The One That Got Away

by Jennifer Palgrave

  16

  ‘While bloody treason flourished over us’

  It was a sunny day but not very warm for December. Ro was at her desk, a tattered dressing gown over her clothes, proofreading an article for an academic journal. Lauren had just told her about the overheard conversation between Kevin and Brett. It was disturbing, but she put it from her mind. The work was more important. When that was finished she planned to stretch her legs by walking over Tinakori Hill to the university, to meet an overseas visitor at the faculty club for lunch.

  She finished up and prepared to put the computer to sleep, when a familiar blank spot appeared in her vision. Before long, lights were dancing across the screen. Damn! A migraine coming on. Nothing for it but to cancel lunch, take her medication and spend the afternoon with her head under the pillow and the blinds down. She stumbled to the bathroom, her eyes half closed. There she swallowed two paracetamol with the help of a glass of water, popped a rizatriptan with some difficulty from its pack and placed it under her tongue.

  In her bedroom, she shut the door, shook off her dressing gown, unbuttoned her shirt and gingerly stepped out of her jeans, trying not to bend down. She winced as she got into bed, but with the drugs kicking in she soon fell into an uneasy doze.

  She was roused by a knock at the back door. ‘Oh, go away,’ she groaned to herself, ‘I’m not getting up to talk to a pair of proselytising Mormons or whoever.’ She rolled over painfully, ignored the second knock and began to drift off again. On the edge of consciousness she was startled by a creaking floorboard. Then a shuffling sound and the ping of her computer coming to life. ‘What the hell,’ she muttered.

  She lay there for another moment or two, then got up cautiously, holding one hand to her head. Opening the bedroom door she called, ‘Is that you, Timmy?’ Tim was her next-door neighbour’s son. She let him come over for a quiet place to study–or to play video games on her computer, more likely. But Tim should be in school. Or had school broken up for the summer holidays? There was no reply.

  Ro stepped back into the bedroom to search out her dressing gown, lying in a heap on the floor. As she did so, she heard footsteps retreating down the hall. She opened the door again, just in time to glimpse a figure racing out the back door. She called out, ‘Hey!’ and made for the dining room where a window overlooked the path to the front gate. There was just a glimpse as the intruder ran past. Male, tallish, skinny in a young-looking way, jeans, hoodie, dark hair poking out. Completely nondescript.

  She was nauseated, her head throbbed and it was hard to think straight. She paused at the door of the study where her papers looked disordered and the computer blinked at her. All she could think of was to go back to bed. She shut the back door, left it unlocked–she couldn’t remember where she had last seen the key and was certainly not up to looking for it right then. She needed to sleep and would worry about it later. As she crawled back into bed, her last thought was that she needed to talk to Lauren.

  Lauren was playing a game on her laptop later that afternoon when the phone rang. She tried to pause the game, failed and watched as trains puffed along and then crashed into stations while she fumbled for her phone. Then she forgot the game completely.

  ‘It’s Ro. I’ve had an intruder. And I had a migraine. I still feel like shit.’

  ‘Oh Rowie, tell me about it. Do you want me to come over?’

  Ro sounded shaky but thought she’d be best having a quiet night by herself. She explained what had happened. ‘And the worst thing, that young guy got away with my memory stick.’

  ‘What was on it?’

  ‘Everything. All my book notes, background research, notes from interviews. It’s all right, I haven’t lost them, it was just a copy of the documents on my computer. But it couldn’t be random. Kevin Driscoll must be behind it. It wasn’t just a burglary, the intruder was looking through my papers and at the computer. You can buy a memory stick for less than ten dollars. No, they want to know what I’ve got, and what’s even more terrible’–she paused–‘your Judith Butler interview was on it. Kevin’s seen you recently and if he listens to that he’ll recognise your voice.’

  ‘Not just that,’ said Lauren. By now, she was pacing around the living room. ‘I used proper oral history protocol. At the beginning of the tape I identified myself and the interviewee and the date. Oh shit!’ She paused and thought. ‘You haven’t contacted the police?’

  ‘I haven’t felt up to calling anyone. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll phone Deirdre at once and she’ll probably send someone round. Ro, are you sure you wouldn’t like me to come over?’

  But Ro still insisted she’d like to be by herself. ‘I’m sitting quietly with Sooty on my lap and I’m drinking a big mug of tea. I’m not concerned about him coming back. They’ve got what they wanted from me, I suspect. I’ll just have to put up with the cops messing around with my stuff. Just what I don’t need right now. But you’ll need to take care over the next while.’

  Lauren gave an involuntary shiver and sat down heavily. What had they got themselves into? She hadn’t thought of stuff like this happening when they started digging. She was probably sounding as shaky as Ro–and nothing had happened to her. She cleared her throat. ‘Well, Kevin already has the interview, and I can’t think there’s anything he’d want to get hold of from my place. I don’t see what else we can do, other than getting the police on to it. Anyway, I’m not going to be at home by myself much. Kirsten’s coming next Friday for a meeting and staying for the weekend and it won’t be long before we’re off with the Wellington gang to the South Island.’

  Ro agreed, ‘It’ll be good for you to have Kirsten around.’ She was starting to sound better. ‘And it’ll be good when we get away.’

  Lauren got off the phone and looked at the time. It was well after five. She found Deirdre’s card and phoned her direct line. Deirdre was still there. ‘It’s Lauren Fraser here. Remember we talked about the plot to kill Lange? I do now have some more information.’ Her voice quavered, in spite of herself. ‘And something awful has happened that we need to report.’

  Deirdre was clearly busy, but listened while Lauren told her about Ro’s intruder and the theft of the memory stick with Lauren’s Judith Butler interview on it. Lauren also relayed what she had overheard between Brett and Kevin in the Wairarapa. ‘Hmm,’ Deirdre said, ‘I think you’re right–no doubt it was Kevin who organised the memory stick theft, after hearing your friend Ro on National Radio.’

  Lauren felt relieved that Deirdre was not dismissive. Deirdre continued, ‘It does mean they’ll soon know that it was Judith Butler who has been talking. They won’t know she is forgetful and that any evidence from her might not stand up, even if she was fit to be a witness. I’ll get in touch with Karori Gardens and make sure their security is up to scratch.

  ‘And, Lauren, you need to be careful too,’ Deirdre went on. ‘If they’re trying to find out who knows what and how to get rid of evidence, you are now just as vulnerable as your friend.’ She paused and then said, ‘Why don’t you talk to Phyl about safety?’ She sounded quite concerned and Lauren felt surprisingly gratified. ‘I’m going on holiday shortly, won’t be back till mid-January, so we’ll take another look at the evidence then to see if what you’ve found could bring the case alive again. And ask your friend Rowan to lay a complaint about the burglary with Central Police. Right away.’

  Lauren said, ‘Can’t you let them know?’

  Deirdre became impatient. ‘You need to follow procedure, but I’ll check that they are sending someone around straight away to have a look. I’d be surprised if we find any clues as to who the intruder was. Probably some computer geek working for them, no doubt he wore gloves.’

  Lauren dutifully talked to her neighbour the following morning. Phyl advised her to get a burglar alarm before she went on holiday. But somehow, in the lead up to Christmas, it just didn’t get done. Partly because Lauren had never fancied setti
ng and disabling an alarm every time she entered and left her apartment. She liked her home to feel open and welcoming. It was a week of very busy days. She and her friends seemed to feel they absolutely had to catch up with everyone before the holiday season was upon them–lunch dates, drinks, evening functions came thick and fast.

  Lauren even had a breakfast meeting with a publisher, teeing up contract editing for the year to come. That was the Friday morning Kirsten was flying in so she couldn’t meet her at the airport. She hoped Kirsten wouldn’t take that as a sign of Lauren cooling. They seemed to have patched up the relationship, and it was shaping up to be a weekend full of treats, once Kirsten had finished her work. A Friday meeting in Wellington, how convenient! After that, a pre-Christmas Christmas, with a meal out at Field and Green, an exchange of presents and other delights. She had spent an enjoyable hour prowling around Unity Books to find Kirsten some holiday reading. She settled on Manhattan Beach, good reviews and a satisfactorily fat novel, then Claire Tomalin’s autobiography, a little guiltily because she wanted to read it herself, and the second of Susie Steiner’s engrossing Cambridge thrillers, which her friend Rachel had introduced her to. The shop assistant gift-wrapped them for her and put in an exchange card.

  Lauren had scarcely been back in her apartment five minutes when she heard a bag being lugged up the steps. She opened the door, held out her arms to Kirsten, who looked preoccupied. Lauren got a peck on the cheek before Kirsten walked inside and dropped her bag. She said. ‘My meeting’s in the Hutt at ten. Can I do it?’

  Lauren looked at her watch. ‘Yes, if you hurry. Take the car, I don’t need it today.’ She handed Kirsten the keys. ‘Hope the meeting goes well,’ she said, ‘Don’t drive too fast.’

  She didn’t expect to hear from Kirsten during the day. So it was a surprise when the phone went no more than half an hour later. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Lauren. I’m afraid I’ve had an accident.’ There was none of the usual zing in her voice. ‘But I truly wasn’t going that fast.’

  ‘What’s happened? Are you hurt?’

  ‘No, but it was really scary. I came off the motorway and the car just seemed to skid all over the road and ended up against a power pole.’ There was a sob, and she said again, ‘I’m terribly sorry, the car’s a bit of a wreck.’

  Damn, thought Lauren, she bet she was going too fast. She said, ‘Is the car blocking the road?’

  ‘No, there’s a wide verge. But I don’t want to try and drive it.’

  ‘OK. First tell me exactly where you are. Then you phone a taxi to get to your meeting. Leave the car keys just under the driver’s seat. I’ll phone the AA to tow it to a garage. Don’t worry. Just concentrate on your meeting. Someone will be able to drop you back.’

  The call ended, Lauren immediately picked up the phone again to call her insurance company and the AA. A couple of hours later she was inspecting her rather crumpled car at a nearby panel beater. ‘Oh dear.’ The phrase seemed inadequate. ‘Is it fixable?’

  The panel beater looked cheerful. ‘You’re really lucky. It looks bad but the major damage is confined to a couple of panels, shouldn’t have to write it off. If you tee it up with your insurance, we can do it for you but we’re terribly busy. Just over a week to Christmas now. You won’t get the car back till after New Year.’

  17

  ‘Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber’

  On Christmas Eve Judith Butler was lying on a yoga mat, one leg off the ground. She was trying to rotate her ankle. She’d forgotten why she was part of this group of very old people, none of whom she seemed to know. But they were all following instructions from the young woman at the front of the room, so she should go along with it. She tried to concentrate. Then she imagined the instructor saying, ‘Simon says, do this.’ She remembered that from her childhood. She laughed out loud and tried to wiggle her ears. The others now had hands on heads. ‘Boring,’ she thought, then caught the sound of her own voice.

  Then a girl in a pastel uniform was helping her manage her walker. The corridor was ugly, institutional greens and browns adorned with garish abstract paintings. It had a seventies look. This must be her room, Judith half-recognised it. Yes, a photo of dear Tom. Why wasn’t he here? And her two children in the old photo frame, the colour fading. Best of all, one of herself, nicely made up, bright red lipstick, blusher, eyeshadow, well-cut blonde-streaked hair. As she pulled at a straggly tuft of grey, she decided she should get some colour run through again. The photo showed another woman, a glittering chain around her neck, pinning a brooch on Judith. That was an important day. An MNZM? She couldn’t exactly remember the initials, or what they stood for, but it was a good honour presented by the Governor-General. She sank into the chair by her bed.

  Darya was also in the complex that afternoon. She had been visiting Mrs Kravetz, the mother of her hairdresser. Kateryna was someone Lauren had recommended for a sophisticated cut, and she was Ukrainian too. At Darya’s first appointment Kateryna had chatted on about her home life, and spoken of her mother in aged care, surrounded by other people, but still lonely. Scarcely anyone at the home seemed to have heard of the Ukraine, let alone have any inkling of the language. ‘Not that it’s so difficult,’ said Kateryna as she snipped at Darya’s hair, ‘a Slavic language, related to Russian, most of us Ukranians speak Russian as well.’

  Darya had said, ‘What do you expect? There are hardly any Russians in New Zealand. I myself lived in the Ukraine as a child, though my parents sent me to Moscow for schooling.’

  ‘Oh, perhaps you could visit Mama.’ Kateryna clasped her hands together, though she was still holding the scissors. ‘If you have time of course. She would so love to speak her own language with someone other than me. The home’s not far away. It’s in Karori, Karori Gardens.’ A customer in a seat near by, with hanks of hair wrapped in plastic, looked up from her magazine in surprise. Kateryna was speaking in Ukrainian.

  ‘My dear,’ Darya had said, frowning at her image in the mirror, ‘I’m very busy settling in.’ She answered in English. She was sure she wouldn’t want to spend time with some old peasant woman; she was from a distinguished family.

  Lauren had not been the only one woken by Kevin tripping over in the hallway the weekend they were all staying with Brett and Darya. It had also roused Darya, ever alert to any disturbances. She stayed still as Brett got up, tiptoed out and shut the bedroom door behind him. She heard their raised voices in the hallway.

  All the bedrooms had French doors leading out to a terrace and front garden. She heard Brett tell Kevin to go into the study and when the footsteps receded, she slipped from the bed and quietly made her way outside into the soft dark. The study had a window slightly open behind the curtains and she crouched against the wall with her ear to the crack. She could easily hear their conversation. It was all about some old woman in a rest home, Judith Butler, who had talked to someone about Kevin way back, something to do with politics and a plot. Kevin threatened Brett saying he would expose him if the police got onto him. Darya thought that if she had anything to do with it, he wouldn’t. She swiftly made her way back to bed and pulled up the blankets, shivering slightly; she needed to be warm by the time Brett got back into bed. She heard Brett tap on Lauren’s door and call out to her. He must have been checking that she had not woken and heard anything untoward. Darya was feigning sleep when Brett came in.

  In the following days she checked Brett’s emails as usual. Brett changed his passwords from time to time, but she knew he kept them in a notebook and she took care to find it, wherever they were staying. She would use the current password until it no longer worked, and then locate the new one. Brett was often out and about on business. Darya made sure she was up to date with all of it; she needed to know that their life was secure, that no catastrophe would suddenly loom and surprise her. She’d had enough of catastrophes in her life already.

  There were several recent emails from Kevin. She listened to the podcast of the woman talking about a government of
the past. It was very boring and she wouldn’t normally have given it the time of day, but she paid careful attention when the scholar said that revelations would be forthcoming in her new book. Then another email from Kevin saying that Jack the Hack had found something interesting for Brett to listen to. To her surprise, the attached voice recording immediately identified Lauren as the speaker and Judith Butler as the person being questioned. Even the location of the rest home was given. It was Karori Gardens.

  The same place her hairdresser had mentioned. Karori, she thought she knew where it was. A Wellington suburb up in the hills above the city. The Russian Embassy was there. Kevin had said that Darya might need to go there on a passport matter, even though she was Ukrainian and had a British passport. Darya liked to have more than one passport up to date.

  She pressed ‘play’ again and listened right through the interview. The key point was that Judith told Lauren that Kevin had tried to kill David Lange, apparently the prime minister at the time. It was away back in the 1980s. Darya thought hard about this. The murder attempt hadn’t succeeded but might still have been a crime. Lauren must be involved somehow with the woman she had heard on the radio.

  So Lauren was snooping. Was that the reason she’d come to their house for the weekend? The thought made Darya furious: she’d liked Lauren and valued her advice. It wasn’t as if she had any friends here. But how much of a threat was there? The old woman sounded really off, rambling at times until Lauren got her back onto the subject again. Leading questions, they probably wouldn’t stand up as testimony. A well-paid lawyer could put paid to all that. But Judith was definitely trouble, the way she was blabbing. Darya wondered who else she might talk to. She decided to put the question of Lauren’s behaviour aside for the moment. She would deal with Judith, and then she would think about Kevin.