Monty whined and nudged her hand with his nose. She absentmindedly scratched the top of his head.
‘She died instantly, at least that’s what they told me. I’ve spent the rest of my life trying to bury the guilt that I might have caused it somehow. Everything I’ve done since then, school, career, it’s all been coloured by Debbie’s disappearance and Brigid’s death.’
(It wasn’t her fault. I should have watched where I was going.)
‘I’m sure she doesn’t blame you,’ Oliver said.
Beth waved her hand irritably. ‘Who cares what a dead girl thinks. I blame me. And now you’ve presented me with a conundrum.’
(What’s a conun…what she said?)
‘In what way?’
Beth’s face hardened and she jabbed Oliver in the chest with a finger. ‘Because Debbie was wearing the earrings the night she went missing, and we only found one. And now you’re saying that her best friend, one of the last, if not the last, person to see her alive, buried the other one in our backyard? None of this makes sense, but you better start making some or I’ll feed you to Monty.’
The dog responded to his owner’s change in tone by issuing a deep growl. Oliver took a step back.
Do you know what happened to her sister?
(It’s a bit tricky to explain.)
‘I can’t explain it. I need a bit of time.’ To ask some questions.
(I’ll tell you everything, I promise.)
‘Do you know what I did for a living? Of course you don’t, silly question, we’ve only just met. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said everything in my life has been influenced by what happened, including my career,’ Beth said. ‘You see I’m quite adept at spotting liars, even if I’m retired now. I’ve had them all in front of me over the years.’
That surprised him. She looked way to young to be retired.
(That sounds like something that my teacher used to say.)
Oliver had a sinking feeling it was way worse than that.
‘It’s an occupational hazard when you’re a District Court judge.’
Crap.
FIVE
(Oohh, you swore again. I’m telling.)
Who? Who are you going to tell?
(Rose.)
‘Do you think I’m lying?’ Oliver said to Beth.
She nodded. ‘I think you’re not telling me the entire truth, which is a problem. Especially given this,’ she held up the earring.
Oliver considered and discarded several responses. No matter which way he worded it, short of telling a former judge that he was carrying the spirit of her sister’s friend in his head, there was no way to get out of this without appearing like a mad man.
‘For a start you know my name. I only told you my name was B, and you called me Beth.’ She noted the look on his face and smiled grimly. ‘Didn’t think I’d notice that did you? Secondly, you talk about some mysterious letter, but I’m guessing you’d struggle to produce it if I asked.’
(She’s scary good.)
‘I don’t know what happened to your sister,’ Oliver said. ‘But I’d like to find out.’
‘Why? It’s been forty years. Knowing what happened all those years ago wouldn’t make a difference now,’ Beth said with another sniff.
‘Now who’s lying?’ Oliver said, then promptly held his breath and waited to see if he’d gone too far.
‘You’re impertinent.’
(What’s that mean?)
‘But I’m right,’ Oliver pressed on. ‘You said it yourself, your entire life has been shaped by Debbie’s disappearance.’
Beth suddenly looked tired and she walked over to the kitchen counter so she could lean against it. Bright sunlight streamed in from the window behind her, casting shadows on her face as she looked over at the internal door again.
Out of curiosity Oliver went and examined the frame. Faint marks started at his chest height and intermittently counted down towards the floor. He squatted, and squinting hard could just make out names and ages. The early years had two names leapfrogging each other, as the sisters got older. He could imagine the competition of seeing who was taller. Debbie’s name abruptly ended at eight years old, a fraction taller than her sister. At age six Brigid’s name appeared a couple of times. She was slightly shorter than her friend. Beth’s ended at eleven years old, and Oliver guessed the fun had gone out of it once her sister had gone.
‘Others have tried, over the years.’
He looked at Beth, who was stroking Monty’s head, and judging by the goofy look on his face he was loving it.
‘It’s still trotted out every now and then as an unsolved case. That psychic show on TV, you know the one, where a bunch of quacks use trickery and gullibility to convince the audience they can solve a murder that trained police officers couldn’t.’
Well, that made the decision not to tell her about Brigid being in his head a lot easier.
‘When my parents were alive they would get at least one enquiry per year from some journalist or author who wanted to write a book about it. They agreed to it once, but the guy turned out to be a sensationalist hack, looking to prove my father had killed Debbie. And before you ask, he didn’t. The police always look at the parents first, especially the father, and my Dad was in Christchurch the day she vanished.’
(He was a nice man. Would sneakily give me pocket money too when he gave Debbie hers. People are stupid if they think he did anything to Debbie.)
‘Stupid is a mean word,’ Oliver said automatically.
‘Excuse me?’ Beth replied.
‘Oh sorry, thinking out loud.’
‘Shall I tell you what I think? I think you’re related to the man who took Debbie. You’re too young to have done it yourself, what are you, early forties?’
‘Thirty-nine,’ he replied, making a mental note to take care of the grey hairs that had begun to establish themselves amongst the brown on his head.
‘So maybe… father? Left a deathbed confession and you didn’t know whether it was true or not so you thought you’d come and dig into it, so to speak. Am I right? Was your father a child abductor?’ Her voice had risen with every word, and by the end she was shouting. Monty leapt to his feet and started barking. Oliver fell backwards and scrabbled into the hallway to get away from the advancing dog.
(Monty, stop.)
Monty ignored her this time, throwing in a couple of growls between barks.
‘Monty, stop!’
He came to a halt upon hearing his owner’s voice. Looking over his shoulder he whined, which Oliver interpreted to mean, “Can’t I have one bite?”.
Beth called him again and Monty reluctantly retreated to sit beside her. Oliver cautiously got to his feet.
(Wow, that was scary.)
His heart agreed with her. He held his hands up in what he hoped was a placating manner and not an invitation for Monty to bite one off.
‘My father had nothing to do with your sister’s disappearance. But I do want to help find out what happened to her.’
Beth hesitated, which he took as a good sign.
‘The worst result is no result. The best scenario is that maybe I can give you some peace.’
A troubled look crossed her face, and she sighed. ‘I should call the police.’
‘You’re within your rights to do so,’ he replied. Please don’t call the police, he thought. God, how would Detective Wilson react?
(Who’s that?)
A police officer who already thinks I’m a nuisance.
‘But technically you haven’t broken any laws, and while there isn’t a statute of limitations on a murder charge, like I said, you’re too young to have done anything yourself. So if there’s a chance, even a tiny one, that you can find some answers then…’
(She’s going to say yes. She has to say yes. That’s why I’m here.)
‘What’s your surname?’ Beth said.
‘Atkinson,’ he replied.
‘Alright, Oliver Atkinson, I may no longer be on the jo
b, but I still know some people. I’m going to find out if you’re trustworthy and let’s be clear. If I find out anything that even hints at subterfuge, I will bury you. And I don’t mean that figuratively.’
(Why does she keep using words I don’t understand?)
Oliver’s first reaction was amusement, then disbelief, then discomfort, then a slight feeling of relief that he’d never come before her in court.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied.
‘Don’t call me ma’am. In fact, don’t call me at all unless you find something useful.’ Beth went over to her handbag, rummaged around and extracted a business card which she handed over. ‘Here’s how to reach me. You can go now, the clock is ticking Mr Atkinson.’
He thought it an odd thing to say but she had already turned her back and resumed scrubbing the counter. Monty stared at Oliver for a moment longer, then lay down and put his head on his front paws.
Oliver hesitated for a moment. ‘Don’t you want to know how to get hold of me?’
Beth’s hand paused mid scrub. ‘Believe me, Mr Atkinson, by the time you get home I’ll know everything I need to about you.’
Short of talking to her back, Oliver decided a graceful exit was his best move. Instead he slipped on a patch of dog drool in the middle of the floor, which sent his foot sliding one way, while the other stayed in place, and he fell to the ground in a half splits, half collapse move.
He knew Brigid was laughing at him, but he could swear Monty was laughing at him also.
‘I like cats better,’ he told the dog.
SIX
(Am I in trouble?)
Oliver hadn’t said a word on the walk back to the car, or the beginning of the drive home.
‘You lied to me. Multiple times,’ he said through gritted teeth.
(I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d help me.)
‘You didn’t think I’d help you dig up a stranger’s back garden to retrieve evidence in a possible homicide? I can’t think why not...’
(Because it’s…)
‘I know why not. I was being sarcastic.’
(Oh. Sorry, Oliver.)
Not for the first time since he’d started picking up hitchhikers, he wished that Amanda was here. She was a con woman by profession, and as she repeatedly told him, very good at her job. Amanda would have had both Beth and Monty eating out of her hand, and Brigid singing her praises, but the last he’d heard she was in Australia working.
Oliver took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then let it out slowly. He noticed his knuckles were white on the steering wheel and wriggled his fingers to relax them. ‘Let’s start from the beginning. Do you know what happened to Debbie?’
(No, I swear.)
‘So why don’t you tell me what you do know,’ he said calmly.
(Debbie and I went to the park, just like we did every weekend. And we went home and I never saw her again.)
‘What else?’
(Nothing, I don’t know any more.)
‘What about the fact that you had Debbie’s earring? Or that according to her sister, you two always walked back to her house together.’
(Oh. Well, Debbie gave me the earring, and I wasn’t feeling well, that’s why I didn’t go back to her house.)
‘Brigid. I can’t help you if you lie to me all the time.’
(I’m not!)
‘So now we’ve dug up your present, is that it? Over to the cemetery?’
Brigid didn’t reply.
‘No,’ he muttered. ‘That would be way to easy.
They rode in silence for a while. Oliver had enough experience with his own kids to know when to push things and when to leave them alone. Eventually there was a sound like air escaping and his left inner ear tickled at the sensation. It took him a moment to understand that Brigid had sighed.
(I wanted the earring and she wouldn’t give it to me. We went swimming and she put it in her bag, and I got out before her and while she wasn’t looking I took it. I thought I’d feel good but I didn’t. As we were walking home I got this feeling in my stomach, like I was going to throw up. When we got to the end of her street I felt so bad I told her I had to go. By the time I got to my house I knew she’d be mad so I went straight to bed instead. If I’d gone back I might have seen what happened to her. I might have stopped it.)
‘Or you might have disappeared as well,’ Oliver pointed out.
(Oh… Oh! I hadn’t thought of that. Anyway after she’d gone I felt so terrible I snuck into her back garden and buried the earring. I thought it’d make me feel better.)
‘Did it?’
(No.)
‘Did the police question you?’
(Sure. And Debbie’s parents, and my parents, and everyone at school, and the man at the local dairy. Everyone wanted to know what I knew.)
Oliver heard a faint tinge of pride in her voice, and thought all that attention was like gold to a nine-year-old.
(I didn’t like it!)
Oliver tried to squash his sceptical feeling, but Brigid had obviously picked up on it and stubbornly refused to discuss anything further. Far from being annoyed, Oliver enjoyed the peace while it lasted. Which was until he got home.
‘All sorted?’ Jennifer asked, when he walked into the kitchen. She was supervising Reed doing some baking. It was a much less messy task now he was almost nine, and there was definitely more flour in the bowl than on the counter or floor. Now it was making sure that the right amount of ingredients was added. Oliver still remembered the cheese scones Reed had made a few months ago with a tablespoon of salt rather than a teaspoon. The taste test had made for some interesting facial expressions, and one brutally honest assessment from his sister.
‘Tell you later,’ he said.
His wife turned her attention towards him, long black hair falling over one eye. She raised a flour covered hand and pushed the hair from her glasses.
‘What are you making?’ Oliver asked cheerfully, deliberately ignoring her gaze.
‘Brownies,’ Reed replied.
Oliver couldn’t help wishing that his son showed the same level of concentration for his school work as he did for pouring out a teaspoon of vanilla essence.
‘Yum,’ he said.
‘They’re not for you, Dad. They’re for Mum’s work,’ Reed told him.
‘Right, mix that and we’ll pour it into the pan and put it in the oven. Then I need to have a chat with your father.’
‘Okay, Mum.’
Five minutes later the kids were in front of the TV, the brownie was in the oven with the timer set for thirty minutes, and Jennifer led Oliver down the hallway to their bedroom.
‘Is she still here?’ Jennifer asked.
‘Yes.’
‘So not a simple retrieval then.’
Oliver shook his head and his wife sighed and lay down on the bed. He lay next to her and stared at the ceiling.
‘The bad news is that there is a slightly larger possibility that there’s been a murder.’
‘Oh for g…’
‘But the good news,’ Oliver hurried on, ‘is that it happened forty years ago so not much chance of anyone trying to kill me this time.’
‘Which is also the bad news,’ Jennifer replied.
He turned his head in surprise. He knew she was going to take it badly but this was unexpected.
‘Not that no one will try and kill you, you spoon. That it happened forty years ago. Because if our experience with hitchhikers has shown us anything, it’s that they don’t leave until the job’s done. And it sounds like the trail in this case is frigid.’
He resumed his study of the ceiling. ‘Bugger. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘No. You better tell me everything.’
It didn’t take long to fill her in.
‘Mmm. There was a judge called Beth Judkins who retired a few months ago. I vaguely recall something online.’ She reached down beside her bed and came up empty handed. ‘Where’s my iPad?’
‘It’s five o�
��clock in the afternoon and you expect it to still be beside the bed?’
With a sour look, Jennifer disappeared down the hallway and returned carrying her iPad. Resuming her position on the bed she tapped away in silence, read something, then showed it to Oliver.
Oliver read the article announcing the retirement of Judge Beth Judkins, respected by lawyers and feared by career criminals for more than ten years. The story touched on the disappearance of her sister, and how that event had shaped her career path, but mostly it focussed on her role in several high profile cases over the years.
(How can those words be on that thing?)
‘Having met her I can say that she’s every bit as formidable as this suggests,’ Oliver said.
(Ha ha, she had your number.)
‘Be right back,’ he told Jennifer.
He stood up and walked into the ensuite, closing the door behind him.
(What are you doing?)
‘Going to the toilet?’
(Eww, I don’t want to see that.)
Oliver paused. He hadn’t thought about that and suddenly felt very self-conscious. He jiggled on the spot as the urge became stronger. Finally he had an idea. Closing his eyes he fumbled with his pants then sat down on the toilet.
(I can still hear it!)
‘Then sing something or block your ghost ears, but this is happening.’
Brigid immediately started singing loudly. Oliver was so startled his bladder froze like a deer in the headlights. Then he spent a few seconds trying to identify the song rather than peeing. By the time he worked it out, it had been ruined forever. Somehow hearing a song being badly sung by a young spirit, while trying to use the bathroom with his eyes closed, was enough to put him off the song for life.
When he opened the ensuite door again Jennifer was still in the same position on the bed. She patted the spot next to her and he flopped down.
‘I’ve been doing some research. Here are the highlights. On Saturday, 9th December 1978, Debbie Judkins disappeared from her home. After an extensive search it was concluded that she had been abducted and probably murdered, although her body was never found. They looked at the family first but they all had rock solid alibis. I also found this.’
She turned the screen in his direction. There was a picture of a young girl with short spiky hair. In the black and white photo she was wearing shorts and a singlet top, while beaming at the camera.
Ghostly Hitchhiker Box Set Page 50