Ghostly Hitchhiker Box Set

by Rodney Strong

  (No, ye’re not. That’s water bewitched.)

  He looked down at the spoon.

  (Ye have to let it sit, boy. They call it brewing for a reason. Otherwise they’d call it dunking a cup of tea.)

  Oliver plopped the spoon and tea bag back into the water.

  (Now let it sit for a few minutes. Do ye have a teapot? Proper tea comes in a pot, not a bag.)

  ‘Who has time for that?’

  (Ye sit around this house all day, ye’ve got nothing but time to make a decent cup of tea.)

  ‘Oh, I thought I should be doing more important things, like proving your great-whatever innocent of murder so you can sod off back to the great beyond.’

  (Aye, and ye can do that better with a proper drink. And careful with the milk. Ye’re trying to caress the tea, not drown it.)

  ‘Caress the tea?’

  (Just a little.)

  Deeply regretting his decision to have a hot drink, Oliver suffered through a further two minutes of detailed instructions on how to make the perfect cup of tea.

  Unfortunately for him, it was the best he’d ever drunk.

  Angus’s gloating took the pleasure off the experience.

  The cup was half empty when Oliver’s phone rang. He didn’t recognise the number.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hey, it’s George. The police have said I can go back into my flat and get some stuff. Want to come?’

  ‘Sure. I can pick you up on the way,’ Oliver replied, swiftly shutting down the laptop.

  ‘Nah, Mum is taking me, but she thought you might want to see where it…’

  ‘I’ll see you there in twenty minutes.’

  George clicked off. Oliver glanced at the laptop and briefly thought of the book outline he was meant to be finishing. Murder investigations weren’t good for productivity.

  With a sigh he put it out of his mind and raced to get dressed.

  Three minutes later, he jumped into the car and backed out of the garage. He was wearing yesterday’s socks (the only cleanish ones he could find), a T-shirt so old the picture on the front was a faded blob, and his shoes were unlaced. Only when he reached the end of his street did he remember he hadn’t shaved or brushed his teeth, or eaten breakfast. And perhaps there were a couple of lights still on in the house. However, out of the house so quickly was a new record.

  Twenty-five minutes later he pulled into a car park down the road from George’s flat. George and Louise were waiting outside, along with the same constable from the previous day.

  He appeared even less happy than he’d the day before. Oliver guessed he might have caught some flack from Detective Wilson over Oliver sniffing around the crime scene.

  Oliver smiled an apology, then turned to the McMurrys.

  ‘The cop has to come in with us,’ George said. ‘Just to make sure I don’t mess anything up.’

  ‘Fair enough. He’s simply doing his job,’ Oliver replied, receiving a disillusioned stare from the constable.

  They walked up the front steps in silence and the constable unlocked and, with a little difficulty, pushed open the wooden door.

  A narrow passage ran the length of the house, with doors off both sides. In fact apart from the small amount of furniture it was identical to the house next door.

  ‘You’re authorised to get some belongings from your room only, and I need to check everything that you take,’ the constable informed them.

  George nodded. His face turned pale and the sarcastic response Oliver expected from him never came. Louise took him by the arm and led him towards a door down the other end of the hall. Oliver followed them, the floor boards creaking with almost every step.

  The McMurrys hesitated and it was Oliver who turned the round metal door knob and pushed the door open, revealing a small room dominated by a king-sized bed. A double sliding door covered the length of one wall, and Oliver could see clothes and boxes through a gap. On the opposite wall a tiny desk sat under a narrow window. The desk was covered with text books and pieces of paper.

  ‘A change of clothes and some books for school,’ came a voice from behind them. The constable had clear instructions and was determined to carry them through.

  Louise brushed past Oliver, unfolding a small reusable shopping bag. She busily slid open the closet door, then randomly opened a drawer and pulled out a lacy silk bra. From his vantage point in the doorway, Oliver saw her face turn bright red as she hastily put it back.

  ‘The left-side drawers, Mum,’ George told her. His voice was faint, and a quick glance in his direction revealed a face blanched whiter than usual. He clutched the door frame for support. Over his shoulder the constable caught Oliver’s eye and twitched his head to the side. Oliver slipped around George into the hall.

  The constable retreated a few steps and Oliver went with him.

  ‘You got me in trouble yesterday.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Oliver replied. ‘That wasn’t my intention.’

  The constable waved a hand. ‘That detective is a stuck-up twat anyway. Tell me, are you really investigating the murder?’

  Oliver observed George rocking like the house was on water. ‘I owe it to the family to find out the truth.’

  ‘Good,’ the constable replied grimly. ‘If you find out who did it before Detective Wilson, then maybe he gets taken down a step.’

  Oliver nodded slowly, not sure where the conversation was heading.

  ‘I have to keep an eye on those two,’ he gestured with his head. ‘I can’t be expected to keep an eye on all of you, I’m only one man. Just stay clear of the bathroom.’ He glanced pointedly at the door they were standing outside. ‘That’s a crime scene.’ He peered at Oliver, satisfied his message had been delivered, before shouldering past Oliver to supervise the packing.

  (I like him.)

  Even for a cop?

  (He’s sticking it to the establishment, even though he is the establishment. That gets my respect.)

  For a moment Oliver was alone in the hallway.

  (Well, don’t stand here like a lump of coal.)

  He quickly pushed open the bathroom door.

  It was a tiny room, built in a time when people were smaller and had fewer bathroom products.

  (Aye, I had nowt but a straight razor and a toothbrush.)

  There was a sink, with a narrow wooden shelf above it, topped by a large mirror that had a crack in the bottom left-hand corner. A toilet sat against the wall opposite the mirror, and directly ahead of him was a claw-footed bath. Tucked next to the bath on the floor were several haircare and liquid soap bottles. The bath had a shower head above it, and a metal rail reached from one wall to the other. Several plastic rings hung from the rail, but there was no shower curtain. On the floor next to the bath were several thick dark stains.

  (Blood?)

  Oliver shuddered, then forced himself to look closer. No, I think it’s dried mud. Then he shuddered again when he realised it was part of the murder weapon.

  He glanced back into the hall, but no one was watching. On trembling legs he stepped forward. That one step took him almost halfway across the tiny room. He could clearly see more mud stains in the bath itself. His heartrate was increasing with every second.

  (Haven’t ye done this before? What about that lass ye helped last time?)

  I didn’t actually see the body last time.

  (Aye. And ye’re not seeing the body this time.)

  But I can see where it was.

  (Didn’t ye have lamb chops last night?)

  Oliver nodded his head slightly. What? So?

  (So ye had no trouble eating a dead animal, but ye get squeamish about an empty bath?)

  That’s so far away from being the same thing. He scanned the room, noticing a small scrap of material hanging from one of the shower curtain rings. It must have been ripped down.

  (Maybe she fought back.)

  Which means she was awake when…

  (Aye. Best not to think about it, son.)

  Then
don’t bring it up! Oliver suddenly felt like the room was running out of oxygen. He swiftly retreated, barely closing the door behind him before the others emerged from George’s bedroom.

  He noted three vastly different reactions. The cop had a questioning look, Louise was distracted, and George looked like he wanted to throw up all over the wooden floorboards.

  ‘Got everything you need?’ Oliver asked in a bright voice.

  ‘Yes, you?’ Louise answered.

  ‘Oh, I was just standing here,’ he replied lamely.

  The cop winked at Oliver, then adopted a stern face. ‘I hope you weren’t disturbing the crime scene, sir.’

  (It was bloody disturbing enough on its own.)

  ‘Not at all officer. Simply waiting patiently in the hallway.’

  ‘I think I’m going to –,’ George bolted for the front door, barely making it outside before violently vomiting all over the steps.

  ‘Bloody hell.’ The constable stared in disbelief at the mess.

  Louise threw her arm around George’s shoulder and glared at the constable, like her son’s vomit was entirely his fault.

  Oliver made the mistake of looking at the step and the chunky, steaming mess. He felt his own stomach twist. He’d never been good at seeing other people being sick. Jennifer’s morning sickness with Reed had been a very trying time.

  (Aye, it was probably no picnic for her either ye soft excuse for a man.)

  Oliver heard the constable trying to hustle the others out of the way so he could hose down the step. For a moment he was alone again in the hallway. As he tried to concentrate on deep breathing to settle his stomach, and thinking about anything but food, his eyes came to rest on a framed photo on the wall just inside the front door. In it, Ashley was sitting at a small metal table. It looked like she was outside a café, he could see other tables reflected in the window behind her. She was holding a coffee in her hand, like she was raising a toast to the person holding the camera. There was a sly smile on her face, a shared joke between two people captured forever in an image. She was wearing a grey singlet and jeans, and a laptop sat open on her table.

  (What’s wrong with ye?)

  For a moment Oliver didn’t know what Angus was talking about, then he remembered that the hitchhikers knew what he was feeling.

  Until now I just thought of her as a victim. I was only involved to get you out of my head. But that’s a person.

  (Aye, who did ye think was murdered?)

  Oh, be quiet. I mean I’m actually thinking of her as a person now. She looks so alive.

  (And?)

  And I’m going to find out who killed her, not for you or George, but for her.

  (Then get on with it.)

  The officer finished with the hose, and gestured for Oliver to exit the house. Even though the step was now clean, Oliver walked on the edges, not taking any chances.

  On the footpath, Louise turned to Oliver. ‘Well, did you learn anything?’

  ‘Where’s the shower curtain?’ he asked George.

  The boy shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It was there the morning Ashley died.’

  ‘What about when you found her body?’

  Another shrug. ‘I don’t remember. I don’t think so, but I wasn’t thinking about the shower curtain when I found her.’

  ‘Is that important?’ Louise asked.

  Oliver resisted the urge to shrug, the gesture obviously catching. ‘I’m not sure, but it’s not there now, and if it was gone the night you discovered Ashley, then it’s important. I’m not sure how yet.’

  ‘Anything else? I need to get George home, that was traumatic for him.’ Louise kept a tight grip on her son’s arm, but his colour was improving and he didn’t seem in immediate danger of passing out.

  Oliver thought quickly. ‘Did Ashley ever gossip?’

  George started to shake his head, then turned it into a shrug. ‘I mean, she used to talk about people, but she was never malicious about it. Why?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but the way she was found, in the mud, reminds me of the saying, dragging someone through the mud. Could be coincidence. But maybe someone thought Ashley defamed them and this was their response.’

  George’s eyes widened, but he was shaking his head the entire time. ‘That’s sick. Anyway Ashley wasn’t a bitch. She used to agonise about whether people took things she said the wrong way.’

  ‘Give it some thought, George. Let me know if any names spring to mind.’

  ‘Come on, honey, let’s get you home. Oliver, I hope to hear from you soon.’ Louise marched her son away.

  Oliver walked to his car and headed back home. Halfway there his phone rang, and he flicked the button on the steering wheel to answer it handsfree.

  ‘Hello, Oliver speaking.’

  ‘Hello, Oliver speaking,’ came a familiar voice. The last time he’d heard it, the woman had stripped her appearance and transformed in front of him like a magician. Then she’d disappeared.

  ‘Amanda.’

  ‘Have you heard from our mutual friend?’

  ‘Which one?’ Oliver could think of a few people, alive or dead, that fit that description.

  ‘The one who’s name I borrowed,’ Amanda replied.

  ‘No. She’s gone. I’ve got a whole new problem in that department.’

  ‘Really?’ she replied. ‘Well, that’s not the only problem you’ve got. Whatever you’ve been doing recently has attracted the attention of Victor.’

  (Who’s Victor?)

  Let’s just say he and your dad would have had a lot in common.

  ‘We need to meet,’ Amanda said.

  NINE

  Oliver arranged to meet Amanda first thing the next morning at a café in Wellington. When he told his wife about the phone call, he expected her to be suspicious. She’d never met Amanda, but he had told Jennifer all about her, making the mistake of taking his description of the woman one or two words too far. Jennifer wasn’t the jealous type, but that didn’t mean she was happy about Oliver describing how beautiful another woman was. In fact one of their last conversations on the matter had concluded with Jennifer warning him not to trust the con artist.

  To his surprise she nodded thankfully when he told her about the meeting. ‘Good.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You’re not exactly an expert in this area, at least she has experience dealing with unsavoury types. You could use her help.’

  ‘Detective Wilson wants to talk to her. I’m not sure how involved she can get.’

  Jennifer chewed on the end of her hair, a sure sign she was thinking. ‘Doesn’t really matter,’ she finally said. ‘You could use all the help you can get. But I want to meet her this time.’

  ‘Why? I mean, I told you there was nothing to worry about,’ Oliver replied.

  ‘I’m not worried. Because I’m going to meet her. I’m coming to your meeting.’

  Oliver’s gut told him it was a very bad idea. Worse case, Jennifer took an instant dislike to Amanda and he was caught between two annoyed women. Best case, Jennifer took an instant like to Amanda and he was caught between two women who were constantly pointing out his flaws.

  (For goodness sake, boy. Stop being a nyaff. Who cares what a woman thinks?)

  ‘Obviously not you, Angus. And what’s a nyaff?’

  (Someone who gets on me nerves. Me Mam was the only woman whose opinion mattered.)

  ‘Not your wife?’ Oliver asked. Jennifer raised an eyebrow.

  Angus was quiet for a moment. (She was a good woman, but she knew her place.)

  ‘What’s he saying?’ Jennifer asked.

  ‘That he was a sexist possible misogynist that wouldn’t last a day in today’s world.’

  (Oi!)

  Reed wandered into the room, fully awake despite having gone to bed thirty minutes earlier.

  ‘What’s up, buddy?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘I had a nightmare.’

  Oliver got to his feet and walked over to his son. ‘That would impl
y you went to sleep, which I don’t think you did.’

  Thanks to a recent growth spurt, his son was close to Oliver’s shoulder, and much to Jennifer’s disgust, was rapidly approaching the time when he would be taller than her. Despite eating from breakfast to bedtime, Reed was thin and wiry and never stopped talking except when his mouth was full of food. Even then, it wasn’t uncommon to get a glimpse of half-chewed crackers when Reed’s thoughts sometimes went straight to his mouth without filtering through his brain first.

  ‘A zombie was out to get me,’ Reed said.

  A what?

  ‘There are no such things as zombies, mate.’ Oliver put an arm around his son’s shoulder and steered him back towards his room.

  ‘But what if there are? It was in a book I was reading.’

  ‘I promise you, there are no dead people out to get you.’ They’re only out to get me.

  (Stop being paranoid. It’s not like I had a choice about who I got a ride with. I’d be happy with anyone.)

  Okay.

  (Anyone at all.)

  Okay! I get it.

  Reed made him check that the windows were closed and that no dead people were lurking in the wardrobe waiting to feast on his feet. Only then was he satisfied to let his father leave the room.

  No snide remarks about him being weak? He asked Angus as he walked back down the hallway.

  (You don’t mess with nightmares. Especially in children.)

  I’m surprised.

  (Aye, I’m not a monster.)

  ‘You’re a ghost, that’s pretty close.’

  ‘Honey, stop listening to the voice in your head and come and finish watching the show,’ Jennifer called out.

  ‘I love that you make that sound so normal,’ he replied, taking his place next to her on the couch.

  ‘What’s worse is that it’s not even the craziest thing said in this house,’ she pointed out.

  (What have I got meself into?)

  Oliver laughed.

  TEN

  The next morning after dropping the kids at school, Jennifer and Oliver drove into the city to meet Amanda. Oliver was visibly excited and nervous. The last time he’d interacted with Amanda she had dragged him kicking and screaming well beyond his comfort zone, and although it had been mostly terrifying, he also secretly enjoyed the encounter.