The One That Got Away

by Jennifer Palgrave

  Darya became a recognised visitor to Karori Gardens, dropping in to chat to Kateryna’s mother, Mrs Kravetz, every day or two over the run up to Christmas. The old lady was in heaven. She relayed memories of playing with her brothers and sisters in a pine forest, romping with the family dog, ripe peaches with warm juice dripping down her chin, bread dipped in honey at Christmas time, songs and stories, a painted wooden horse and cart. It was hard to quieten her once she got going. Darya would sit by her bed and think about other things, occasionally mouthing platitudes in the mother tongue.

  Karori Gardens was a complicated warren with several wings set over three levels and at angles to each other. There were lots of swing doors halting the flow along the corridors but there were many exits to the grounds outside. Darya had used the confusing layout as an excuse to wander all over the premises and had easily located the Butler room. Conveniently, the residents all had their names on their doors.

  Today, Christmas Eve, the place was festooned with moth-eaten paper chains hanging from the corridor ceilings, but otherwise things seemed as usual. Judith was sitting in her Lazy Boy chair. The tea trolley was rattling away down the corridor. The uniformed attendant had just delivered Judith’s afternoon tea, a cup of weak milky tea and a cupcake splattered with garish orange icing. Judith grimaced at the cupcake. Was it edible? But she picked it up and cautiously licked the icing.

  She was surprised when a visitor slipped into her room. She didn’t recognise the person. But her memory was bad these days. ‘Do I know you?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Darya said, looking around for somewhere to sit. She perched on the edge of the bed. ‘How are you today? Oh, I’m sorry, wrong room, I was looking for someone else. But while I’m here, let me give you your tea. Then you can have a nice lie down for the rest of the afternoon.’ Darya picked up the tea and Judith heard the clink of a spoon. ‘I don’t take sugar.’

  When Darya gave it to her, she swallowed it gratefully. She was thirsty and it didn’t taste too sweet.

  Darya watched her drink it, then left the room and headed over to Mrs Kravetz in another wing.

  A passing attendant heard Judith’s cup crash to the floor, and came to the rescue. She started to clean up, and Judith tried to stand. She felt unsteady, and said, ‘Sorry, sleepy. I’ll just take a nap.’

  She was helped into bed and almost immediately drifted off. Dreams played through her fading consciousness, half memories, she was a child again in Taranaki, her father swinging her on his shoulders as he carried her towards the sea. Then it was difficult to breathe. She tried to call out, gasped, felt something pressing harder and harder on her face and the waves took her into their watery realm.

  Darya put the pillow back under Judith’s head and stepped out of the room. No one was around and she left by an outside door. She crossed the car park and sat in her Audi for a moment before switching on the ignition. She drove carefully around the winding road that led to the exit. She felt like flooring the accelerator but kept her tension in check. One mess cleaned up, that was easy. And the old woman’s passing was of no account. Bigger fish to fry now. Such a nuisance cleaning up Brett’s messes, but as least he wasn’t as bad as Piotr.

  18

  ‘Common pleasures; to walk abroad and recreate yourselves’

  At about the same time on Christmas Eve Lauren was preparing to leave her apartment. She looked around. Everything seemed in order. Well, it would be. There was no one else around to mess things up or misplace them. No pets to make arrangements for. Kirsten’s visit felt like a long time ago. The car accident had coloured the weekend and, while there had been good moments, it was starting to seem as if any patching in the relationship was coming unstitched. Couples counselling sprang into her mind but she rejected the idea with a shudder. She knew too many of her friends for whom that turned out to be the last rite of their relationship. But even though she and Kirsten hadn’t planned to spend Christmas together, being apart over the festive season seemed a bad sign.

  She locked up and got a taxi to the Interislander. She began to feel more cheerful. Christmas holidays with ‘the orphans’ were always fun. Any of her friends counted as an orphan if they weren’t doing Christmas with family, or never did Christmas at all. This year there were eight of them, including Lauren’s closest friends, Ro, Pam and Megan. They were going walking on the Queen Charlotte track in the Marlborough Sounds. They planned to spend Christmas Day in Picton and the following morning take a water taxi to the head of the Sounds to begin their four-day tramp.

  Cook Strait was looking a little dodgy, according to the marine weather forecast. Lauren checked it as they waited for the boarding call. The day was warm but a northerly sprang up as they drew away from the wharf. Lauren had forgotten to take seasick pills. ‘I hope the crossing won’t involve too much pitching and rolling,’ she said to Kiri, who’d organised the trip.

  ‘The best thing we can do is go to the café right now and get ourselves one of their roast dinners. Tummies full before we hit the Strait and everyone should be just fine.’

  They ate as a group, then went out on deck to look at the striking views as they skirted Wellington’s south coast. Lauren was suspicious about Kiri’s advice, but although the ferry began to roll when they got out in the Strait, she was quite comfortable. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Kiri gloated as she marched around checking on the group, ‘no seasickness.’

  ‘It’s the stabilisers,’ Megan rejoined, ‘The trip is nothing like it was years ago.’ They laughed and Pam said, ‘At least we’ve all had dinner.’

  They reached Tory Channel, the narrow entrance to the Sounds. The rest of the journey in the fading light was mesmerising. They cruised along the passage between close-set hills plunging fjord-like into the sea. The shoreline was dotted with little coves, each with its own jetty and a sprinkling of baches.

  Lauren, now relaxing inside on a comfortable chair by an expansive window, realised that she felt safe. She breathed in the sea air. Anxiety had been taking a toll. Ro came and sat next to her. ‘We need this,’ she said. Lauren couldn’t have agreed more.

  They reached Picton before ten and found the motel Kiri had booked, two to each room. Karen surprised them by saying she would attend a carol service and midnight mass in the little white wooden church up on the hill. ‘Anyone want to come?’ Lauren was tempted, remembering childhood Christmases, but sleepiness overwhelmed her and she turned in.

  They enjoyed Christmas Day, keeping to their no presents rule and at Kiri’s suggestion skyping and making phone calls to friends and relatives within a couple of time bands. That kept plenty of time clear for a walk and a long cheerful Christmas lunch Kiri had booked at a local hotel.

  In the morning, Lauren phoned Kirsten, now at Mangawhai Beach with her parents. They conversed pleasantly enough but briefly, the signal fading from time to time. Lauren was aware that Kirsten was probably within earshot of other family members. She herself would be mostly out of cell-phone coverage on the tramp. She also phoned Martin, her son, in Sydney and was relieved that he would be having a Christmas meal with the family of a friend rather than spending the day on his own in front of a screen, which was what she had feared.

  In the evening, she skyped Julia and the family in Brighton. When she fell happily into bed that night, she realised she hadn’t given a thought all day to plots, break-ins or her personal safety.

  She enjoyed the four-day walk immensely. The well-formed track offered stunning coastal views and a wonderful variety of native bush. Lauren and most of the others found it easy in spite of the ups and downs between the little bays, but when Megan almost called a water taxi to do the second day’s leg, Lauren felt vaguely responsible. Megan had had no time to do any preparatory training, she’d been working so hard in her festival job, and she had mentioned to Lauren that Darya’s late request to be a sponsor had made life difficult. However, the group persuaded her to stick it out. She managed the third day with less difficulty.
Lauren knew that on tramps people found reserves of strength they didn’t know they had. Was that a life lesson or specific to walking?

  Lauren and Ro were able to talk together privately. Ro told Lauren she’d spoken to Moana, the other MP Kevin was having an affair with and to Judith Butler’s flatmate, Catherine. Catherine had supported Judith’s story about the argument with Kevin and the cut lip. She even recalled that Judith had been upset not only by Kevin’s lashing out at her but also because he had revealed something appalling. But Judith hadn’t said what, and never talked about it again to Catherine.

  ‘So much for that, then,’ said Lauren, and hitched her backpack further up her back. ‘What about Moana?’

  Ro screwed up her face. ‘I had trouble getting hold of her; she was already holidaying with her son’s family in Central Otago, and reception was pretty dodgy. No hard evidence, but we did talk for a while. She really got to dislike Kevin, said that the Lange-Douglas split was hard for all of them, but there were times he was virtually incandescent with rage. She thought he had some money riding on Douglas’s economic programme continuing unchecked.’

  ‘Little swine,’ said Lauren. ‘I bet he wasn’t worried about principles.’

  ‘That’s exactly what Moana said–that he was just worried about personal profit. She reckoned she finished with him because he became more and more unpleasant.’

  ‘But he never told her anything about the plot?’

  ‘Afraid not,’ said Ro, ‘but she said nothing would surprise her, especially if he were being encouraged.’ She too hitched her backpack higher as they swung up a slope.

  Lauren had nothing new to report. ‘I’m feeling really frustrated that the police don’t think we’ve got enough already to make a case. I’d have thought the break-in to your place is more supporting evidence? And what about Kevin and Brett’s conversation that I overheard. And Brett’s passport details that I got. They show he was here at the time. I’d stand up in court and vouch for all that.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Ro. ‘The trouble is, I suppose, that it’s all circumstantial.’

  They leant into the slope and strode out thoughtfully; they were walking well ahead of the others. Then Lauren slowed. ‘Let’s forget it for now, and just enjoy the holiday.’

  She took her own advice and by the time they completed the track and returned to Picton, she was restored to her usual cheerfulness. The group agreed it had been one of their best ever holidays.

  Disembarking from the Interislander after a smooth trip across the Strait, the women ordered taxis. Pam was the first to be dropped off. Her flat in Te Aro was in a dingy noisy block, surrounded by busy roads. The only time Lauren had been inside was when she was picking up Pam for an outing, and Pam realised half way down the stairs that she’d forgotten something. Lauren had followed her back into the hall, and found the place startlingly disordered and gloomy. She marvelled how differently close friends can live: Pam’s place was a burrow, a storage and sleeping place; Lauren saw her apartment as a refuge and a restful place to be. She was next to be dropped off, and as always, felt a little shiver of pleasure at coming back home.

  She hauled her backpack out of the boot, checked her mailbox–a late Christmas card, by the look of things–and made her way down the pathway. With a slight start she noticed that her car wasn’t in its usual spot. Of course, at the panel beater’s still.

  She climbed the apartment stairs, walked past Phyl’s place and saw that her neighbour’s windows were wide open. Phyl must be back from her relatives. Good, Lauren could keep up her fitness taking Monty for walks. She rummaged in her bag, found the house key and unlocked the door. Dumping the backpack in the hall, she went into the kitchen to put on the jug, dropping the mail on the table. There was something strange in the atmosphere, an indefinably foreign smell. Of course, it had been shut up for nearly a week. Lauren opened a kitchen window and went through to the front rooms. Opening the windows let in a slight sea breeze. Funny, it smelt as if someone had been smoking in the living room. She didn’t even know any smokers.

  She went back to the kitchen where the jug was now boiling and opened the cupboard to get out a mug. Something fell and shattered on the floor. Damn, that was a mug Kirsten had given her, she couldn’t have put it away properly. Kirsten would be cross. Lauren wrapped the shards in an envelope that was lying on the table and slid out the rubbish container from under the sink. It held a screwed up chip bag. She stared at it. Where on earth did that come from? Something was definitely wrong. Had someone been in her apartment? Perhaps Phyl had let someone in? Possibly the body corporate had arranged for an inspection, work to be done on the outside needing checking from the inside? Not likely at Christmas, surely. There must be a reasonable explanation. She’d ask Phyl shortly.

  She made her tea and took it into the spare room to her desk, mainly used for storage since she preferred to work on the kitchen table. The papers on her desk were not exactly in disarray, but something looked awry. She couldn’t remember how she’d left things, but it wasn’t like that. She switched on her laptop and checked emails. A few Christmas offers still coming in, five or six emails from family and friends, either holiday news or lengthy end of year letters from friends abroad. Lauren relaxed as she read them, ruminating that it takes a certain type of person to do an end of year letter. Someone who’s confident or deluded enough to think everyone is interested in what their grown children are up to, or which part of Europe they visited on holiday. She chided herself, she shouldn’t be so cynical.

  She went to check the news on Stuff, and clicked on her internet browser. It usually took her to the Google home screen. Instead, she was confronted with what looked to be a porn site–a busty lascivious woman beckoning her to explore the site and who knew what else. Lauren gasped. Someone had definitely been in her office and been messing around on her computer. That’s not a tradesman! A shiver went down her spine. Oh my God, someone could still be in her apartment. She stood up hastily.

  Her pulse quickened as she walked around. She checked wardrobes and the broom cupboard, she looked behind doors and curtains. She felt absurd. Surely she would have heard a noise if someone was still there. But she needed to reassure herself.

  She checked the bathroom last. ‘Oh, that’s disgusting!’ she said aloud. The toilet had not been flushed. She had certainly not left it like that. She flushed it, then had a sudden thought: should she have saved the contents to help with a police investigation–DNA or some such? Too bad, she couldn’t abide it.

  She prowled around the apartment again, checking for what might be missing. She drew a blank. Then it dawned on her. This was like Ro’s break-in. It must have been organised by Kevin. Probably the same young man that Ro had seen fleeing up her path. She checked the front door but it didn’t look tampered with. An intruder with enough skill to snip a Yale lock. Not that hard, though, a credit card could do it. She had even used that trick herself once, breaking into Megan’s boatshed when the key wasn’t where Megan had said. She cursed herself for not paying enough attention to Deirdre and Phyl’s warnings about security. Phyl would be really cross with her.

  If the aim of this nasty trick was to frighten her, well, it did. So one up to Kevin and his criminal associates. Her mind kept returning to the bathroom, that made her feel especially violated. She was jittery, needed to take some action, so she went through to the bedroom and stripped the sheets from the bed, even though they didn’t look disturbed. She threw all the towels in the hamper, then turned on the shower. Feeling shaky, she stood under it for a long time, washing away real and imaginary grime. Tears ran down her cheeks along with the cleansing stream of water and she angrily brushed them away. Bastards, they wouldn’t scare her off.

  19

  ‘I do not know the man I should avoid’

  By the end of the following day, New Year’s Eve, Lauren was feeling more on top of things. She had rung Ro and told her all about it, and went to ring Deirdre, when she remembered Deirdre wouldn’t
be back till mid-January. She decided not to do anything official about the break-in until then. When she told Phyl, she was chided less harshly than she expected for not having installed an alarm system. Phyl must have seen how upset Lauren was, and she suggested that Lauren take Monty for a restorative walk. She told Lauren to call the police, but although Lauren said that she would, she didn’t intend to. What could they do? She didn’t want to go through the whole story with someone new. She’d save it for Deirdre. She’d had quite enough on her plate for the day. She was looking forward to the fireworks, that would cheer her up.

  The friends met at a designated spot near the waterfront. Ro gave her a bear hug and fussed over her. She caught Megan glancing quizzically at them. Damn the investigation, she couldn’t even tell her friends about the break-in. She resolutely turned her mind away from it.

  The New Year’s Eve fireworks were the best yet. As a ratepayer, Lauren was happy to see her money go up in smoke. She and her friends always argued about whether they should be right down amongst the crowds on the wharf or in Megan’s apartment, handy to the harbour and with a great view where they could watch with a drink in their hand. This year the waterfront had won. Then it hadn’t been so far to walk back to Megan’s where they celebrated the coming of the New Year with a midnight supper. What a year it had been. What was yet to come? Lauren wasn’t one for New Year resolutions: it was so silly to vow to lose weight, be less stressed, get fitter, good intentions that were broken a week or two later. But she did think to herself, as others were trotting out resolutions, that this was going to be an eventful year. What qualities would she need to cope with it? ‘To courage,’ she toasted her friends, raising the champagne glass high. Ro looked at her sideways.