Ghostly Hitchhiker Box Set

by Rodney Strong

  ‘Occupational hazard, always using different names,’ Alice replied.

  Beth stared at her doubtfully before turning to Oliver. ‘Well? You wanted to see me?’

  ‘Yes. We talked to Nick Rawlings yesterday.’

  ‘Oh? So the detective came through, good. Was it useful?’

  ‘It was. Have you spoken with Nick lately?’

  Beth stared at him. ‘Now why would you ask me that?’ She turned to look at Alice, then back to Oliver. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  (Don’t tell her about Robert Maxwell. Everyone thinks it was James.)

  I don’t think she’s worried about a fish.

  ‘Like I said, we talked to Nick and he was going home to dig out an old poetry journal for us. Only sometime during the night he allegedly took his own life.’

  Beth’s eyes widened a fraction, then she looked thoughtful. ‘Allegedly can either mean that’s exactly what happened but we don’t want to say it, or it’s a load of rubbish. Which is this?’

  Oliver looked at Alice out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘It’s possible that the man felt so guilty after forty years that he took his own life…’

  ‘But?’ Beth prompted.

  ‘He withstood considerable grilling from the police back in 1978 and didn’t crack. Why would the guilt become too much when a writer and an old lady asked a few questions?’ Alice said.

  ‘That’s my initial assessment too,’ Beth nodded briskly. ‘So he was murdered.’

  ‘There’s a third option,’ Oliver said. ‘It could have been an accident.

  ‘They happen, but statistically it’s less probable. Did he find the journal?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ Oliver replied. ‘Right now Detective Wilson won’t let us into his apartment.’

  ‘Leave that to me. I’ll get you in. Anything else?’

  An idea came to Oliver and he blurted it out before Debbie could comment. ‘Yes, was it you that told the police where to find the poems in Debbie’s room?’

  Beth rubbed the bridge of her nose with the back of her finger then shrugged. ‘I was young and thought she’d done a runner. The police wanted to know if I knew anything about it so I told them where she hid the poems.

  (Beth! You stinking little…)

  Oliver did his best to ignore her outrage.

  ‘It’s not like she did a great job concealing them. They were taped to the wall behind her mirror.’

  (That was my hiding spot! She shouldn’t have even been in my room.)

  Beth looked at Oliver and briefly smiled. ‘I can imagine what she’s saying right now.’

  (Tell her that I was the one who stole her hairbrush.)

  Not now.

  (Tell her I was the one who told Mum that Beth used to hide her brussels sprouts in her napkin and throw them over the back fence after dinner.)

  ‘Your sister isn’t thrilled,’ Oliver confirmed.

  ‘Did you tell anyone else about the poems?’ Alice asked.

  Beth started to shake her head, then switched to a half nod. ‘I might have mentioned it to a friend at school, just in passing, that my sister had love notes in her room.’

  ‘Who was the friend?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. She’s dead. Car accident in 1994.’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ Oliver said.

  ‘You could have told me this over the phone, so I’m guessing you wanted to see my reaction to Nick Rawlings death. Correct?’

  Once more Oliver felt grateful that he’d never had to appear before her when she was a judge.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted.

  ‘Good, solid strategy. Waste of time. If I had anything to do with my sister’s murder I wouldn’t have spent the last forty years trying to find out what happened to her.’

  And failing.

  (Oh yeah, tell her that.)

  Hell no.

  (Scaredy cat.)

  Beth pulled out her phone. ‘I’ll get you into Nick’s apartment. Try and focus on the important details, I don’t have time for you to waste on frivolous distractions.’

  She stepped a few paces away and began talking quietly into her phone. As Oliver turned to Alice he noticed a car drive past and pull into Barbara Smith’s driveway.

  ‘I think our next appointment has just arrived home.’

  ‘All organised,’ Beth said from behind him. ‘The detective will get in touch to arrange a time.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Beth turned and marched back to her car. As she drove away Oliver said, ‘Why on earth did you tell her you were a con artist?’

  ‘Fun. Besides, it’s not like I said I was a murderer. She’s got better things to do than pursue decades old theft cases.’

  (You don’t know my sister, she’s stubborn.)

  ‘I’ll never understand you or Amanda.’

  ‘Good.’

  He was about to offer to drive the short distance down the street, but Alice strode off before he could open his mouth. Although it was a slow stride and only took him a couple of metres to catch up.

  Barbara was less than happy to see them at the front door, but she belatedly plastered on a smile and invited them in for tea. Not having the benefit of a background check she took the identity of Alice as his grandmother at face value.

  ‘We thought you should know that Nick Rawlings died yesterday,’ Oliver said, deciding to get right to the point.

  A life time of teaching hadn’t quite given her the same poker face as Beth, but it was close. Her hand wobbled and a small amount of tea spilled over the side of the cup.

  ‘Oh dear, that’s a shame. How did it happen?’ Her voice wavered a little like her hand, but when she looked at them her face was composed.

  ‘The police are leaning towards an unfortunate accident.’

  ‘And you thought I’d like to know. I appreciate that.’ She carried two cups over to the table, then went back for a third before sitting opposite them.

  ‘How did he die?’

  Oliver gave her the official story and watched her response carefully. She just looked sad as she blew the steam off her drink and took an exploratory sip.

  ‘He was special to you,’ Alice said as a statement, and Oliver tried not to appear surprised. She’d obviously picked up something he’d missed.

  ‘All the kids I’ve taught over the years are special to me,’ Barbara answered, her eyes shifting slightly to look over their heads.

  ‘Only you didn’t teach Nick,’ Oliver pointed out. ‘He was too old for primary school.’

  Barbara’s eyes touched on his face, then flicked away again. Finally she sighed. ‘I don’t suppose it matters anymore. Nick is dead, and Jasper’s wife is dead so there’s no one to be hurt. I lied to you the other day Oliver. It wasn’t Jasper who called it off between us because of his son. I ended it because Nick saw us, or rather heard us. The day after we almost got caught at school Jasper and I met down at the beach.’

  Popular place.

  (There weren’t many other places to meet around here.)

  ‘Jasper was worried because of his son, he said we needed to be more careful. We argued a little and he stormed off. That’s when I saw Nick. He was sitting by a fence, a little hidden by a giant tree trunk. He heard everything and he said we had to stop or he would tell. So the next day I told Jasper it was over.’

  ‘Did you tell him why?’ Oliver asked.

  Barbara shook her head. ‘I didn’t want him to get angry at Nick, so I told him it was my decision.’

  ‘I’m a little surprised that’s all there was to it,’ Alice said. ‘Most teenagers would be looking to see what they could get out of the situation, like perhaps blackmailing you.’

  The response was another shake of the head, this one more vehement. ‘Nick wasn’t like that. His parents had abandoned him with his grandparents while they went off to have some adventure in a different country. That affected him. He didn’t want another family ripped apart.’

  (He used to run home every day to se
e if there was a postcard from them. There hardly ever was. It was sad.)

  ‘So all he wanted was for Jasper to keep his family together.’

  Barbara’s face flushed and she nodded. ‘Funny really, it took a thirteen year old to make me see sense. I didn’t want to be a home wrecker, and it was never that serious between Jasper and I so it was easy to end it.’

  Did you know about this?

  (No! I would have kept his secret but he never told me.)

  Do you think he told Brigid?

  (No. Anyway even if he told her she would have told me, just like I would have told her.)

  I thought you said you would have kept his secret.

  (Duh, Brigid doesn’t count.)

  Oliver sighed which Barbara misinterpreted.

  ‘Do you think I’m lying?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ Oliver said without thinking. He felt a little guilty at being so blunt, but the look of admiration on Alice’s face made up for it.

  ‘I suppose I deserved that,’ Barbara admitted, and Oliver let out the breath he’d been holding. Confrontation wasn’t his favourite thing in the world and he didn’t want things to escalate.

  ‘Do you think Nick told anyone else about your affair?’ Alice asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t know. Certainly no one raised the matter with me or, as far as I know, Jasper. Besides what could this possibly have to do with Nick taking his own life? And why would he do it now, forty years after the event?’

  Oliver decided to switch tactics. ‘Did Nick ever show you his poetry journal?’

  Barbara’s shoulders slumped slightly. ‘Just once. I’m not a poetry expert but I thought it was very good. Lots of emotion and vivid imagery. I told him I was impressed and he looked quite pleased. I don’t think he got much positive feedback. His grandparents were…how shall I put this politely?…ill-equipped to deal with a teenager in their house.’

  (Nick used some different words.)

  Oliver didn’t need her to complete the thought to know those words weren’t nice.

  ‘Did you see a name in his notebook? Scrawled across a page, like someone had tried to graffiti it.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Not that I recall.’

  He opened his mouth to ask a follow up question but before the words came out his phone rang. He checked the screen and saw it was the kids’ school. Excusing himself, he answered it as he strode into the hallway, only to be informed that Reed had received a ball to the face and was currently in the sick bay with a cold cloth over his nose. Oliver calculated travel time, added another five minutes for slow drivers, and told them he was on his way.

  He walked back into the dining room just in time to hear the tail end of Alice telling a story about when Oliver was a little boy and liked running naked around the back yard shouting “I’m a lion, I’m a lion”.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, but your great grandson has been injured,’ he told Alice.

  Barbara seemed relieved and wasted no time in ushering them out of the house.

  Oliver was heading towards the motorway when his phone rang again.

  ‘I knew giving you a good character reference would return to haunt me,’ Detective Wilson said.

  TWENTY ONE

  ‘You told her I was mostly harmless.’

  ‘Which is a good reference,’ Wilson’s voice boomed over the speakers, and Oliver winced and turned the dial to lower the volume. ‘Judge Judkins has requested that you be given access to Nick Rawlings’ apartment. I could refuse, but she still has enough pull to make my job complicated. And the location has already been processed so I’m giving you ten minutes to look around under strict supervision. When can you get here?’

  Oliver thought about his injured son, then took his eyes off the road to look at the woman sitting next to him.

  Detective Wilson, I don’t think you know what complicated is.

  (I do. It means you have too much stuff to do and not enough time. I can’t spell it though.)

  ‘An hour?’ he suggested.

  ‘Right, see you then. Oh and Oliver, bring your grandmother, I always like meeting ghosts.’

  He hung up before Oliver could think of a plausible lie.

  ‘In hindsight it probably wasn’t the best cover story,’ Alice said with a sigh. ‘Not when dealing with judges and police detectives.’

  ‘No,’ Oliver agreed.

  ‘But it was the most logical. I mean what were the alternatives? I was on work experience? About eighty years too late for that.’

  ‘Is it ever too late to retrain for a new career?’

  ‘Yes, Oliver, yes it is.’

  ‘I’m going to have to drop you off in town before I meet Wilson. I know you thought it was fun telling Beth who you were, but poking a bear like the detective would be insanity.’

  (Why would you poke a bear?)

  ‘Spoil sport,’ Alice smiled.

  (Are there bears in New Zealand? I never saw one.)

  ‘It’s alright for you, you won’t be around for the aftermath.’

  ‘Gee thanks, Oliver. I’m not quite on my deathbed yet.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. But you and Amanda have an annoying habit of disappearing and leaving me to answer the questions.’

  ‘But you do it so well,’ her smile turned into a laugh.

  They were five minutes away from the school when his phone rang again. It was Mary, his book publisher.

  ‘Are you all set, Oliver?’

  His mind blanked. ‘Set for what?’

  ‘For the radio interview, at 2pm. Today. Like in three minutes. Don’t tell me you forgot,’ she said in a worried tone.

  ‘Uh, no of course not. Completely ready, only I have to pick up Reed from school. He’s been hurt. Any way we can reschedule?’

  ‘Oliver! I’m sorry about Reed, but it took me four months to get you this interview. If we postpone….and with the Christmas sales ramping up, this is our chance to get your new book in front of a much wider audience.’

  Oliver’s brain overloaded, then rebooted as he did some quick calculations. ‘Okay. Can we stall for two extra minutes? I can do the interview in the car.’

  ‘I should be able to do that. Two minutes, then your phone is going to ring and you better answer it.’ She disconnected as Oliver turned the car up the hill towards the school. He pulled into the staff car park, jumped out and hustled into the office.

  He fully expected to find his son sitting up on the sick bed looking perfectly fine, but when he went into the room Reed was lying down with a small white cloth covering his nose and eyes. When Oliver lifted it off he saw that Reed’s left eye was puffy.

  ‘Are you okay, buddy?’

  Reed nodded miserably and slid off the bed. Oliver picked up his bag and put his arm around his son.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Dom threw a ball at my head.’

  Oliver waved to the ladies in the office as he opened the door and ushered Reed through.

  ‘On purpose or by accident?’

  Reed shrugged and Oliver resolved to probe more later. When they returned to the car Oliver was startled to see that Alice wasn’t in the front seat. He looked around but couldn’t see her. At the same time Reed opened the back door to get in, and said hello to someone. Oliver bent down to see Alice sitting in the back.

  He had just finished doing his seatbelt up when the phone rang. A producer from the radio station told him he’d be live on air in thirty seconds, and he spent that time explaining to Reed that he needed him to be quiet while the interview was happening.

  Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth the radio host came on and the interview started. It went extremely well for the first question, then there was a loud trumpet from the back of the car. Startled he looked in the rear view mirror in time to see Alice take her hand away from her chest and shrug. Meanwhile Reed had forgotten his sore face and was staring at the old woman in awe.

  Oliver realised there was silence fro
m the phone and asked the interviewer to repeat the question. He was quickly back on firm footing and was in the middle of talking about the difficulties of New Zealand fiction writers in a small market, when there was a second loud trumpet from the back. This one he recognised instantly (through experience) to have originated from his son. He glared into the rear view mirror in time to see Alice give Reed a fist bump.

  He silently waved a hand angrily, and that’s when Debbie decided to get involved. A short, but loud burp sounded from inside his head.

  And that’s how the rest of the interview went. Three out of the four people in the car doing their best to distract the last with periodic bouts of burping, ranging from polite to “oh my god what did you eat?”. Somehow Oliver survived, hopefully without sounding like a complete idiot, and definitely without crashing, although it was a close call on both fronts.

  By the time he pulled down the side street next to Rawlings’ apartment building, Reed and Alice were firm conspirators, and Oliver had a thumping headache and some form of Post Traumatic Burping Disorder (PTBD). It took a minute to convince Alice to stay in the car, and another minute to explain that confronting an active police detective was not the same thing as a recently retired judge. After some token resistance she agreed to stay in the car with Reed. Her contented grin made Oliver suspect that had been her plan all along.

  To his surprise Detective Wilson wasn’t alone when they walked into the foyer of the building. Graeme Wilson stood next to his nephew, bouncing on the balls of his feet with nervous excitement.

  ‘Oliver! Wonderful to see you! Alone?’ Graeme peered over Oliver’s shoulder expectantly.

  ‘Your grandmother not joining you?’ Wilson added with a shrewd expression.

  ‘The person helping me wasn’t available,’ Oliver replied, which he knew sounded stupid, but he wanted to limit his lying to a police officer to really important things.

  ‘Shame,’ Graeme said in a disappointed tone. ‘She’s an interesting lady.’

  Wilson continued to study him for a moment longer before giving the smallest of shrugs. ‘As I said, you have ten minutes,’ he told them as he pressed the button for the elevator. ‘You are not to touch anything. If you see anything that may be of interest you will immediately advise me and only I will touch it. Are we clear?’