Crisis of Identity

The next morning, while enjoying a morning cup of instant coffee on the balcony, I was quietly celebrating a much clearer head, courtesy of a more subdued night.

I was lost in the ambiance when Mitch stepped onto the balcony carrying coffees and a brown paper bag.

‘Hey…I didn’t realize you were up,’ I said glancing over my shoulder.

‘Couple hours now. I couldn’t stomach that instant shit again, so I did a coffee run and these looked so good,’ he said dropping two rounds of ham and cheese toasties on the table in front of me.

‘Awesome, bro.’

I cracked the lid on the coffee and breathed in the wafting aroma. The only thing better than the smell of strong coffee in the morning, is that very first sip.

While I was chowing down of my toasties and taking in the view, Mitch dropped toast crumbs over the newspaper he was reading.

‘Hey… there’s a big article in here on today’s funeral for that missing kid’s old man,’ Mitch announced.

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I recalled. ‘Sarah said she and her parents were going to that today.’

Mitch read the article in silence. As he turned the page he announced, ‘his unfortunate tragedy really brought him some sort of celebrity, didn’t it…? I mean, this write up is like a eulogy of his life, but he was just the father of a missing kid, who was never found.’

‘Can’t imagine how that would feel… Never knowing if your boy was alive or dead. Never knowing if he became fodder passed around in some sick paedophile ring… or if he was a rock spider’s victim who buried his crime.’ A chill ran down my spine. I was starting to understand the intrigue this case held over a community. ‘Hey, what church was the funeral at…?’

Mitch turned back the page and scanned the article. ‘St Patricks in Robina. The article suggests standing room only…’ Mitch’s eyes lifted from the article. ‘Thinking of going…?’

I glanced out over the ocean while I considered my response. ’You know what… I wouldn’t mind. There’s something about this missing kid that intrigues me. ‘Wanna come with…?’

Mitch pushed himself from his chair and checked out the surf. ‘You know what, bro, there’s a pretty good swell there this morning. I think I might hire a board a catch a few…’

‘Cool.’ I gestured to the newspaper. ‘What time is the service today?’

Mitch checked the paper. ‘Um…11am.’

St Patricks in Robina was a twenty-minute drive, with directions courtesy of Google Maps. The 18th Century Gothic style church stood proud with its towering spire, pointed arched stained glass windows, wide concrete apron with steps leading up to a pointed arched door. It was built on a corner to maximise its commanding presence.

Parked cars lined the narrow residential streets for blocks. It was after 11am by the time I found a parking space. The stroll back to the church in the twenty-eight degree temperatures and clear skies had me questioning if Mitch’s surf option would’ve been better.

A PA system broadcast the service to over 100 mourners unable to cram inside. I took up a position at the back, near the footpath. Those gathered formed a sea of uniform black. I glanced down at my navy, Nike shorts, white surfing tee and thongs. At least my sunnies were black.

It wasn’t long before memories of dad’s funeral flooded back. I wiped a tear from my cheek as I listened about the life of someone I never knew.

Forty minutes standing in the baking sun had me questioning what I was doing there. What was I hoping to achieve? If I was being honest to myself, I didn’t really know. I didn’t know the old guy who died, so the long eulogies meant nothing to me. I checked my watch for the umpteenth time considering whether to call it.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here…’ Detective Brent Dawes said, as he sidled up beside me.

‘Hey…’ I nodded. ‘Yeah, a friend I met the other night is here, so I thought I’d come and see if I can catch up with her. What about you…Why are you here?’

‘This case has been my life for twenty-five years. I’ve come to know the family very well…’

‘Yet, you’re standing out here with me.’

He shaded his eyes as he regarded me. ‘Got held up at work…’ His tone was firm, as if forced to defend his tardiness.

Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven began crackling over the outdoor speakers. Mourners commenced to file out from the church. Family members, relatives and close friends trailed the coffin down the front steps. Sarah was among the early groups to emerge. They exchanged handshakes, hugs, cheek kisses and embraces.

‘What are your plans from here?’ the cop asked.

I checked my watch, even though the time was irrelevant to me. ‘Got some surfing to do,’ I said.

‘Why don’t you let me buy you some lunch? There’s a great little café not too far from here.’

‘Thanks. Really… But I’ve got to get back. I’m going surfing with my mate.’ I lied.

‘OK… What about a coffee then. One coffee won’t take up your afternoon.’ He regarded me while I considered his offer. ‘What do ya say…?’

While I considered a convincing inability, Sarah approached. ‘I didn’t know you were coming…’ She said, then greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.

‘Well… all this talk about look-a-likes… I thought I’d see first-hand who this family is.’ Sarah’s smile was genuine as her eyes flicked to the cop. She extended him a warm smile. ‘This is…’ I held my hand to the cop but his name escaped me.

The cop extended his hand to Sarah. ‘Brent Dawes…’ Sarah accepted his hand shake.

‘Sarah…’ she replied.

‘Lovely to meet you,’ he said. ‘How do you two know each other?’

Sarah and I exchanged a smirk. Saying we were each other’s drunken conquests would not be appropriate, so I went with, ‘we met in Surfer’s a few nights back…’

‘I see…’ the Cop said with a knowing smile.

‘Funny story, actually…’ Sarah began, as if trying to justify our little tryst to the cop. ‘I thought Kade looked remarkably like the photos the cops published of an older version of Jayden. I actually asked him if he ever lived in Woodlands Drive.’

I can’t explain why, but as the words left her mouth I experienced a strange sense of guilt, even though I’d done nothing wrong.

‘Is that right…?’ The cop said holding an ‘I told you so’ smirk at me. ‘And what did he say…?’

‘He told me they were from WA, so I knew it couldn’t be him.’

’Did you live in Woodlands Drive?’ the cop asked Sarah.

‘Still do.’

‘What number?’ Sarah regarded Dawes before answering.

To allay her concerns over why this old guy, she has never met, asks her what number she lives at, I jabbed a thumb at Dawes. ‘He’s the lead cop who’s been investigating your missing neighbour all these years…’ I clarified.

Sarah shaded her eyes as she checked Dawes out. ’Oh right. I thought you looked familiar,’ she said. ‘I live at number 26,’

‘So, that’s six doors up from Jayden’s home.’ He didn’t wait for confirmation. ‘Did you know Jayden, then?’

Sarah shook a firm head. ‘I was too young. My parents did, though. I only know about it because my parents often speak of the case and the family.’

The cop jabbed a sideways thumb. ‘We were just going for a coffee. Why don’t you join us,’ he said to Sarah.

Sarah glanced back towards the front of the church. ‘Oh, thank you. But I must get going. I’m driving mum and dad to the wake at the Evans’ house.’

‘OK then. It was lovely meeting you,’ the cop said.

‘Likewise,’ Sarah said. She moved in and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Give me a call later,’ she said quietly in my ear. I watched her move back to be with her parents.

The cop held up his keys. ‘Where are you parked? I’ll drive.’

I gestured to the corner. ‘I’m around there a couple blocks down…but I didn’t accept your offer.’

‘Yes you did…’ He lightly guided my arm as we commenced to walk. ‘You just didn’t realize it. I’m just here.’ He remotely unlocked the unmarked cop car, illegally parked near the corner. ‘I’ll bring you back to your car afterwards.’

As he opened the driver’s door, I checked over my shoulders while I considered how to refuse his offer.

‘Come on, get in,’ he said over the roof of his car.

I had nothing, so I opened the passenger door and slid into the front seat.