Oliver shot his wife a look that said you know why I’m doing this and Jennifer replied with one that either said we’ll talk about this later or eggs, milk, and cheese. Then again, that might have been the concussion talking.
The detective stayed for a few more minutes, repeated his recommendation that Oliver stay away from the investigation, then left.
‘I have to go too. I’ve got a meeting in thirty minutes,’ Jennifer said.
‘Oh. The doctor said I shouldn’t drive so I was hoping….’
‘Yes, I know what the doctor said. He and I had a long conversation before I came in, which is the only reason I’m not falling apart right now.’ Despite her words there was a waver in her tone.
‘I’m sorry, honey. You know I’d do anything to avoid getting hurt.’
Jennifer kissed him on the lips, then on the cheek. ‘I guess you’re closer to catching the murderer than you think.’
‘They seem to think so,’ he quipped, but Jennifer’s sour expression said his attempt at humour wasn’t appreciated.
She kissed him again. ‘Your other girlfriend will be waiting outside when you get discharged. Otherwise I wouldn’t be letting you out of my sight.’
He almost said which one, not trying to be funny, but genuinely having no clue who she was talking about.
(She’s talking about Amanda.)
You can’t possibly know that.
(Who else would be here to pick ye up?)
Lots of people. Maybe. Okay, it’s probably Amanda.
As Oliver stepped out the front door of the emergency department into the afternoon sun, a mandarin coloured Mitsubishi Mirage swung into the loading bay. The passenger window hummed down and Amanda leaned over from the driver’s side.
‘God, you’re annoying sometimes,’ Oliver said.
‘Thanks very much,’ Amanda replied as he opened the door and slumped into his seat.
‘I wasn’t talking to you.’
‘I’ll chalk your grumpy attitude up to almost being killed.’ She pulled out of the hospital driveway and merged with the crawling traffic.
‘Sorry. I’ve got an incredibly large headache.’
‘I’m not surprised. You had me a little worried, Oliver. When I saw you in the bath…’
He glanced over to see the beginning of a tear in the corner of her eye, but she blinked rapidly a few times and it was gone.
‘A con artist with a heart of gold? Isn’t that bad for business?’
She flashed him a grin. ‘You’re thinking of hookers.’
‘Don’t tell my wife I’m thinking of hookers,’ he laughed, immediately wincing as his head wound throbbed.
‘What was in that suitcase?’ She wondered, driving through the tunnel and onto the motorway.
‘The detective isn’t convinced the suitcase is linked to the attack.’
‘But what do you think?’
‘I think the odds of some random person breaking into the house and attacking me just as I’m looking for a piece of evidence in a murder investigation are low.’
‘So what was in the suitcase?’ Amanda repeated.
‘Something incriminating,’ Oliver considered.
(Aye, like a note saying I done it.)
‘Which is now probably buried or burnt or similarly disposed of. But why take the whole case, why not just what was in it?’ Amanda said.
Oliver’s headache was getting worse and he wanted to stop thinking about the investigation and everything else.
‘Did the doctor say anything about you sleeping?’ Amanda asked.
‘Yes, to do as much as possible,’ he replied, closing his eyes, only to open them a few seconds later. ‘The way I figure it, there are only three viable options for what happened. One, the killer found out from George what I was doing at the house. Two, the killer found out from, or is, Sean. Three, the killer was following me.’
‘Or four, the killer was watching the house. Or five, the killer happened to arrive at the same time as you and thought they’d take the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Sorry,’ Amanda added. ‘Poor choice of words.’
‘So which is it?’ Oliver asked tiredly.
‘We work the percentages, Oliver. It’s unlikely the killer would pick that exact time to go to the house, and know what you were doing, and have the quick wits to attack you. It’s also unlikely you were being followed. Although if you were that means you’re closer to finding out who killed Ashley than you think.’
‘I’m glad other people think so,’ Oliver muttered.
‘And the killer watching the house doesn’t make sense. No one was there so what were they watching?’
‘Unless the killer lives next door.’
(Aye, that giant of a man could easily lift ye into the bath.)
‘Right,’ Amanda agreed. ‘So we’re left with Sean being the killer, he waited for you to go into the house, followed you, and attacked you. Or the killer found out from George.’
Oliver closed his eyes again for a few seconds. Only to open them when a hand shook his arm. ‘I don’t know which it is,’ he said. He realised the car had stopped and blinked a couple of times, recognising they were parked down the road from the kids’ school.
‘What…?’
Amanda took her hand off his arm. ‘You blinked for about fifteen minutes.’
‘Sorry.’ He rubbed his eyes with his hand.
‘I’d let you sleep, but I’m guessing from my limited knowledge of schools, they won’t let me pick your children up. Stranger danger and all that.’
Oliver struggled to kickstart his brain. Angus offered to help with a cold blast but he took a deep breath instead. ‘You’re going to help pick Rose and Reed up?’
‘Unless you want me to stay in the car, but I’m not sure you could be trusted to bring the right children back with you.’
‘I think I can recognise my own children.’
‘Still, I think I’ll come with you,’ she replied, unclipping her seat belt.
Oliver joined her on the sidewalk, wishing he had sunglasses, and hoping the stitches and bandage on the back of his head weren’t too obvious.
(Just tell them ye cut yeself shaving.)
On the back of my head?
(I’m sure they’d believe it.)
In the end collecting the children was a painless exercise, and they didn’t even notice daddy’s injuries, which given their ages and the height difference, he was prepared to let go. A few parents looked like they were about to ask something but as soon as they opened their mouths, Amanda slipped her arm through Oliver’s and flashed them a brilliant smile.
‘They’re going to think something is going on with us,’ he whispered through clenched teeth.
‘I know. Imagine how it’ll brighten up their parental lives,’ she replied in an equally conspiratorial tone. ‘And whispering isn’t helping,’ she added with a laugh.
They almost got away without talking to anyone, but just before the bell rang Oliver heard his name. He turned and stifled an internal groan when he saw Wendy striding up, her eyes darting from Amanda, to Oliver, to their interlocked arms.
‘Are you alright? I saw the bandage on your head,’ Wendy asked, immaculately dressed as always. She glanced at Amanda and her eyes narrowed and smile dimmed slightly.
‘Mr Atkinson is fine,’ Amanda replied for him in a fake American accent. ‘Hi, I’m Trixie, the Atkinson’s new nanny.’ She thrust out her hand and Wendy stared at it for a moment before gripping it lightly.
‘Wendy. I’m Shauna’s Mum. Nice to meet you.’ She gazed sternly at Amanda’s arm which was still linked with Oliver’s.
‘We have a very close working relationship,’ Amanda told her.
‘Mmm. And how is Jennifer, Oliver?’
‘Busy at work,’ Oliver said truthfully.
‘Not too busy I hope,’ Wendy sniffed, before suddenly waving across the courtyard and disappearing amongst the parents.
‘You’re destroying my reputa
tion,’ Oliver said without fire. He was too used to Amanda springing things on him to be anything other than mildly irritated.
‘Or am I enhancing it amongst the mothers?’
‘Nope, definitely destroying. I better tell Jennifer before the grapevine does.’
The bell rang loudly and Amanda withdrew her arm as children streamed from classrooms.
Rose and Reed were less interested in the lady with their dad and more interested in who’s turn it was for Oliver to watch their after-school activity. Reed was due at cross-fit at exactly the same time Rose had a dance class, five kilometres apart. Oliver usually scrambled to drop one off and get the other there on time, and he took turns watching them.
It was only after they’d walked back to the car that Oliver realised Amanda had no booster seats in her car for the children. He was about to say something when she opened the boot and pulled out two seats. He recognised them as being from his car by the food stains.
‘Should I ask how you got those?’
‘Do you really need to?’ she replied with a smile.
He got his revenge by telling the kids to call her Aunty Amanda, and grinning at the uncomfortable look on her face.
‘What happened to your head, Dad?’ Reed finally asked.
‘Cut it on something, buddy,’ he replied reassuringly. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Reed rapidly moved onto other topics, chattering about his best friend falling over at lunchtime and asking for takeaways for dinner almost in the same breath.
‘Angus, how did Daddy get hurt?’ Rose asked.
‘Daddy already told us, stupid.’
‘Dad! Reed called me stupid,’ Rose complained, like her father wasn’t sitting centimetres away and could hear everything.
‘Reed, you know we don’t use the word stupid. It’s a mean word.’
(Why not? If someone is stupid then ye should tell them.)
Okay. Stop being stupid. And no telling Rose anything about what happened today.
(Sorry kid, your dad won’t let me say.)
‘Anyway her name is Amanda, not Angus. Angus is a boy’s name,’ Reed told his sister in a superior tone.
‘Aunty Amanda, are you our real aunty?’ Rose said.
Amanda squirmed in her seat and Oliver enjoyed every second. The woman who could smoothly lie her way through any situation was sweating a grilling by a seven-year-old.
‘Not really. I’m a friend of the family.’
‘Angus, is that true?’
‘Who’s Angus?’ Reed asked.
(Aye, she and yer mum and dad know each other.)
‘Rose, stop asking Angus things. If you want to know something then ask me or your mum,’ Oliver said.
‘Okay,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘Can Aunty Amanda take me to dance?’
‘Aunty Amanda would love to take you to dance,’ Oliver said quickly before she could object.
‘Uh sure, honey, that’d be great.’ Amanda muttered, as Rose, satisfied, turned her attention back to torturing her brother.
‘Payback is a B-I-T-C-H,’ Amanda spelled, in a low voice.
‘What’s a bitch?’ Reed asked.
‘You know they can spell, right?’
‘I do now,’ Amanda muttered.
‘It’s a bad word, buddy, like stupid, and Aunty Amanda is sorry she said it,’ Oliver informed his son.
He managed to drag out her discomfort for a good hour, until she dropped them home after the children’s activities. Angus loved every minute of it and Oliver felt like he earned some man card points with his hitchhiker. Until he referred to them as man card points, at which stage he lost them all again.
Oliver delayed the difficult conversation with Jennifer until bedtime, first by busying himself with dinner and children’s bedtimes, and then pleading a sore head.
When he exited the ensuite after brushing his teeth, Jennifer was waiting expectantly in bed. He moved the cat, who was taking up as much space as possible on his side, climbed into bed beside her and recounted everything that had happened that day.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Do you remember last year on my birthday we had people around and I drank half a bottle of vodka and spent the next day throwing up? It’s somewhere between the headache I get from the kids fighting and that.’
She stroked his cheek and sighed. ‘I don’t like any of this. I know Angus isn’t going away until this thing is resolved. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. So I don’t want you going anywhere alone in this investigation anymore. Is that clear?’
He nodded.
‘Keep Amanda close and if it gets dangerous you make sure you get out of there a little faster than her.’
‘That’s always my plan,’ he said, although he knew neither of them meant it.
(Then let’s hope Amanda is a slow runner.)
You don’t fool me, Angus. You wouldn’t leave her behind any more than I would.
(Shut up.)
By the way, thanks for saving my life. If you hadn’t blasted me with cold I doubt I would have woken up in time.
(Aye, well ye’re my ride so I need to make sure ye get me to the end.)
Sure. It’s not because you like me or anything.
(Shut up.)
You’re repeating yourself.
(Because ye’re not listening.)
Oliver smiled in the darkness and promptly went to sleep.
THIRTY ONE
His head still hurt the next morning, but his brain was working well enough to perform his usual duties: preparing lunches, making sure the kids wore appropriate clothing (which involved rejecting both their first choices of outfit), and then getting them off to school.
On the way home, Louise rang to check on him.
‘I’m fine. Just a bump,’ he lied.
‘I never expected this to happen. I didn’t think that you would be in danger.’
(Another woman wanting to mother ye.)
Give it a rest, Angus.
‘Let’s look at the positives instead, shall we?’ Oliver said to Louise.
‘I can’t believe there are positives in a near death experience.’
‘Not for me, but for George. Was he at home with you all morning?’
‘Yes, what does that…oh. Oh,’ she repeated excitedly.
‘Exactly. If he was at home with you, he has an alibi for attacking me, which means that, unless he’s working with a partner — and I don’t believe he is,’ he hurriedly added, ‘then it means he’s not the killer.’
‘How wonderful! I’ll call that detective right away. If only this had happened a week ago.’
Oliver didn’t reply and after a few seconds she must have realised what she said.
‘Not that I want you…I meant…oh dear. I’m glad you’re okay, Oliver, but this is exciting news.’
Oliver pulled into the driveway and switched off the engine. ‘I agree, it’s exciting for George. But I would let your lawyer talk to the police. He’ll be able to present it in a less…’
‘Emotional way?’ Louise finished.
Oliver scratched his head and scrunched up his face. ‘Sorry.’
‘No, you’re quite right,’ Louise said, her voice completely calm. ‘I’ll call the lawyer now.’
‘And Louise, this doesn’t put George in the clear. The police will come up with multiple ways to explain this. But it’s a good start.’
‘Thank you, Oliver. I’m glad you’re alright.’
She hung up and Oliver stared at his face in the rear-view mirror. Now that the flushed cheeks were subsiding, his face was pale and there were suitcase-sized bags under his eyes.
(Nothing a good breakfast wouldn’t fix.)
‘Yes,’ Oliver said, turning his head from side to side to get a better look. ‘I was almost killed yesterday, have a spirit riding around in my head, and in an hour I have to go on the radio and talk about my book and hope I don’t come across as a gibbering idiot. But yes, you’re absolutely right, some bacon and eggs will fix
everything.’
(Not everything. That sarcasm won’t be going anywhere soon.)
Oliver sighed and his stomach rumbled. Now that he’d said the words, he couldn’t stop thinking about a hot breakfast, or the fact that there were no eggs or bacon in the fridge at home.
Luckily there was a café two minutes away, where he ordered bacon, eggs, and threw in a hash brown and sausages for good measure. Angus was disappointed they didn’t have black pudding on the menu, even though Oliver told him there was no way he was eating a sausage made with blood.
When his meal arrived, Oliver’s stomach greeted it loudly enough to warrant a look from the waitress. He ignored her and tucked into the full plate of food instead. Ten minutes later, he used the last of the bread to wipe up the final puddle of egg yolk, and muffled a burp behind his hand.
Back in the car he couldn’t help checking his face in the mirror. Sure enough there was more colour in his cheeks.
His radio interview went well — at least Mary his publisher thought he’d done a reasonable job when she called him straight after. He’d managed to answer all the questions, and sound both witty and intelligent. It couldn’t have done his book sales any harm. Mary reminded him that he had another interview the next day with the local weekend paper and Oliver promised to perform equally well.
By the time all this was over it was late morning and he’d barely thought about the day before or the case.
(Are we any closer to the end? We already knew George didn’t do it. Yesterday confirmed that.)
‘We already knew that George didn’t do it, but the police were equally sure he did, so yesterday was helpful from that point of view.’ Oliver opened the fridge and stared at the empty shelves. Along with bacon and eggs, they were also out of vegetables, cold meat, and unexpired milk. He’d fire the shopper if it wasn’t him. The empty shelves were dirty and reluctantly he pulled one out and wiped it clean.
(I bet Sherlock Holmes never interrupted an investigation to clean the kitchen.)
‘No, he would have got Dr Watson to do it.’
When he replaced the sparkling shelf in the fridge it highlighted how unclean the other two shelves were. He solved that problem by closing the door.
Picking up the keys he headed for the car with the intention of driving to the supermarket to restock the house. Before he could pull out of the garage his phone rang.
Ghostly Hitchhiker Box Set Page 43