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The waiting room of the diagnostic imaging center was modern enough and cheery enough, but like most medical places, the cheery décor was a cover for the real horror behind closed doors.
A quick survey of the room didn’t offer many clues—an eight-year-old boy and his mother were engrossed in their phones.
Eight’s too young. But maybe that’s just me.
An emaciated, elderly woman with translucent wispy hair had fallen asleep against an obese woman who watched a morning chat show with rapt attention. A man with slicked back hair, wearing a navy sweater and grey slacks, absently swiped his phone, a tiny headset lodged over his ear.
I guessed the kid had leukemia, the old lady had cancer, and grey slacks had a tumor.
You’ve got a dark heart, Kowalski. A tall, dark heart.
I received a call from an unknown number.
‘Kowalski. Ivers.’
‘Good morning to you, Detective Constable.’
‘Hot off the press. I’ve got the Poulson judgment in my hands.’
A cold shiver of panic washed through me. Magistrates in murder cases tended to either extreme—too soft or too hard.
‘On the charge of the manslaughter of Renee Prestwidge,’ Ivers continued. ‘You are sentenced to a term of imprisonment comprising a non-parole period of 6 years and 9 months, with a balance of term of the sentence of 2 years and 3 months.’
I swore, and the mother took her eyes off her phone long enough to give me a look.
‘On the charge of the manslaughter of Pavali Singh, you are sentenced to a term of imprisonment comprising a non-parole period of 6 years and 9 months with a balance of term of the sentence of 2 years and 3 months. The total term of imprisonment is 9 years.’
I groaned. ‘How the fuck did he swing manslaughter?’
‘On the promise of leniency, he offered up the burial places of two of his victims.’
‘What about the other eight?’
‘Similar charges, all manslaughter, all for a period of about five to six years. In total, he’ll be locked up for twenty-eight years.’
‘That’s bullshit.’
‘Uh huh. No doubt his lawyers will file an appeal.’
The mother leaned over and waved at me. ‘Excuse me? My son doesn’t have to hear that kind of language.’
I waved an apology as a nurse called my name, then thanked Ivers for the call and hung up. The nurse led me to a change room and handed me a paper gown, and within minutes I lay on a cold, padded table under an MRI machine. A well-tanned man with an uncanny resemblance to Jack Nicklaus cut me a white smile and a thumbs-up as he manoeuvred the bed through the hole.
I couldn’t decide if my stomach ached due to a lack of food, or due to the possible diagnoses running through my head. With each tick of the clock, I drew closer to a concrete result, closer to sitting in a cold office while some quack fixed me with a dead stare and told me how long I had left.
Once he’d positioned me, the retired pro golfer told me to lift my legs a foot from the bed and hold my breath for thirty seconds.
I did what he said, and a low, barely perceptible hum emanated from the white plastic surrounding me.
The golfer cracked a grin and said he’d do another pass. Then he told me it was over, and my doctor would call me with the results in a week.
It reminded me of an old joke: How do you keep an arsehole in suspense? Tell him tomorrow.
They shepherded me into a smaller room, where a doctor placed ultrasound sensors on my testicles. He casually said he saw lumps, but not cancer, because testicular cancer didn’t hurt, and we would wait for the results.
My phone buzzed, and when I looked, I’d received a text from an unknown number.
It read: Carpe Noctem.
I got into my car and made sure the windows were up. When I called the number, a woman answered.
‘‘Lo?’
‘Yeah, hi, this is Matt Kowalski. I got a text from this number.’
‘Oh, hi, Mr. Kowalski. This is Anastasia Morrison. I just wanted to say thank you.’
‘Oh, hey, Anastasia. Uh, it’s good to hear from you.’
‘Aunty Evelyn explained everything you did for me.’
‘I see.’
‘Did I do something wrong?’
‘Oh no, no, not at all. No. That’s fine. I’m glad your Aunty Evelyn was big enough to do that.’
‘I just wanted you to know that Heather and I appreciate everything you’ve done for us.’
‘That’s fine, Anastasia. There’s no need to thank me. It was my pleasure. Would you like a copy of my notes from the case file? I don’t know who else to give them to.’
‘No, that’s fine. The sooner I put this behind me, the better.’
‘Sure, I get that. Just so you know, I’ll maintain your confidentiality. I’ll wipe my hard drive and burn anything I’ve printed.’
She laughed. ‘Wow! That’s... extreme, I guess? But okay, if that’s what you want to do. No worries. I appreciate that.’
There was a pause, until I said, ‘This is going to sound stupid....’
‘No, it’s fine. What?’
‘I don’t know if this means anything, probably nothing at all, given the circumstances and what I know, but I’m sorry about your father.’
She took in a long, deep breath. ‘It is the polite thing to say, isn’t it? Thank you. He was a very complex individual who I never really knew. My mother, on the other hand....’
I held back a laugh, and she picked up on it.
‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘You can laugh. I know I have to, or I’ll lose it. But you know what? It’s okay. I’ve made peace with the bitch. How’s that for a cliché? ‘I’ve moved on’.’
‘Turned over a new leaf.’
She laughed, and it sounded so young.
I said, ‘Anastasia... did she know?’
She took in another long breath. ‘Um. Yes? I mean, she must have, right? I mean... let me put this way: there was something she always did that I didn’t understand at the time, but that I totally understand now. She’d get up every morning at six thirty, without fail, even on weekends, and make herself drinks. She called them ‘Mummy cocktails.’ Do you know what they are?’
‘No idea.’
‘Xanax and white wine.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Yeah, and it wasn’t just the one.’
‘I think I know the answer to my next question, but are you in any way interested in the money left to you?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t want anything to do with Lyons Media?’
‘No.’
‘What do you want?’
‘You know what I want? I want Tamsin Lyons to be declared legally dead.’
I laughed. ‘I hear you.’
‘Then and only then will I sleep more than five hours straight.’
‘That sounds unbelievably good.’
‘It does, doesn’t it? Listen, I’m really sorry, you’ve been really nice to talk to, but I have to get going.’
‘Sure, that’s fine. I appreciate the call, and wish you all the best with everything, okay?’
‘Thanks. Heather says hi, by the way.’
‘Say hi to her for me.’
‘I will. Bye. Thanks again.’
‘Take care, Anastasia.’
‘I will.’
‘Carpe Noctem.’
She laughed. ‘Carpe Noctem.’
—-THE END—-
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