Mavis Levack, PI

by Marele Day

  Mrs Levack couldn’t believe her ears. Must proceed as planned . . . not good if they die. She hadn’t imagined all this, something dastardly was going on. It wasn’t murder, it was kidnap. They had kidnapped Mr Spackman, and another person by the sound of it. And this Japanese woman was in it up to her eyeballs. Mrs Levack stole along the corridor and back to the room.

  ‘It does sound odd, but you might be jumping to conclusions,’ whispered Eddy when she gave him a word for word description of the conversation. ‘Perhaps, you know, people make mistakes when they don’t have a firm grasp of the language.’

  ‘From what I heard her grasp was very good,’ said Mrs Levack grimly. ‘To think that I did that kidnapper’s washing!’

  ‘That’s a bit strong, Mavis. Give her the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘Where’s Mr Spackman then? Why isn’t he here looking after his guests? Because he’s been kidnapped. And that woman is tied up with it somehow.’

  ‘If they have kidnapped him, why haven’t we heard? Why haven’t they rung up and asked for a ransom?’ Eddy didn’t really want to play this game but it seemed the only way to jolt Mavis out of it.

  ‘The phone was ringing when we arrived. Then it rang again later but they hung up before I could answer it. Besides, the kidnappers wouldn’t necessarily ring here. He’s got relatives in Launceston!’ Mrs Levack announced with a sudden burst of inspiration. ‘Maybe they’re ringing them. Spackman’s not all that common a name, I’ll check them in the phone book.’

  ‘Hold your horses, Mavis. You don’t want to alert any more people than necessary. If they suspect someone’s onto them, then they really will kill him.’ Against his will Eddy could feel himself getting sucked in. ‘Look, the best thing for the moment is to act normally. We’re on holidays, we’ve got to look like we’re relaxing and enjoying ourselves. Now let’s get on with the spa.’

  ‘Quite right. We don’t want to arouse suspicion. I’ll take the clothes out of the dryer, then I’m all yours.’ Eddy looked at her from under his eyebrows, not quite convinced. ‘You just be careful, Mavis. Don’t go asking any leading questions.’

  Up the stairs came Mrs Levack with the bundle of washing, warm and cosy from the dryer. She knocked on the door of the fourth room and went in without being asked. The woman quickly put something away in her red bag and Mrs Levack caught a brief glimpse of the interior. All those little compartments, nicely padded—Mrs Levack wouldn’t have minded a bag like that herself.

  Mrs Levack plonked the clothes down on the bed. ‘I don’t know about Japan, but we’re all equal here, doesn’t matter whether you’re the cleaner or the boss. I’m Mrs Levack,’ she introduced herself, ‘but you can call me Mavis.’

  The woman smiled with closed lips. The bow of her head was almost imperceptible. ‘Masako Rampo. But you can call me Mrs Rampo.’

  So much for that, thought Mrs Levack. ‘Everything to your liking, Mrs Rambo?’ Mrs Rampo didn’t react to the mispronunciation. Mrs Levack, on the other hand, gloried in it.

  ‘It is all very nice. Thank you so much for enquiring. And now, I have many things to do. Thank you.’ She was giving Mrs Levack the hint to leave. But Mrs Levack wasn’t so keen to leave. She wanted to engage the woman in conversation, in the hope that she might let something drop.

  ‘That’s a very nice bag, Mrs Rambo.’ She reached for it but Mrs Rampo whisked it out of the way.

  ‘I didn’t mean to be presumptuous,’ apologised Mrs Levack. ‘I just wanted to see if it was real leather. I’m sure it is.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ snapped Mrs Rampo, on edge. The pesky old woman was beginning to get on her nerves. ‘Perhaps later one of the girls can give you a make-over. You have very nice skin, very white and smooth.’

  If ever there was a way to a wrinkle-conscious woman’s heart, this was it.

  ‘Thank you, dear. That’s Nivea, day and night for the last fifty years. When would be a convenient time?’

  ‘Tomorrow, in the afternoon?’ Mrs Rampo suggested.

  It was a pity it wasn’t tonight, before the visit to the casino, but Mrs Levack couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. ‘That’ll be lovely, dear.’

  What a nice woman. Perhaps Mrs Levack had jumped to the wrong conclusion about Mrs Rampo. Perhaps what she’d heard over the phone was about some hiccup in the travel arrangements. We must proceed according to plan. Yes, that would be it, discussing travel arrangements.

  The Levacks had quite a nice time at the casino. Eddy won twenty dollars and they both drank a little more than they should. Pretending to relax and enjoy themselves worked so well that they actually did relax and enjoy themselves. Eddy was right. There probably was a perfectly rational explanation for all this that would become apparent to them in the fullness of time.

  When she woke up in the morning the first thought that was able to find its way through the haze in Mrs Levack’s brain was why those blessed birds had to chirp so loudly. She rummaged around in her handbag looking for some Panadol. ‘Eddy,’ she nudged her husband. Eddy snored on. She got up, splashed water on her face, then tried again. Eddy was not to be woken for love or money. Perhaps Mr Spackman had some Panadol.

  Mrs Levack put on her nice new dressing gown, bought specially for the holiday, and went downstairs. She wasn’t really prepared for the sight that met her eyes. All the Japanese cosmetics ladies were sitting down eating cornflakes and toast. There were glasses of orange juice on the tables, and cups of tea. All the ladies’ bags were lined up in the foyer as if they were about to leave. And, through the window, Mrs Levack saw Mrs Rampo coming out of the garage, the very same garage that had been locked the day before. By the time Mrs Rampo walked into the dining room the bonhomie and mellowness of the night before had vanished and back were the icy tentacles of suspicion.

  ‘Are you leaving?’ asked Mrs Levack, trying to at least get that sorted out.

  ‘Yes, we’re leaving. After breakfast.’

  ‘What about my make-over?’ whined Mrs Levack in the voice of a child who had been promised a treat and found it withdrawn for no apparent reason.

  ‘Make-over?’ repeated Mrs Rampo, hurriedly drinking a cup of tea.

  ‘You said one of the ladies would give me a make-over. This afternoon,’ she emphasised.

  ‘Sorry, no time for make-overs now,’ said Mrs Rampo curtly. ‘You can make the beds, we have vacated the rooms.’ She headed back out to the garage.

  Mrs Levack grabbed one of the ladies’ umbrellas and scurried out after Mrs Rampo. ‘Mrs Rampo?’ Before the woman had a chance to turn around, Mrs Levack had given her a good whack across the back of the knees, causing her to drop to the ground like a felled tree. Goodness me, Mrs Levack hadn’t expected such a good result. It was just like in the movies. ‘What have you done with Mr Spackman?’ demanded Mrs Levack, the umbrella poised for more action.

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’ She was trying to sound tough but Mrs Levack detected the smell of fear.

  ‘If you don’t tell me where he is, I’ll whack you again. And this time it won’t be on the legs.’ Mrs Levack was in her stride.

  ‘You’re mad. Very mad.’

  ‘What’s going on here?’ a male voice asked gruffly. Mrs Levack looked up to see a youngish man, round face with a small mouth. He was carrying Mrs Rampo’s red bag.

  ‘So you’re the accomplice, eh? What have you done with Mr Spackman? He’s tied up in the garage, is he?’ Mrs Levack had time to take only one step towards her goal before the man blocked her way.

  ‘I’m Mr Spackman. And you?’

  ‘What . . . what do you mean?’

  ‘I’m Mr Spackman.’

  ‘Mr Bob Spackman?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But . . . but . . . I thought . . . Where have you been? Why weren’t you here looking after your guests?’

  ‘I had a bit of business to do in the country. I got delayed.’

  Mrs Levack could feel her whole life tumbling around her like
a house of cards. ‘But the note,’ she said lamely.

  ‘What note?’

  ‘By the phone—I can’t take any more.’

  ‘Oh that. It was a note to Maureen. The guesthouse was full, I didn’t have any more vacancies.’

  Oh why hadn’t she listened to Eddy, why oh why? She’d made a complete fool of herself, barging in like that, assaulting overseas visitors. They’d never be able to remain in the guesthouse now, the holiday was ruined. And it was all Mrs Levack’s doing.

  Mrs Rampo tugged at Mr Spackman’s sleeve, the red bag now snugly over her shoulder. ‘Bob,’ she said urgently, ‘the plane.’

  ‘I’m really, really sorry, Mrs Rampo. I’m really, really sorry I hit you with the umbrella, I’ll never do it again. Please accept my apologies.’ Mrs Levack reached out to shake hands with her.

  ‘Don’t touch that bag!’ yelled Mr Spackman. Mrs Rampo looked very hard at him, her lips pursed tightly. The moment was interrupted by the appearance of the rest of the cosmetics ladies, who were calling to Mrs Rampo and pointing to their watches. ‘We have to go,’ implored Mrs Rampo urgently, taking steps back towards the house.

  ‘The van’s out front,’ said Mr Spackman. ‘I’ll be there in a minute. And now, little lady,’ he said, turning his attention back to Mrs Levack, ‘I believe you were on the way to the garage.’

  Before Mrs Levack could do or say anything, he was frogmarching her to the garage. In vain she looked up at the window of the bedroom. The curtain lifted slightly in the breeze, she thought she detected the sound of Eddy’s snores. Then it was curtains for Mrs Levack.

  Mrs Levack couldn’t see a thing. Oh God no, she’d gone blind. She went to put a hand up to her eyes and the other one came up with it. They were tied together. She remembered the sharp jab of a needle and that was all. The more conscious she became, the more her head hurt. She really needed that Panadol now. Into her ears came a scratching animal sound. Into her nose, a pungent smell of ammonia and straw. Her eyes grew accustomed to the dark enough for her to make out the perimeter of light coming from around the blind. She was in the garage and she wasn’t alone. There were rats, scratching, and she could hear a strange rasping kind of squeak. It was just like in that book—‘1498’.

  She tried to shout out, ‘Help, Eddy, help!’ but all she could manage was ‘ha-e-ha!’ As if things weren’t bad enough already, Mrs Levack now realised that she had a gag over her mouth. She wanted to cry. She felt the tears pricking her eyes and her body started shuddering. Eddy, where are you? How can you sleep through all this?

  But Eddy was not sleeping. He was, in fact, looking for Mavis. His sleep had been disturbed by a lot of noise outside, a van finally driving away. ‘So much for a quiet holiday,’ he said, turning to Mavis. But his wife wasn’t in the bed beside him. All her clothes were still there, her handbag; the only thing missing was the new dressing gown. He got dressed. The last thing he wanted was for his wife to be wandering the streets of Hobart in her dressing gown. ‘Mavis?’ he called. No answer.

  He went down the corridor towards the stairs. The rooms that yesterday had been occupied by the Japanese ladies were vacated. ‘Mavis?’ He went downstairs. Not a soul in sight. It was the same as when they’d arrived, except now there was an even greater feeling of abandonment, as if everyone had just up and left. Breakfast things were still on the table. A few soggy cornflakes in the bottom of a bowl, half-finished cups of tea, cold toast popped up in the toaster waiting for someone to retrieve it. ‘Mavis?’

  Even Eddy was finally beginning to feel uneasy. Mavis was forgetful from time to time but she wouldn’t go out without taking her handbag. There was definitely something strange going on at this guesthouse. Everyone just disappearing down a black hole. He walked outside. ‘Mavis?’ Nothing.

  But she’d heard him. She tried to call out again but it was the same ‘ha-e-ha.’ She had to get his attention, bring him over in the direction of the garage. Though her hands and feet were tied, they weren’t tied down. Mr Spackman had been in a hurry to get to the airport, he wasn’t too fussed about trussing her up. He was counting on the injection keeping her quiet till he got back. Mrs Levack started moving as best she could in the direction of what appeared to be the window. If only she could get to the window, perhaps rattle the blind, Eddy might see the movement. If he was looking. ‘Mavis?’ It was louder now, he was coming this way!

  Suddenly in front of her was the blind. Mrs Levack prayed hard. She brought her hands to one edge of it and gave it a darn good shake. It must have been an old one. The blessed thing came right off its rollers.

  Eddy was just about to return to the house when something caught his eye. He looked towards the garage and gasped. There, framed in the window, was a woman with a wild look in her eye and a gag across her mouth. It was his wife! He raced over as fast as he could. ‘What are you doing in there?’ he mouthed stupidly. But Mavis, of course, couldn’t answer.

  He went around and tried the garage door. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. He fumbled for the light switch. And found it. What a sight greeted his eyes! Small marsupials in cages all over the place. Bottles of chemicals, test tubes and other things. Eddy saw it all in a sweeping glance. His first thought was to help his wife, his dear wife, standing there like a ghost. He grabbed a knife and freed her hands and feet. Then he ripped the masking tape from her mouth.

  ‘God, Eddy,’ she said, holding her hand to her mouth, ‘that’s worse than getting my bikini line waxed.’ But she was pleased to see him. She had never been so pleased to see him. She hugged him and hugged him till he thought he was going to burst.

  ‘It was so awful, you can’t imagine, being trapped in here with all those rats. At least they’re in cages, but I didn’t know that before.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Eddy leaning forward to have a closer look, ‘they’re Hypsiprymnodon moschatus. More commonly known as musky rat-kangaroo. An endangered species. What are they doing here?’

  ‘Mr Spackman is keeping them as pets?’ suggested Mrs Levack.

  ‘It would be cruel to keep them in cages. Besides, it’s illegal.’

  They stood there in stunned silence, waiting for the explanation Eddy said would eventually come. It arrived with a jolt. ‘Quick, Eddy, back in the house. We’ve got to phone the airport. We’ve got to stop them before it’s too late.’

  • • •

  ‘I always suspected Bob was up to no good. Ever since he stopped working for the National Parks and Wildlife Service,’ said the security guard at the airport. Hobart was a small town and everyone knew everyone. It was a small airport too, which meant that the customs officers didn’t have to go far to get to the departure gate. They made it just in the nick of time. Mrs Rampo and her red bag were lined up ready to board the plane when they apprehended her.

  It didn’t take the police long to get the story—illegal trade in musky rat-kangaroo embryos. Mrs Rampo was only the courier, she said. She dropped Mr Spackman in it as soon as she could.

  ‘Bioceuticals,’ said the police, ‘experiments with embryo tissue for cosmetic products.’

  Those poor little creatures, it turned Mrs Levack off make-up for life. Though she was sure Nivea wouldn’t stoop to something so heinous.

  As it turned out, Mavis and Eddy had to stay in Hobart to help the police with their investigations, so Eddy didn’t have a chance to go looking for Tasmanian tigers. But didn’t they have a story to tell when they got back home! There was even a small item in the newspaper about it, mentioning them by name. Mrs Levack was seriously thinking about getting new business cards printed up—Mavis Levack, P.I. Murder, kidnapping, international trafficking. No case too large or too small.

  The Case of the Disappearing Detectives

  The new digital clock was pulsing 0.17 when Eddy Levack took off his reading glasses and placed them on the bedside table. He rolled over, only to discover that his wife’s side of the bed was empty.

  ‘Mavis?’

  ‘Yes, dear. Won’t be a
minute,’ Mrs Levack called from the lounge room.

  Eddy watched several minutes flick by before calling again.

  ‘Yes, dear,’ Mrs Levack replied.

  Eddy was ready to turn off the bedside lamp and go to sleep. But he was a considerate kind of husband and didn’t want his wife stumbling to bed in the dark. ‘Are you all right?’ he called again.

  ‘I’m doing my Buddhist meditation,’ his wife replied. ‘You go off to sleep.’ As she started chanting Om, Eddy put out the light.

  The car had been parked in the back alley for three days. At every available opportunity Mrs Levack had binoculars trained on this very spot and the car had not moved one centimetre. For daytime work, Mrs Levack made do with Eddy’s old racing binoculars which hung from a peg in the lounge room, along with a few other items from yesteryear, but at the moment she was using the special night-vision binoculars that she’d saved up for and bought after seeing Silence of the Lambs on video.

  She was sure that the car belonged to Claudia Valentine—a dark green 1958 Daimler. There couldn’t be many of those in Sydney, in the whole of Australia for that matter. And here it was in Bondi, right outside Mrs Levack’s window.

  ‘What a coincidence,’ she muttered when she’d finished chanting Om. It was in Bondi that Mrs Levack had first met Ms Valentine, who’d one day, out of the blue, knocked on the Levacks’ door, strode into their lounge room and proceeded to question them regarding a murder victim. That encounter had changed Mrs Levack’s life irrevocably, set her on the path to private investigation.

  This raft of coincidences was given even further weight by the newspaper report entitled ‘The Case of the Disappearing Detectives’. It said that a growing list of private investigators seemed to be no longer on the case. It named names—including Claudia Valentine. Mrs Levack was a little disappointed that she herself wasn’t mentioned, but then she hadn’t really ever had a client. Most of Mrs Levack’s work was self-generated. She desperately wanted to be recognised as a professional, not a Miss Marple type of busybody. To be up there in the hallowed company of private eyes. In her heart of hearts, she wanted to be famous. Her name in the paper, even on the list of disappeared, would be a start.