A Rich Fetish

Arthur Kindred was rich. I mean, seriously loaded. He was also renowned for being publicity shy, unless he wanted something that good publicity would help with. No wonder he was familiar yet hadn't been at the forefront of my mind. That also explained the Ferrari. Anything less than a million was pocket change to this guy. He never even showed up when he donated his Gulfstream 550 on fair-day for joy flights every year.

Excitement zinged through me. Now, I had a name. Now, I could get an address.

And then reality sucker punched me.

For sure, I now I had a name, but because of that name I now had a dilemma. This man could be a key source of information on the whereabouts of my wife. The only problem being, I couldn't act on the information without telling the police way more than I wanted them to know. If Sarah had been the victim of foul play, I would automatically be suspect number one if I revealed I knew about her lover.

In the end, I decided my only option was to check things out myself. Saying goodbye to Sis, and packing Cindy in the car, I drove over to Arthur Kindred's house.

Kindred's house turned out to be a mansion the size of a small state, kept safe behind closed gates. I parked across the road, contemplating whether I could see into the compound from any vantage point. No. While pondering my next move, a silver Lexus pulled up to the opening gates. Mrs. Kindred alighted from the driver's seat to check the mail box. I recognised her from her sleek, expertly dyed blonde hair.

Cindy, from her back-seat vantage point, stated clearly, "Aunty Jean."

Again, blind rage almost consumed me. The prick's wife knew my daughter! My slut of a wife must have brought Cindy here. Where oh where would Sarah's betrayal end? How bloody sick were these people? Was nothing too low to stoop to?

Gunning the engine, I crossed the road and pulled up behind the Lexus. Mrs. Kindred blanched but stood her ground. I threw open the door and was yelling before it was even fully open. "Can you please explain how my little girl knows who you are?"

I watched as she looked toward my car. Cindy, in her innocence, gave her a little wave. I watched as the little remaining colour drained from Mrs. Kindred's face as she stuttered an answer. "This has nothing to do with me. You'll have to ask my husband." She turned and headed back to the driver's side of her car.

"Is he here?' I yelled.

"No. He left this morning. He'll be back on the weekend. Now go away or I'll call the police." With that, and an odd expression on her face, she drove through the gate, which closed behind her.

Her expression puzzled me. What was it? Was it merely discomfort? Panic? Anger? Annoyance? None of the adjectives seemed to fit.

Jean Kindred knew more than she was saying about Sarah's whereabouts. Of that, I was certain, but without being able to confront her or her husband in a place where they couldn't dodge me, and no better plan, I headed home.

Cindy confirmed she'd been to the big house 'lots'. I hoped like hell she wasn't visiting her father there. I stopped off and picked up DNA test kits. The kids might resemble me and Carrie, but I was at the point where I needed something certain, something solid I could believe in because with everything I'd discovered thus far it was clear next to nothing in my life was as I'd thought it to be.

*****

TO CUT A LONG story short, I didn't go back to the mansion on the weekend. It was all over the news that night. Arthur Kindred, local philanthropist and all round good guy's private plane had crashed in the next state. There were no survivors. How frustrating could things get? When would I cop a break? How was I going to find out what the hell was going on with Sarah now? Cornering Jean Kindred was my only hope.

Two bodies had been recovered from the wreckage. Both male. That was a surprise; I'd half expected to hear one was a woman. Relief, anger, fear, and frustration mingled uneasily in my belly. It was a terrible thing to want your wife alive and well and dead at the same time.

Speculation, pending disaster victim identification procedures, was that the bodies belonged to Arthur Kindred and his pilot. The plane was en route to Brisbane before re-fuelling and heading to Mexico, where Mr. Kindred was known to have businesses.

No one was more surprised than me when Saturday morning saw a certain silver Lexus pull into my driveway. Why would Arthur Kindred's widow visit me now when she'd done her level best to avoid me previously?

I watched her approach and without turning my head asked my sister to take the kids to play in the backyard. Carrie didn't even ask why; she just rounded the children up and ushered them out the back door. The sound of it closing coincided with the front door chime.

With each step toward the door another possibility presented itself in my mind. She'd come to tell me where Sarah was. That Sarah had met her maker. Maybe, she wanted to find out exactly how much I knew. Buy my silence? I wasn't sure how I felt about any of the possibilities.

"Mrs. Kindred. To what do I owe the honour?"

"Mike, um, sorry, I don't mean to be so presumptuous, but I never knew Sarah's married surname. Would you mind if I came in? I have a few things I need to discuss with you."

My answer was to step aside, giving her room to pass. She did so, her heels click-clacking on the polished floor boards. She paused where the entry way opened up, waiting for me to direct her. I gestured to the left, to the lounge room.

"Make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink?"

"A glass of water, please."

I poured myself one while I was at it. After handing her one, I seated myself opposite her. She took a sip, carefully placed her glass on the coffee table and squared her shoulders. Taking a deep breath, she met my gaze. Hers looked determined and something else I again couldn't put my finger on.

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."

"You said you had a few things to discuss with me."

She smiled awkwardly. "So, I did."

I waited, holding her gaze. She cleared her throat, then laughed nervously.

"If you had told me as a newlywed that I would one day be sitting in someone's living room having the conversation I'm about to have with you I would have called you crazy."

I smiled. It didn't reach my eyes, but I figured a show of friendliness might help her get to the point.

"Can I assume from your visit earlier in the week that you are aware of the relationship between Arthur and your wife?"

I nodded, not wanting to reveal the extent of my knowledge. I was more interested in knowing how deep her awareness went.

"Did you kill my husband?"

The bluntness of the question shocked me, and my mouth fell open. I recovered, anger making my reply harsh. "Listen here, lady. Your husband died in a plane crash."

"Yes and no."

I raised an eyebrow, determined to control my responses.

"Yes, the plane crashed, but it wasn't due to either mechanical failure or pilot error. They found bomb residue. Don't ask me how I know that, it's... ah, unofficial. He was murdered."

This time I kept my reactions under control. It was difficult. Murder? I had the sensation of my life spiralling out my control. Panic fought with indignation. Indignation won.

"So, what's that got to do with me?"

"Well, one might say finding out your wife had a long-term arrangement of a, ah, sexual nature with my husband might be motivation for murder."

"The same could be said of you. Crime of passion and all that. Add to that what you stand to inherit, and I'd say you're probably suspect number one. I'm wondering if the purpose of your visit, and your question is to distract me from those thoughts. To stop me going to the police with a theory like that."

She pursed her lips. "I have known about Arthur and Sarah for years. Why would I kill him now?"

"Maybe you've finally had enough. Maybe they did something that was the veritable straw that broke your back. Maybe you found out he was going to divorce you. Maybe you were biding your time. Maybe you decided you suddenly had a fall guy; me. I don't know. You tell me."

Jean Kindred snorted in a rather unladylike manner, but beneath her bravado I detected a touch of anxiety. "All twaddle. As I said, young man, I have known for years whereas you, on the other hand, have only recently found out, if my guess is correct, and I think it is. The police might find it quite a coincidence that Arthur died within twenty-four hours of you turning up at my home looking for him."

"They might also find it interesting that you condoned your husband paying a hooker for kinky sex and that his, ah, paramour is now also missing."

"Don't be so naive. Many wealthy men keep a mistress and have wives who turn a blind eye."

I looked at her with contempt. "Sorry. I forgot. You're rich; the usual rules don't apply."

She had the decency to flinch. "Is that why you killed him?"

"For the last time, I did not kill your husband. Did you?"

She sighed impatiently, but again there was an undertone that didn't fit. "As I have already made quite clear, I had no reason to. I have known about the pair of them for a long time. And why would I come here accu-asking you if you killed Arthur if I was guilty?"

I noticed she didn't provide a simple 'no'.

"Well, there's the old saying of the best defence is offence."

"This is getting us nowhere, Mike."

"Well, I'm not about to confess to a crime I didn't commit just to suit your agenda."

"What do you know?"

"Why should I tell you?"

She gave another huff of frustration. It occurred to me she was a woman accustomed to being obeyed and I wasn't doing as I was told. I needed information from her without revealing what I already knew. How? How to achieve that?

"Okay, Mrs. Kindred, how about you tell me what you know about my wife and your husband and I'll tell you if I already knew that snippet."

She looked at me hard, weighing me up. Finally, she sighed and nodded. "Deal."

I was surprised she agreed but I wasn't going to argue.

She took a sip of her water and cleared her throat. "Sarah had some sort of financial crisis in college. To get herself out of it she turned to prostitution. She once, ah, told me she liked it. Said it made her feel empowered and sexy. She also liked the money. Arthur started using Sarah's, ah, services in 2003."

She waited, eyebrow cocked.

The financial crisis in college was news to me but I nodded anyway. "I know."

"Sarah tried to end their arrangement in 2006, but Arthur convinced her to continue."

"I know."

I hadn't been sure of that, but it made sense considering the date of the first video. The second video was taken during Sarah's pregnancy with Jenny, so perhaps Sarah had thought of ending the arrangement again after the birth as we had our two planned children. Clearly, something must have changed her mind after making video number two as we'd gone on to have Cindy and she'd even been talking about us having a fourth. I said nothing of my thoughts aloud; Jean Kindred didn't need to know them.

"Arthur was unable to have children so he...he, um, he was somewhat obsessed with it. As time went on, he encouraged Sarah to get pregnant. He rewarded her with a considerable amount of money when she had Jamie."

I flinched at her awareness of Jamie's name, but nodded. I couldn't help asking the obvious question. "If Arthur was so obsessed with becoming a father, why didn't you try IVF or adopt when you found out he couldn't have kids?"

"Arthur was a proud and vain man. He was in denial about our inability to have children stemming from him." Jean Kindred looked away, clearly uncomfortable but after straightening her spine she continued, "And, by then, some of his kinks were known to me and I wasn't sure I could remain married to him and so I went along with his denial. To be honest, had it not been for him having Sarah I would probably have left."

"Thanks," I couldn't keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "Glad my wife could be of assistance in helping you maintain your lifestyle."

Jean Kindred winced. I watched the flush creep up her throat. Her look of shame filled me with a brief, but fierce, joy.

"Um, well, continuing on, Arthur, ah, encouraged Sarah to get pregnant again and when she had Jenny he gave her a diamond ring."

I was prepared for her knowledge of Jenny and managed to control my natural urge to flinch. At the same time, I could almost admire Sarah's manoeuvring. She'd conned a whacking great diamond ring out of Arthur for doing something she intended to do anyway. I nodded, and Jean Kindred continued.

"I believe you were resistant to having more children, but I imagine Sarah can be as convincing as Arthur because you went ahead and had Cindy."

Rage boiled in my belly, its bitterness burning my throat. "Yes, she can be and, let me guess, Arthur rewarded her with a Ferrari?"

It was Mrs. Kindred's turn to nod.

I fought the urge to hit something. My fury at knowing I now had three beautiful children because a filthy old man paid my wife to have them was almost more than I could bear. Children were meant to be conceived out of love, not greed.

"I know Arthur offered to buy her an apartment if she could convince you to let her have one more."

I turned away to hide my anger.

"I know."

"Then you know it all."

"Not really. I don't know why you would be so, hmm, how to say it, understanding? Accommodating?"

"Mr... um, Mike. I didn't like it. In fact, I rather resented it. It was humiliating but it relieved me of the, ah, burden, of meeting certain of Arthur's needs and so I tolerated it."

"You mean you sold yourself for a life of comfort and privilege."

Her chin went up and she glared at me, but she didn't protest. I wondered at that. Why didn't she defend herself?

"So, Mike, I guess we're at a stand-off. I think you killed Arthur, you think I did. We both had motivation. Either way, being investigated is bad for both of us. So is publicity. Think about your children."

"Wow. You're a real grieving widow, aren't you?"

"Arthur killed any love I had for him many years ago, but that doesn't mean I murdered him. Nor does it mean I shouldn't receive what I'm owed by his death."

I nodded. In a way I couldn't fault her logic—she probably had earned her inheritance tenfold. "I'll tell you where I'm at, Jean. May I call you Jean?"

Jean nodded.

"Jean, I'll keep my mouth shut with the press on two conditions. One; you don't mention me to the police as a means of throwing the spotlight off yourself. If you're as innocent as you say, you should be able to clear your name easily. Come to think of it, even if you're guilty of murder, and I think you are, you have the means to avoid prosecution. And two; if you tell me what you know about Sarah's disappearance."

After undergoing another long hard scrutiny by Jean, she began, "Arthur flew Sarah to Mexico in the Lear, he came back alone. When I asked him where Sarah was, he told me he'd left her there in a whorehouse for a week."

"What?" I blurted, leaping to my feet.

"It's the truth. He said he did it because she tried to end their arrangement by blackmailing him with some compromising videos. Add to that, he's wanted her to bring it all out in the open with you for a long time. And, lastly, to pressure her into having another child. He laughed saying he was not only killing two birds with one stone; he was killing three. He was actually on his way to Mexico to pick her up when his plane was downed."

"What? Bring me in on it? Why? Obviously, he doesn't know me very well. What would have stopped me going to the press and outing him?"

Well, that answered the question about why Sarah would have a photo of us in the guest room. I could easily imagine Arthur Kindred pressuring Sarah to have sex in our marital bed, and seeing as this was our dream home, she'd probably resisted, and they'd compromised on having a photo of me or us on display in the spare room.

"The why has two aspects, I think. He always said that after the first fifty million or so, money becomes meaningless. From then on, it's all about power. What could be more powerful than using your influence to fuck a guy's wife in front of him, knowing he's powerless to do a thing about it. The added bonus was that he would be able to enjoy Sarah whenever he liked without her having to sneak around. As to how to ensure your silence, he thought offering you a million dollars would buy it and your agreement on child four."

"Ah, so like most men motivated by money he thought it would motivate me too."

"Yes, he believed everyone had a price."

"It's clear my wife did," I muttered angrily and then frowned, unhappy I'd revealed my fury to the likes of Jean Kindred. I cleared my throat, making sure to keep my voice calm and even. "So why take extreme action then when she tried to call it off? With his wealth why didn't he just offer Sarah more money or toys, or find another woman?"

Jean looked away, clearly weighing up her response. I knew she'd made her decision when she sighed, looking resigned. "As much as I hate to admit it, he loved her in a sick sort of way. I'm sure I don't have to list Arthur's kinks for you but are you aware he even deluded himself the children were actually his? His, ah... fetish was quite focused, for want of a better word, and a new woman would mean building that rapport from the ground up, and the new girl might not have been as discreet as Sarah. Someone new would have been too great a danger to his reputation as a philanthropist. Arthur decided scaring Sarah into compliance by leaving her in a whorehouse in Mexico was the best option."

I collapsed into the armchair. It was too much. I don't know what I suspected, but not this. This was too farfetched. Too surreal. A whorehouse? Mexico? It was such a cliché, like something out of a movie.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. They had orders there not to touch her or let her be touched. She was just there to get a taste of what she was in for if she didn't play ball. My husband could be quite ruthless at times. Remember our agreement, Mike. No press."

All I could do was nod. Words failed me.

"Okay. I'll see myself out."

*****

WITH EACH CLICK-CLACK of Jean Kindred's departing heals, I winced. They were as nails in a coffin. My coffin. Prior to her visit I'd been hurt, confused, angry, disappointed, and frustrated.

Now I was in purgatory.

Jean Kindred had confirmed all my suspicions. Had confirmed my worst fears.

At the sound of the front door closing, I hung my head. My fate was sealed. I could never un-know Sarah's deception, her long list of lies. Never again would I live in blissful ignorance of her ongoing betrayal. Never again would I be able to believe she loved me unconditionally. Never again would I be able to tell myself she was mine as I had been hers since the first time we kissed. Never again could I be certain she was in my corner, had my back.

Always, from this day forward, I'd have doubts. For the rest of my life I'd have questions. Everything; every shared moment, every conversation, every whispered word of love, every promise. How much had been real? How much Sarah acting a part? I'd never know and that broke my heart as much as her betrayal.

Hearing my children's breathless laughter roused me and I lifted my head. Regardless of how I felt, they needed me. I had to remain strong for them. My grief would have to wait. I stretched my neck from side to side to ease the tension cording it, trying to focus my thoughts.

Why had Jean Kindred felt compelled to speak to me? If she genuinely thought me guilty of murder, she risked me tying up loose ends, so to speak. And if she had, as I suspected, organised the murder of her husband, she risked being seen visiting a man who had reported his own wife as missing. A wife with connections to her dead husband. Had I foiled her 'perfect murder' with my unexpected confrontation earlier in the week? Was she really so concerned about bad press? Did she have more to hide than mere murder?