by K T Bowes
Pete whipped around, his eyes bulging. He opened his mouth to speak and Hana’s glare shut him down. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care.” She retrieved her bag from the bottom drawer and picked her phone up from the desk. The back fell off and her sim card dropped onto a sheet of paper.
“I’ll mend it.” Pete leapt across to snatch it up and bumped Hana’s arm. She cried out in pain at the same moment her desk phone rang.
“Let me get that.” Sheila pushed past her to answer it. With a groan, Hana retreated. “Hang on, I’ll fetch her.” Sheila pressed the handset against her breasts, muffling the voice of the caller. “It’s for you,” she said, plucking the phone free and holding it out to Hana.
“All mended!” Pete yelled and dropped her cellphone into her handbag.
Frustrated, Hana nodded her thanks and took the phone from Sheila. Her clipped answer left the air molecules bouncing.
“Is this a bad time, Mrs Du Rose?” Odering asked. Expecting trouble, Hana sat down. Sheila trotted back to her office but Pete hung around, making a poor job of pretending not to listen.
“Hi.” Hana turned to face the wall, letting her handbag fall to the floor. “How can I help you?”
“Can you talk?”
Hana avoided turning to look at Pete. “Not really. I’m listening.” She heard Odering’s lips smack and detected conflict in his voice.
“I’ll keep this short then. Your husband isn’t answering his phone.”
“He’s teaching all afternoon but school just ended. I can take a message.”
“It’s you I need anyway but I had trouble tracking you down. Aren’t you meant to still be in hospital?” Odering paused. “We’ve found your vehicle.”
“Oh. Logan dropped me off this morning and parked it somewhere. He said it would be safe.” The colour drained from Hana’s face. “He promised he didn’t leave it in a short stay area.”
“What?” Odering paused and static crackled across the connection. “Are we talking about the same car?”
“I don’t know,” Hana groaned. Pete’s concerned face popped into her vision and she sat up straight. “Keep talking.”
“Okay. Look, we found the car you reported stolen.” He waited through Hana’s hiss of awareness. “They torched it and hid it in thick bush over near Karangahake Gorge.”
Hana leaned forward onto the desk so she could prop her cast on its surface and take the weight off her neck. The sling worked itself back into the groove it spent the day creating. “So there’s nothing left then?”
“No, sorry.” Sincerity crossed the distance between them.
“How did you find it?”
Odering paused for far too long. “Officers discovered it some weeks ago.” He plunged through Hana’s sharp intake of breath. “My colleagues over at Waihi sent the details through but local officers wasted time looking for Mrs H Johal.”
“You’re kidding me!” Hana blew out an exasperated breath. “It must be a joke!”
“I know, I know.” Odering sounded apologetic. “It’s a communication issue. The registered address for the vehicle is your Achilles Rise house and one department failed to make the link until all the drama last week.”
Hana chewed her lip. “Oh for goodness’ sake! I rented the house out before I got married. I just changed my name with the bank.”
The detective cleared his throat on the other end of the line. “I can speak to your insurance company if you want to send me your details. They should pay out on the loss now.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Hana scribbled his email address in a sloping left-handed font. She glared at Pete as he tried to read over her shoulder.
Logan came looking for her when she didn’t show up in the reception area. Still stinging from their earlier encounter, Pete stamped on his curiosity in favour of safety and left without saying goodbye. “I got worried,” Logan said, eyeing Pete’s dandruff laden seat and steering away. He reached for Hana’s hand and clasped his fingers through hers. The tender moment revitalised them both.
“Sorry.” Hana stood and looked around, noticing the absence of Pete and Sheila. “Oh. Everyone left.”
“What’s wrong, babe?” Logan drew her close and kissed her forehead.
“Too long to explain right now,” Hana sighed. “I’m so tired.”
“Yeah, you look beat.” Logan picked up her handbag and slipped his other arm around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Hana struggled to get comfy on Logan’s bare chest. The heavy cast kept slipping back and yanking her shoulder. She sat up with a sigh and leaned back against her pillows, supporting her forearm across her chest.
Logan’s eyes remained closed, his right hand resting on Hana’s bare thigh beneath the covers. She wrinkled her nose and listened to the sound of his steady breathing. “Logan,” she whispered, wincing in guilt as he opened his eyes and turned to face her.
“What?”
“Did you see Boris today?”
Logan scowled, ruining his handsome features with a brooding look. “From a distance. But no, I didn’t go near him.” He swore under his breath.
“Oh.” Hana gave a watery smile. “That’s probably best for now.”
“Come back under the covers.” Logan lifted the sheets and Hana smirked at the sight of his nakedness beneath.
“No. I can’t get comfortable.” She looked up at the darkening sky beyond the mountain. “I won’t sleep tonight if I nap now.”
Logan snorted. “I didn’t plan on napping, babe.” He patted the mattress next to him.
Hana shook her head. “Odering rang me at home time. The cops found my car.”
Logan’s eyes opened wider and his irises turned to granite. “When?”
“He didn’t say, but because I left it registered in my old name, he says it confused things.”
“That’s crap!” Logan folded his arms behind his head and sighed. “Where did they find it?”
“The gorge on the way to Waihi. They burnt it out so there’s no evidence.”
“Geez, what a mess. Oh, I forgot to tell you. Henrietta popped in to see me this morning. She gave me the spare keys to Achilles Rise and said it’s clean. When’s the biology teacher back?”
“Angus said he’s due home tomorrow.” Hana sighed. “His wife is staying on with her father for a while. I’m not looking forward to telling him what happened.”
“I already spoke to him on the phone.” Logan stroked her thigh. “Henrietta said most of the broken stuff looked like crockery and I gave her the cash to replace it while you were in hospital. They tipped out drawers and emptied bookshelves and she put it all back.”
“You spoke to him? What did he say?”
Logan snorted. “He wanted to know about his seedlings in the laundry. He’s growing lettuces for some experiment with the boys. Henrietta said she’d watered them a few times and they’re fine. He seemed happy with that.” Logan rolled his eyes. “Biologists, hey?”
“What is that guy’s name?” Hana closed her eyes and tried to force the memory. “I should know by now. I’ve spoken to him and signed a tenancy agreement with his name on it. It’s not a weird name but it just won’t stick.” Hana pulled the duvet up to her chin and covered her shoulder. She frowned at the cast. “I appreciate you breaking the bad news to him.” She sighed. “I’m so sick of my life.”
“These troubles won’t last forever.” Logan pushed his face into her side. “Henrietta wants a kitten now. She’s fallen in love with theirs.”
“What does Pete say?” Hana wriggled against his warm breath on her skin.
Logan nipped her silky flesh. “He’s allergic.”
Hana sighed and closed her eyes. “Hey, thanks for not making me go to your parents’ place.”
Logan opened one eye and squinted at her, keeping his expression neutral. “How do you know I still won’t?”
Hana bit her bottom
lip and stuck her chin in the air. “I guess you could try.” She squealed as he tickled her ribs.
Hana woke in real pain on Wednesday morning. She’d slipped down in the bed and woke herself up countless times by rolling over onto her right arm. “I should have taken the painkillers,” she grumbled. “I haven’t slept at all.”
“Stay home,” Logan argued as she banged into him at the sink. “Nobody would blame you.”
“Sheila would!” she retorted, cleaning her teeth one-handed and spitting toothpaste onto her blouse.
Hana struggled into the Honda, refusing her husband’s assistance and banging her arm twice. Logan remained patient, returning upstairs to set the burglar alarm that Hana forgot. She still managed to blame him. He dropped her at the main entrance of the school and drove back to the street near the gully, completing the twenty-minute hike back alone.
At the end of the first period, Logan ran into Boris in the corridor. The other man’s scrawny appearance shocked him. “What happened to your face?” He peered at the black bruising beneath Boris’ left eye and the deep cut on his lip.
“Ah, nussing.” Boris waved a hand to flick him off and tried to move past. “Just accident.”
Logan turned to watch as Boris limped away. “Oh, wait a minute.” He strode behind him and caught him up. “The rumours about Caroline and me aren’t true. I didn’t father her baby.”
“Nothing to do viz me.” A flash of misery crossed the crystal blue eyes and Logan sensed Boris’ inner agony. “Is your business.”
“No, it isn’t.” Logan stepped in front of him and forced him to halt. “It’s not my business, that’s what I’m telling you.” He dipped his head to peer into Boris’ face. “Mate, what’s wrong? I can help you.”
Boris snorted. “No, you can’t. Nobody can.” His composure slipped and his eyes welled with tears. Anxiety leaked from every pore.
He leaned closer to Logan and his voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ve made a terrible mistake, zer bad, zer, zer bad! You can’t help me now and you voudn’t vant to.” He whirled around, his body taut with pain. Logan opened his mouth to call after him but another sound grabbed his attention. From the other end of the corridor, a knot of boys gathered around a scuffle.
“Fight! Fight!” they chanted.
Logan projected his voice from deep in his diaphragm, causing the back row of spectators to peel away like a skin. “Enough!” he shouted and waded into the fray. He emerged gripping two flailing Year 10s by the backs of their jumpers. The crowd dispersed at the sight of his livid expression.
“Move on boys.” Gwynne Jeffs arrived to back him up, brandishing his detention slips in one hand like a weapon. Lagging troublemakers slunk away at the sight of the flapping green pages.
Logan hauled the two boys into the nearest unlocked classroom, pushing them down into chairs before letting go. Gwynne followed behind, closing the door with his foot. “You okay, Mr Du Rose?” he asked, his tone casual.
“Yeah, thanks.” Logan shot him a smile of appreciation. One boy clutched a bloody nose and Logan moved to the teacher’s desk to retrieve tissues. “Here, take this. Keep your head down, no, down. Let the blood drain.” The angry expression which steered them into the classroom left his face. It was an act perfected through practice. Boys fought. He knew that. But faced with an empty classroom and the presence of the adults, the seriousness of the situation sank into the culprits’ indignant brains. Logan began, his voice soft, “So, you can tell me what this is about, or you can tell the Year 10 dean.”
A look of shared horror passed between the boys. One of them groaned. “Not Dr Andrews, please sir.”
The boys nodded in agreement. The doctor’s propensity to counsel miscreants proved far more painful than punishment. It also took longer. They could kiss goodbye to every lunchtime for the rest of their lives, forced to sit in his office under watchful, bifocal eyes and talk about it. The boys eyed each other, neither wanting to crack first and get the story wrong.
Logan spun a chair around and sat astride it like a horse. He rested one arm across the back of the chair, his biceps straining through his shirt as he stared at them. His steel grey eyes bored into them one at a time. As the first one squeaked, the spell broke and they both called out at once. Logan held up his hand. “One at a time!” he exclaimed.
“You good here?” Gwynne asked, flapping his detention slips as he looked at his watch. Logan nodded.
“Yeah. I’ll send these two to the dean in a minute.”
Gwynne shook his head and left the room, muttering, “Poor buggers,” loud enough for the boys to hear.
“We’ll tell you,” one boy pleaded, glancing at his partner in crime. “But don’t send us to the dean.”
What they said in their efforts to extricate themselves made the blood in Logan’s veins run icy cold. Their tale drove him straight into Angus’ office the second he dismissed them.
“You’re joking?” Angus leaned back in his chair and let loose a torrent of swear words. “What a mess.”
“I need to sort this out myself,” Logan said, gnawing on his bottom lip and pacing the principal’s office. “This runs too deep for the witless band of plods down at the Hamilton police station. I’ll deal with it myself from here on in.”
“You can’t!” Angus protested. “There are processes, dear boy. They’re there for a reason.” He walked to his office door and poked his head through, summoning his assistant. “Ah, hello my dear. Please can you nip to the staffroom and send any aimless looking member of staff to Logan’s Year 9 English class? He needs urgent cover.”
She returned having dispatched Peter North. Her severe expression bore testament to Pete’s reluctance, but her strutting walk indicated victory.
“Hana thinks Boris is the father of Caroline’s baby.” Logan squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “That’s why he’s staying in New Zealand. Plus the fact he’s been looking mighty guilty.”
“Ah,” contributed Angus. He steepled his fingers against his chin but his expression gave nothing away.
Logan waited, expecting Angus to take the lead. Training horses taught him patience the hard way. Sometimes he drew on endless resources of the stuff from depths he didn’t realise he possessed. It could take hours to get an animal to trust him enough to put a bit in its mouth or a saddle on its back. Logan stilled his body, forcing himself to play the long game.
Angus returned Logan’s stare. “You’re a mystery, Logan Du Rose,” he mused. “You always were.” He sighed. “I think I’m losing my passion for teaching. I can attest to the fact there’s nothing new under the sun, but I’m rather tired of testing the adage.”
Logan wrinkled his nose. “Hana’s my priority, Angus. I care about nothing else.”
The principal folded his hands before him on the desk. “What do you suggest?”
“We need to speak to Boris.” Logan ran a hand through his hair. “That inconsequential fight turned into something sinister the second they mentioned my wife.”
“No,” replied Angus. “I will speak to Boris. I’m the principal.”
Logan sat back in his chair. His jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth. “Fine. You speak to him now and I’ll take him somewhere quiet and speak to him later.” Logan stood to leave. He jabbed a finger at Angus. “Then I’ll call my stepson to scrape him off the pavement and do some more talking with him!”
Feeling dwarfed in his chair by Logan’s height, Angus stood also. He opened his arms wide. “Logan, I understand how you must feel. He put your wife in dreadful danger with his actions, but he already showed a disinclination to speak with you. I may have more success in the short term.”
Logan stared the Scotsman down for a moment before acceding with a nod. He left the room and slammed the door behind him. Knowing Pete would struggle with the lively Year 9 class, Logan left him with them and headed up to see his wife.
Hana’s office swarmed with activi
ty. Logan stood in the doorway and watched her work. She knelt on the carpeted floor, bending over a huge piece of white cardboard. Tiny squares of coloured paper littered the surrounding area in an arc. She resembled a small girl with a complicated jigsaw and Logan experienced the dreadful weight in his chest that came with loving her. Her dark mahogany hair spilled from its clip, brushing her cheeks as she tipped forward. She reached out and moved a coloured square to another area. “That might work,” she muttered to herself. Logan’s heart clenched at her vulnerability.
Hana looked up, sensing his gaze. She started in fright and then smiled. He gave her a small wave, aware of the Year 13s studying behind him. “How’s it going?” He pointed to the cardboard in front of her.
“It’s a floor plan.” Hana sat back on her heels and knitted her brow. “Don’t you teach Year 9s this period?”
Logan grimaced and offered her his hand. She took it and hauled herself upright. “I love you,” he whispered, running his fingers up the side of her face. “Promise you know that.”
Hana nodded, distracted by the titter of laughter from the common room. Logan responded by kicking the door shut with his foot, raising a whoop from a Year 13 just outside. “I need to talk you.” He kept his voice low. Hana sensed his alarm and stiffened.
“What’s happened?”
“I’m taking you to the hotel this afternoon, Hana. You need to trust me.”
“No!” She wriggled free, wincing at the protest from her arm. “You can’t abandon me up there. You haven’t even told your family about the you-know-what. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Logan slumped into Hana’s office chair and put his head in his hands. “You still don’t trust me.”
Hana rested her good hand on her hip and Logan’s eyes studied her. Her face hardened with determination and his stomach roiled in foreboding. He took in the gentle swell of his child, hidden beneath too-tight trousers. Instinct screamed at him to kidnap her and force her to submit to his desire to keep her safe. “I’m not going.” She stuck her chin in the air. “You can’t make me.”