Authors: Vicki Tyley
“Nick, eh?” Her friend’s eyes gleamed. “Not Mr Square Eyes or Mr—”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Well, he obviously took your disappearance as a brush off. Can’t
say I blame him?”
“Why?”
“Blame him?”
Megan flapped her hand. “No, no, the bit before that. What happened
after I left?”
“Oh, not much. Since you were gone, I guess he thought he’d try his
luck elsewhere.”
“Let me guess – you?”
“Nice guy but not my type.” Brenda sipped her coffee. “Don’t worry,
I let him down gently.”
“Then?”
“Then he tried chatting up that Linda wench. She didn’t give him the
time of day either. A shame really, because that would’ve killed off two birds
with one stone. So to speak.”
“I’d call that wishful thinking.” Megan picked at the edge of her
toasted sandwich. “From what I saw, Mata Hari isn’t about to let go of Lawson
without a fight.”
“Bring it on.” Brenda’s face perked up as if she’d suddenly
remembered something.
A quick glance at her watch and she was off again. “You weren’t the
only one to sneak off without saying goodbye. Silly me just assumed he’d gone
to the men’s. But you should’ve seen Pauline when she couldn’t find Lawson.
Talk about frantic. I think she checked every centimeter of that place, inside
and out.”
“Why didn’t she just phone his mobile?”
“Like I phoned yours?”
“You did?”
Brenda folded her arms. “Of course.”
Unable to summon the energy to get up and check her phone, Megan
took her word for it, before remembering that she’d switched her phone to
silent soon after arriving at the function the night before.
“Forget that.” Brenda dropped her arms and leaned in close to Megan.
“I was just getting to the best part. When Pauline realized Linda had also
gone, she went ballistic, ranting and raving about God knows what – I certainly
didn’t. She was one pissed off lady, but what could she do about it? Ground
them?” Brenda glanced at her watch. “Oh shit, I’m going to be late.”
After Brenda had taken off, Megan remained seated at the table,
breathing in the silence. She closed her eyes, her fingers running over the
timber tabletop, feeling the dents and bumps of decades of use, as she cast her
mind back to the previous night. It was like watching a video with whole series
of frames missing. She remembered snippets of conversation, but that was all.
Her heart really hadn’t been in it.
Megan had long resigned herself to being single. Her history with
men had seen to that. Every man she’d ever been involved with had walked all
over her, to such an extent she thought she must have doormat tattooed on her
forehead. If that was what being in a relationship was all about then forget
it.
Wednesday morning,
Greg woke tetchy and far from rested. With still no word from Sam, his mind had
been working in overdrive, conjuring up all sorts of explanations for why his
sister was being so irresponsible. It had to be that. The alternatives didn’t
bear thinking about. Anyway, she was due back at work today and he had a few
choice words to deliver her way.
He hated lying to his mother, even little white ones, but her health
took precedence. She’d have worried herself sick, ending up in hospital if
she’d known the truth. Instead, he’d concocted a story along the lines that Sam
had been asked at the last minute to step in for a colleague who couldn’t
attend an important residential nursing conference. His mother, although
frequently out and about, didn’t have an answering machine at home, so he thought
he was fairly safe in saying that Sam had tried phoning her. His mother’s
disappointment had been evident, but at least he’d managed to allay her
concerns. For now.
After a quick shower and shave, he headed for the kitchen to
scrounge up some breakfast. He wasn’t sure if the gnawing ache in his stomach
was hunger, but regardless it spurred him on. His cupboards were bare, though,
the only bread left in the house a crust and a curled up slice of a week-old
wholegrain loaf. Toast was out of the question, and he didn’t trust the milk.
It’d been in the fridge for longer than he cared to remember.
It’d have to be breakfast out again. Collecting his briefcase and
keys, he headed out, making a mental note to do the grocery shopping after
work.
The owner of Le Petit Déjeuner greeted him by name as he entered the
overheated café and took his usual table by the window. The smell of grilled
bacon and fresh coffee hung heavy in the air. He ordered orange juice, a pot of
Darjeeling tea and two slices of Vegemite toast. While he waited for breakfast
to be served, he tried phoning Sam’s mobile number, hoping to catch her before
she arrived at work and switched off her phone. Why wasn’t she answering the
bloody thing? More to the point, why hadn’t she returned his messages?
The hospital where Sam worked frowned upon employees taking personal
calls while at work, but it was more important that he talk to his sister and
find out what was going on. Sam’s shift wasn’t due to start for another twenty
minutes, but there was every chance she might be at work even if she hadn’t yet
signed in.
He phoned the hospital, the switchboard redirecting his call to the
nurses’ station. He listened to the clicks as the call connected and then the
brr-brr as it rang through to the ward. To his relief, it was answered on the
fourth ring.
“Samantha Jenkins, please. It’s her brother.”
“I don’t think she’s arrived yet, but if you hold on, I’ll go and
check.”
He drummed his fingers on the table, willing the nurse to hurry up,
the tempo of his fingers increasing with each passing second.
After an interminable time, she returned. “I’m sorry, she hasn’t
logged in yet. Can I take a message or ask her to call you?”
Every instinct in him was telling him that something was not right,
but he did his utmost to quash those feelings by telling himself she wasn’t due
at work for another sixteen-and-a-half minutes.
“Please ask her to call me – Greg. Tell her it’s urgent. Thank you.
” If he hadn’t added the word “urgent” to the message then there was every
likelihood that Sam would wait until her meal break to phone him. He couldn’t
wait until then.
His breakfast arrived and he ate it mechanically, not really tasting
the food. His gaze kept drifting to his BlackBerry. It lay face up and silent
on the table next to the teapot. Greg’s watch was digital, but he was sure he
could hear it ticking as each second trudged past.
At exactly one minute after seven o’clock by both his watch and his
BlackBerry, he could no longer contain himself. He hit the BlackBerry’s redial
button.
After going through the same rigmarole, he spoke to the same nurse.
“Let me check if she phoned in sick or something,” she said.
He opened his mouth to speak, immediately closing it again when he
heard the clunk of the receiver landing on a hard surface. He didn’t need her
to check, he already knew the answer.
The nurse returned a minute or so later. “I’m sorry, no one’s heard
from her. She’s probably just running late.”
He hung up, his chest tightening. No longer able to pretend his
sister was simply playing truant, he had to confront the reality of the
situation. Sam was missing. There was no way that she, despite her timekeeping
shortcomings, wouldn’t have contacted someone by now.
The beep of his BlackBerry startled him. He had an appointment in
less than fifteen minutes. It was too late to cancel now. Swearing and
muttering under his breath, he tapped the OK box in the BlackBerry’s reminder
window and pushed his chair back.
He was almost at the door when he remembered he hadn’t paid the
bill. He did an about-turn and marched over to the cash register, opening his
wallet and extracting a twenty-dollar note en route. The girl behind the
counter smiled and accepted his money. Waving his hand in a dismissive gesture,
he turned and headed back towards the door. It’d been an extremely generous
tip, but he didn’t have time to hang around for the change.
He arrived at his office with only seconds to spare before his
appointment turned up. From a business point of view, the presentation ran
smoothly. However, whilst he managed to maintain a professional façade, his
heart was not in it. Moreover, he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was
finding Sam. The client could go to hell for all he cared. Despite this
thinking, he somehow found himself shaking hands with Mr Bryant and uttering
all the standard niceties his professionalism demanded.
After the outer office door swung shut behind his client, Greg
flopped into one of the reception area’s plush visitor chairs, his breath
escaping in a loud huff. Eyes closed, he used his thumbs to knead the knots of
tension in his temples.
Eventually he opened his eyes. Sitting around stressing out didn’t
achieve anything. He lumbered to his feet and made his way back to the office.
Fortunately, he only had another two appointments in his diary for that day. A
couple of phone calls later they were rescheduled.
Turning to his computer, he searched the White Pages telephone
directory for Melbourne hospitals. Starting with the large public hospitals, he
worked his way methodically through the list. Each time he called a hospital,
he half-expected, as well as half-hoped, to hear that a Samantha Jenkins had
been admitted. Anything was better than not knowing.
He’d exhausted the list and was no closer to finding his sister. Each
time the notion of ringing the morgue had crossed his mind, he’d pushed it
aside as inconceivable. Now he had to face it. He had to know one way or the
other.
He found the phone number and punched it into the phone’s keypad,
hesitating ever so slightly on the last digit.
An educated-sounding voice answered his call before he could change
his mind and hang up. “Good morning, Victorian Institute of Forensic Medicine.”
“I’d like to speak,” he said, his voice cracking, “to someone
regarding recent admissions.”
Up until Sam’s disappearance, he’d prided himself on the fact that
regardless of what life threw at him he’d always managed to stand tall,
confronting whatever it was head on. Nothing was insurmountable. His fortitude
had been sorely tested eighteen month’s previously, with the shocking drug
overdose suicide of his younger and only brother Tim. And when his father died
from a heart attack less than two months later, Greg thought he’d drown in his
grief. But survive he did, coming out the other side a much stronger person.
Now it felt like he was coming apart at the seams. He used the time
spent on hold, fighting to recover his composure. It was imperative he stay
focused: for Sam’s sake, if not his own.
A gravelly male voice jolted him, briefly unsettling his newly found
equilibrium.
Greg snatched up the telephone receiver. “Good morning, my name is
Greg Jenkins. I’m looking for my sister, Samantha Jenkins. She’s thirty-four.
Slim build. Black hair – curly black hair. Brown eyes.” He swallowed, tasting
bile. “Can you tell me if any unidentified bodies matching that description
have come in?”
Every muscle in his body tensed, his jaw tightening, his knuckles
whitening as he waited for the response.
“What timeframe are we talking about?”
Greg’s heart sank. “Last few days. Since Friday.”
For several long moments, nothing, then, “I can’t give you
specifics, but only one female admitted in the last week remains unidentified.
I can, however, confirm she does not match your sister’s description.”
He slumped against the back of his chair, the nightmarish visions of
his sister’s cold body lying on a slab in the morgue fading.
“If you haven’t already done so,” continued the man, “I suggest you
contact the police. Thank you for calling.”
Greg hung up. Whilst it was good advice, he debated whether it was
too soon to drag the police in. He’d ruled out the hospitals and the morgue.
And what if Sam wasn’t missing per se, but had just taken off for a few days?
After all, she was an adult, responsible for her own actions and not
accountable to anyone else. No, the police had to be a last resort. There had
to be another answer.
He opened his briefcase and stuck his hand under the stack of manila
folders, his fingers feeling for the keys to Sam’s home. He’d held on to them
with the intention of returning them to her when she came home. They were so
tarnished he doubted she even knew of their existence. He should’ve reminded
her to change the locks when she moved in; she wasn’t living in the country
anymore.
Before rushing out the door, he checked the answering machine was
switched on. The machine’s unblinking green eye stared at him. For a split
second he contemplated changing the message.
No time.
Within moments, he was behind the wheel of his car and accelerating
into the street. Completely disregarding the possibility of speed cameras en
route, he headed in the direction of Sam’s place. He only narrowly avoided
hitting a delivery van when he failed to notice it coming out of a service
station. That shook him, forcing him to slow down.