, come on. Sarah?’
‘You can keep going with the act or you can be honest with us,’ I said.
‘What have I done to your children, Chris?’
‘You tell me.’
Sarah leant forwards. I turned, shot her a glance, needed her to stay put, just for a while.
Zac’s glasses were in his left hand, the right wiping his eyes. ‘You’re accusing me of …’
Sarah – no. Her elbows on the table. ‘Zac, look, I don’t think you –’
‘Have you abused our kids?’
‘Chris,’ he said.
‘You’ve lied about everything else, so please, at least tell me the truth about this.’
‘I haven’t lied about everything. If I’m defensive it’s because there are certain things you’ve brought up that I’ve not been completely honest about.’
Glasses back on, reaching for another cigarette. He lit it, exhaled. ‘That’s correct.’
‘So why tell everyone that you’re doing it?’
‘So that I don’t look like the dropkick I am with no job and no prospects. And no job, by the way, because of a wrongful conviction and sentence I served in Loddon prison.’
‘Your job at Natural Opulence?’
He was cracking, finally. ‘That was a lie, Chris, yes. I didn’t work at Natural Opulence. But I did work at one of their subsidiaries … Can I just ask what you hope to achieve with this mad investigation?’
‘I want to know who you are and what the fuck you’ve been doing with my family.’
He shrugged. ‘So … Ask me more questions, and I’ll answer them honestly.’
‘Why are you lying?’
‘Why isn’t a question, Chris. I don’t have any kind of nefarious reason.’
‘Are you a sociopath?’
‘No, Chris, I am not a sociopath.’
I sat back, stared at him.
‘It’s the ongoing nature of it all,’ Sarah said. ‘We feel like we don’t know who you are.’
‘Fine,’ he said, blowing smoke to the side. ‘I understand that.’
Sarah’s hands on the table. ‘The reasons we liked you and welcomed you into our family had nothing to do with your job. I don’t give a flying monkeys about that stuff. It was about you – just the time we spent with you. This has caused me a huge amount of anxiety.’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘I don’t doubt that for a second.’
‘I’ve been very angry and hurt and confused, and we want some answers.’
‘I understand.’
‘We’re not trying to punish you.’
He’d regained some of his composure. ‘I didn’t lie to you in any way that really matters. Being with your family is –’
‘You’ll never be with my family again,’ I said. ‘If I see you anywhere near my kids, I’ll –’
Sarah sighed, brushed her hair from her face. ‘Zac, I’m still open, down the line, to having you in our life, but –’
‘Chris just spoke on your behalf to say that can’t happen. And that’s fine, I can deal with that.’
Sarah sighed again, looked at me, at Zac. ‘It took me a long time to come around to accepting all of this, Zac. It was the same for Chris. Have you had a troubled conscience?’
‘Of course, Sarah. Of course.’
‘We were about to rent an apartment with you,’ she said. ‘I mean –’
‘Have you had any sexual thoughts, fantasies or urges involving my children or behaved inappropriately towards them?’
‘I can’t believe you’re even asking –’
‘That’s not an answer, Zac.’
‘What have I done, even with all the lies, to make you think –’
‘I’m not asking you for a question, I’m asking for a fucking yes or no.’
‘Chris …’ He took off his glasses, rubbed his face.
I sipped my beer, sat silent. Calm. I could wait. I’d wait.
Sarah leant forwards again. ‘Have you considered that you might need to get some help?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can see there’s a problem in my behaviour.’
‘That’s a relief,’ I said. ‘Did you touch my kids? Did you make them touch you?’
He looked at me, looked broken. ‘Chris, I love those kids. You know I love them. What you’re implying is the worst thing you could possibly say to me, even worse than what you’ve said about my mother or whatever. I would never lie about my mother dying and I would never jeopardise Sophie or Oliver. What you’re saying makes me feel physically sick.’
‘Because you abused them?’
Boom.
His fist on the table, a crash. ‘No, Chris. I would never do anything to harm those kids. They bring me joy, OK? Simple innocent joy.’
I sat back, temples pounding. He sounded genuine, looked genuine – a clear indication he was either telling the truth or lying through his teeth. I stared, kept staring, tried to read him. ‘OK, well, if there’s anything you want to add, now’s the time, but if not, I guess we’ll see you around.’
A moment’s silence, a slow nod. He lifted his bag.
‘If you resolve all of this and manage to sort yourself out, please get in touch with me,’ Sarah said.
‘Well, you don’t have to worry,’ he said, standing. ‘I’m not going to do that.’
I glanced at him, grimaced. ‘Good.’