Crime Story

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Crime Story Page 23

by Gee, Maurice


  Leeanne laughed. She kissed Sam and slid her finger under his nap. ‘Sorry I lied about you, mate. You’re not even wet.’

  Sam laughed too.

  ‘Go on, go. It’ll do you good,’ Denise Casey said.

  ‘I don’t know. Sam’s never … ’

  ‘You’ve got to start. He knows me. He’ll be just my little chubby-pie.’

  That was almost enough to make Leeanne say no: the woman – Denise she had to be – nuzzling Sam and making him squirm. She hadn’t been to the pictures, though, for more than a year and it was like a door she had to go through. Yet she felt it might change their lives. Something would break and Sam would never trust her again.

  ‘It’s only two hours.’

  ‘All right. Yes.’ But you keep your hands off him, she wanted to say. Don’t you try and take my baby, wanted to say. Mrs Casey – Denise – thirty-five and a tyke, with none of her own, and trying every night from the sound of it, and crying in the kitchen while she cooked for two. He’s mine, don’t you try it, she wanted to say.

  ‘Don’t look back. Out the door.’

  She went to the first one she came to, Thelma and Louise. Forgot Sam and loved it: Louise shooting the slob who tried to rape Thelma in the carpark, and then the two women hitting the road. And the two of them in the car with their backs to all the cops, hundreds of the bastards, saying, Stuff them, let’s keep going, and driving straight off the cliff. Flying. Dying. It didn’t matter. ‘Yeah,’ Leeanne said. She clapped her hands, a single clap.

  The sunshine, when she came out, almost knocked her down. The cars, the people, dragged her back outside. She couldn’t believe the world had been going on, and she felt her shoulders sag. Her eyes stung and watered – but that was just the light. Thelma and Louise, eh, it was like Molly Whuppie again. She stepped out sharp and it became a pleasure, she hadn’t moved so fast since Sam was born, taking her place on the footpath and making people step aside. She saw the way men looked at her, she knew she must look good; but she stared back cold and hard, Louise’s way, and went blam! blam! Guys in hard hats on a site whistled at her – no one whistled when she had Sam – and she said, ‘Stuff you’, and did the fingers, which made them cheer. Just moving fast, doing, walking, made her feel good. Okay, Sam, I’m coming, we’ll go in the park and have a swing.

  Then she knew that something was wrong, and she ran on the footpath, her soles smacking, past Brent’s car with its open doors and men with their bums sticking out, and barged her way, shouldered, through the people. ‘Sam? Sam?’ Up on to the porch, where a cop tried to stop her.

  ‘Hold on, lady.’

  ‘I live here. Where’s my baby?’

  She got half way past but he held her arm. Her sleeve slid down, the blouse came off her shoulder.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Out her door, head thrust, showing his teeth.

  ‘Don’t know, sir.’

  ‘I want my baby. Where’s Sam?’

  He straightened up his head. Said her name: ‘Leeanne Rosser? That right?’

  ‘Yes. Where is he?’

  ‘He’s in there.’

  ‘I want to see.’

  ‘In a minute.’

  ‘Sam,’ she called.

  ‘Look,’ he said, and opened the Caseys’ door. She saw Sam on the sofa, eating a biscuit, with Denise beside him looking happy and pop-eyed. ‘There he is.’ He closed the door and stood in front of it. ‘You can let her go’ – to the constable, then, ‘Do your buttons up,’ – to Leeanne.

  She obeyed, with fingers jumping. ‘I want to hold him.’

  ‘Not long. Some questions first, eh? Come in here. Come on, Leeanne.’ He went into her room and stood in the middle waiting for her. Another man came out of the bathroom.

  ‘So you’ve been living here, have you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Three weeks. Nearly three.’

  ‘Comfortable? Nice place?’

  ‘It’s all right. Why can’t I – ’

  ‘Where’s Brent, then? Where’s he?’

  She blinked. So it was Brent, and the money. She looked at the drawer and saw the policeman nod and smile.

  ‘That’s all his in there,’ she said. ‘I just been borrowing some for the groceries and the rent.’

  ‘In the family, eh?’

  ‘Brent’s always saved up. He’s always saved his money.’

  ‘Did he tell you to use it then, before he went away?’

  ‘No. He wouldn’t mind, though. He’s my brother.’

  ‘Where is he, Leeanne? Where did he go?’

  ‘Don’t know. He was gone before I got here.’

  ‘Sick,’ he smiled. ‘Out with your mum and dad in Wainuiomata.’

  ‘That was just something I said. So I could stay.’

  ‘Where would he be then? You tell us.’

  ‘What’s he supposed to have done?’

  ‘Stop fluffing round, Leeanne.’ That was the second man, with the jutting chin. ‘Just say where he is.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  The other took a chair from the table and put it in the middle of the floor. ‘Sit down, Leeanne. It’s going to be a long time before you see your baby.’

  ‘Why? You can’t – ’

  ‘Lots of questions, that’s why. All you’ve got to do is answer them.’

  ‘Start with the last time you saw Brent. When was that?’

  But it didn’t go on very long. She kept turning in her chair to look at Denise Casey’s door. She heard Sam cry in there and she started to get up.

  ‘I’ve got to feed him.’

  ‘Mrs Casey can feed him.’

  ‘I mean my fucken breast, that’s what. Jesus!’

  They were pleased to hear her swear. The older man smiled. ‘Why do you think he’d go up the hill and rob your landlord’s house?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re fucken talking about.’

  ‘How much money was in the drawer?’

  ‘I didn’t count it.’

  ‘Okay, Leeanne.’ He smiled again. ‘You can go and feed your baby. Then we’ll have to go down to the station.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You won’t believe how much we want to know,’ said the one with the chin.

  ‘If I can take Sam.’

  ‘We’ll see. Go on,’ the older one said.

  She went next door and Sam, with another biscuit, and dry tears on his cheeks, started at her from Denise’s knee.

  ‘I tried him with some fish but he didn’t like it,’ Denise said.

  Leeanne picked him up and cleaned his face with her handkerchief. She fed him from her breast only in the morning and at night, not in the daytime any more, but she let him have a suck in case the cops came in.

  ‘How long they been here? What’s Brent supposed to have done?’

  Denise swallowed. She looked as if something was stuck in her throat.

  ‘What’s up? He’s robbed old Athol’s house, is that what they reckon?’

  ‘Didn’t they tell you?’ Denise said.

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘They want to question him.’

  ‘Well, Jesus, I know that. They’re questioning me.’

  ‘About a murder.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That woman with the spade. In Cuba Street.’

  She jerked Sam off her breast, then wrapped him on, squashing his face. She felt she had to get the nipple in and have him part of her again. He twisted sideways and complained.

  ‘Did they say that? Brent did that?’

  ‘They asked me everything he did. Who came and all that. And what he was wearing. Marion Lavery too – they’re going down to work to talk to her. She saw him when she took the dog for a walk. On the same night that woman got killed.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean … Brent wouldn’t … ’ But she was saying words just to somehow know herself, and hold herself against the huge new thing standing there. She put Sam down and he walked across the ro
om – one fall – and got his panther from the back of a chair.

  ‘I gotta go in the bathroom.’ She leaned over the basin, waiting to be sick, but nothing came although her stomach heaved. Her heart was beating inside her head. ‘Now you’ve done it, Brent,’ she whispered.

  The big-jawed policeman looked in. ‘Come on, Leeanne.’

  ‘I gotta have a pee.’

  ‘Well make it quick.’

  ‘Jesus, you want to hold my hand?’

  ‘No lip, eh. Just get it done.’

  They took her back to her room. She passed Sam, on the sofa again with Denise.

  ‘Tell us about the dirty clothes,’ the boss policeman said.

  She told them: the shower, the clothes, the slime, the dirty water.

  ‘So where are they now?’

  ‘I chucked them out, the sneakers and the jacket. They were no good any more.’

  ‘In the rubbish?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What sort of sneakers? What make?’

  ‘I don’t know, I never looked.’

  ‘Where are the jeans?’

  ‘In the wardrobe.’

  ‘Show us.’

  They put her in a car and drove her to the police station. She did not ask to take Sam. They sat her in front of a desk and asked all their questions again. She knew it was going down on tape – but she told them everything she knew about Brent, everything he said and she said back, and what he did and what he was like. She told about cleaning the flat and finding the money and living there, and said that Mr Peet had told her it was all right and that he was pleased with how clean she was keeping it.

  ‘Did Brent talk about Mr Peet with you?’

  ‘Did he give you any beads or rings, stuff like that? Come on, Leeanne.’

  ‘No, he didn’t. Brent and me weren’t good mates, he was just my brother. He gave me five dollars.’

  ‘Did he ever talk about someone called Mrs Ponder?’

  ‘Is she the woman … is she the one … ?’

  ‘Did he, Leeanne?’

  ‘He didn’t tell me what he did. He didn’t tell me names.’

  She told them about living in Auckland but wouldn’t give them Sione’s name. She gave them Danny’s – too bad about him – but didn’t say about Jasmine. Jasmine was gone, with any luck. All the time they said, ‘Where is he, Leeanne? Where’d he go?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s not out Wainui, I know that.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because he can’t stand them, Mum and Dad.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘How would I know? How’s my dad?’

  ‘Do you love him, Leeanne?’

  ‘Course I do. What do you think?’

  ‘Brent, I mean.’

  ‘He’s just my brother, that’s all.’

  It grew dark outside. They left her in front of the desk for an hour. A policewoman brought her a cup of tea. She remembered Thelma robbing the liquor store and she wondered how she had sidestepped there, into that movie.

  ‘Read this, Leeanne.’

  ‘I want to get back and feed my baby.’

  ‘Just read it and sign it, then we’ll go.’

  They drove back to her place and found Athol Peet in the hall. He looked at her and did not recognise her. She brushed past and went into the Caseys’. Sam and she hugged and kissed; his arms were soft and tight around her neck. ‘Hungry eh, my baby? Where can I bloody feed him so everybody doesn’t get a look?’

  Denise took her into the bedroom and Des Casey climbed off the bed and went out fast. She fed Sam, but Denise had filled him up with egg and banana and he wasn’t interested much. Anyway, she was nearly dry. It was the shock, and the cops, and Brent, she knew. ‘Plenty tomorrow, I promise you,’ she whispered. She went with him back to the sitting room (Des Casey left again) and said to Denise, ‘Thanks. We’ll go home now, he’s pretty tired.’ She went into the hall and round Athol Peet and the two policemen.

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’

  ‘I’m putting Sam to bed. Any objection?’

  ‘Not in there, you’re not. We’re sealing that.’

  ‘I live there.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘I’ve paid the rent.’

  ‘Yeah, too bad. We’ll be working for a long time yet, so no one goes in. After that it’s up to Mr Peet. You ask him nice he might refund you, eh Mr Peet?’

  ‘Of course,’ Athol Peet said. He was white and hollowed out. His eyes didn’t twinkle any more.

  ‘So where do I go?’ Leeanne said.

  ‘Ring up some friends.’

  ‘I got no friends.’

  ‘Well go to your parents.’

  ‘She can stay here tonight,’ Denise said from her door. ‘On the flip-flop.’

  ‘There you are then.’

  ‘Let her get her stuff,’ the older policeman said.

  The room seemed unreal. Everything had moved back as though it couldn’t be touched. She felt her fingers slide off things. ‘Here,’ she said, fighting back, ‘hold those’, and put a packet of nappies in big-jaw’s hands. He did not like it. God, he had a mouth like a barracuda. Where do I go? Leeanne thought, where tomorrow? He let her take Sam’s clothes, and her own. She put them in the pushchair and he, quickly, balanced the nappies on top. She looked sideways at the drawer.

  ‘Don’t push your luck,’ he said.

  Outside, Athol Peet tried to smile at her. ‘I’m very sorry.’

  He was the one whose wife had got kicked down the stairs, the woman who was paralysed now for the rest of her life – but Leeanne’s mind slid off that, she could not take it in. Could not see houses with stairs for people to get kicked down, or Brent doing it, or this bent man with a wife. She went by him into the Caseys’ and found Denise opening the sofa into a bed.

  ‘He won’t cry, will he? It’s Des,’ Denise said.

  But it was more than crying that worried Des, Leeanne knew. She stripped Sam and washed him quickly in the bath, and put him on the flip-flop and lay with him until he went to sleep. Then she looked into the hall. A policeman in uniform sat on a kitchen chair outside her door. Where do I go? In the street big-jaw was watching, hands in pockets, while a tow truck pulled Brent’s car on to a trailer. He walked along the footpath and came on to the porch.

  ‘You tell us where you go. You don’t sneak out.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘See those two guys there, by the car? They’re reporters. You don’t say anything to them. Not even your name.’

  She went back into the house. So I haven’t even got a name any more. In the Caseys’ lounge she found Des wheeling the TV set into the bedroom. He did not look at her.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the bed,’ she said.

  He closed the door.

  She lay down with her clothes on. She tried to think about Brent but he would not come. Not even the murder would come. It was something way back, in the dark, and no faces, just something moving and something on the ground. It was only when she thought of her father that she thought of spades – and they were shiny, they just dug the ground. She thought of him, hard. I’ll have to phone tomorrow. I’ll have to find out if he’s all right.

  She slept and woke, and heard the TV set, and later on the Caseys arguing. Denise cried. God she cried, always, what about? She went to sleep and dreamed about Brent hiding under the house. She and her friends hunted him and when they saw him there they pulled their knickers down and showed … Jesus, what a dream. She pulled Sam on to her, half awake, and let him suck. Then, when he went to sleep, she cried a bit herself, quietly, for everything.

  Des Casey, in the kitchen, woke her up, making as much noise as he could. Denise, in her nightgown, said, ‘I’m sorry, you can’t stay.’

  ‘I didn’t want to.’

  ‘He’s coming back at lunch time to see.’

  ‘Sure, Denise. Thanks, eh. You’ve been real good. Tell the cops I’ll send you my address.’

>   She set out with her pushchair at half past nine, without even the roll bag which was sealed up in her room. Denise gave her a supermarket bag.

  ‘Now I’m a bag lady, Sam.’

  She had change from the pictures and used some of it to buy a Dominion. Not much was in the story, not even Brent’s name. The police were ‘following strong leads’. The identity of a man sought for questioning ‘would be revealed later in the day’. She could not think of anywhere Brent might be. Not Australia: Brent was here, he was tied somehow. Then she thought he might be dead. The pushchair jiggled and scraped against a lamp post. He would go into the dark and lie curled up. He’d go where no one could see him and pull the door behind.

  ‘Sam, he’s dead.’

  She heard his name echoing and spiralling away and she cried for him, silently, standing by the lamp post. A woman stopped to ask if she was all right.

  ‘Yeah. Thanks. I’m okay.’

  Sam was twisted in his straps, looking up at her. She said, ‘It’s okay, Sammy, Mum’s okay.’ God, she thought, I’m crying like Denise, I’ve got to stop. She went on until she found a seat in a bus stop and she sat there, with Sam walking along and walking back, excited to be up off the ground. ‘Good boy, Sam.’

  The teachers said both of them were smart, her and Brent. They said not to waste it, at school. Now he’d chopped a woman up and he was dead, and she was sitting here with nowhere to go. She managed a fierce grin at that. They’d nod their heads and say, See, I told you. But they couldn’t have seen a woman murdered and another one paralysed. God Brent, she thought, what happened to you?

  People began arriving for a bus. She strapped Sam in and started off again. Going where? She should have asked Athol Peet for another room – he must have an empty room in forty-six houses. That creepy guy, made of bits of stick with skin stretched over. He had a wife in bed for the rest of her life, and she would be the same in the end, just skin and bones.

  She climbed a hill and walked on a clay path in pine trees, and came out by the waste ground where the helicopter had landed.

  ‘Hey, Sam, our swings.’

 

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