New Year’s Day saw Lauren making herself a strong morning coffee. She took it over to her laptop, scrolled down her emails and saw that someone had sent her a Jacquie Lawson card. She wondered who it was from. The New Year’s card featured balloons, bubbly, fireworks and jazzy music. Those cards might be kitsch, but high-class kitsch. Then she got to the message. It was much longer than usual:
“Thanks for making your apartment easy to get into. And your computer. Had a beer, bought a discount movie ticket on GrabOne. The boss says stop nosing about if you want a Happy New Year. Jack the Hack. PS And that goes for your friend in Wadestown too.”
Bought a discount movie ticket! Lauren checked her bank account–yes, it was there, 28th December, but no other withdrawals she couldn’t account for. So that’s when he was here. And all too clever with computers. She remembered that you could look at the browser history and clicked on to it. That was a shock–a list of unfamiliar sites all on the same date, including porn sites, Google searches, Trademe, GrabOne, Jacquie Lawson, dating sites and, as she’d already discovered, her bank’s web address. He must have found where she kept her passwords on the computer. Damn it, she’d have to change them all. Clever bastards, they were trying to unsettle her, but nothing major for the police to take seriously. Anyway, it was all evidence that someone didn’t want them digging up the past. She’d have a lot more to tell Deirdre when she got back from her holiday.
The next day was a public holiday too, so it was the day after when Lauren rang the panel beater. Yes, the car would be ready in the afternoon. Later on, she walked down to the workshop and could see her little red car, one of the overflow parked on the road. She paused to inspect it. Beautiful again. She was smiling as she walked into the office to pay and collect her keys. There was a young man in there, an apprentice, she presumed.
‘Oh, that car,’ he said. ‘I’ll just get the boss, he wanted a word.’
The boss emerged from the back of the workshop, wiping his hands. ‘Hi Lauren,’ he said. ‘She’s looking good. But I wanted to talk to you about your tyres. Do you have them checked regularly? Or is someone trying to kill you?’ He laughed awkwardly. ‘Your tyres were only half inflated, no wonder it skidded all over the road.’
‘Really? I had the warrant done in November, they were all good then.’
‘Let’s go and take another look. I’ll get Dave to come as well.’ He called to the apprentice and the three walked to Lauren’s car. He said, ‘Dave, you inflated the tyres, didn’t you? Did you notice anything else?’
‘Yes, I had to put on a couple of valve caps. They were missing.’
The panel beater turned to Lauren and said, ‘It is very dangerous if your tyres are let down in this way. It affects both the brakes and the steering. You were lucky no one was hurt. Have a think about how this might have happened.’
Lauren drove home slowly and parked the car. She was trembling. A mixture of fear and rage. How dare they! Kirsten could have been killed. She could have been killed. Bastards!
It was better to be angry than scared and she stamped up the stairs to her apartment. The day was like the aftermath of a disaster. Phone calls, discussions, endless reflecting and mulling over. This time Phyl did chide her for not having put in a burglar alarm. She rang Kirsten who was also horrified.
‘I noticed it wasn’t handling well when I drove off. But I thought, that’s just Lauren’s crappy little car.’ Lauren was offended but it wasn’t the time to say so.
‘Kirsten, I’m really sorry you had an accident. Of course, it wasn’t meant for you–whoever did it thought I’d be driving.’
Kirsten snapped. ‘So it should have been. At least you would have brought it on yourself. I’m losing patience with your obsession. You should stop snooping. Who cares if someone tried to kill Lange all those years ago?’
Someone cared, thought Lauren. And Kirsten’s advice was the same as Jack the Hack’s.
Ro reacted differently. When Lauren told her about the tyre tampering, Ro came over straight away. She thought Lauren should move out of the apartment until things cooled down. Lauren couldn’t see how they would cool down, but she didn’t see the point of sharing her pessimism. She couldn’t stay at Ro’s place, which was also unsafe. Ro herself was off to a conference in Australia and wouldn’t be back for a couple of weeks.
They discussed where Lauren might go. Ro was still trying to keep their discovery to themselves, though Lauren was getting tired of treating it as hush hush. For one thing, it meant not throwing herself on the mercy of Megan or Pam, the obvious choices (though Pam wouldn’t welcome a visitor to her burrow). Then Ro said, ‘What about Michael?’
So Lauren explained to Michael what had been happening and, with a wobble in her voice, admitted she did feel in danger. Before she could even ask he said, ‘But you must come and stay with us.’ By the evening Lauren had locked up the apartment–for what it was worth–told Phyl where she’d be and taken her clothes and gear down to Michael and Kiano’s spare bedroom.
A good night’s sleep helped restore Lauren’s equanimity, though not to her post-holiday level. Breakfast was a leisurely affair and she sat chatting with Michael and Kiano for some time. Then Kiano excused himself. He was still on holiday, but he’d undertaken to re-gib their laundry and wanted to get on with it. Michael got up to make more coffee and said gently ‘So what do you think you’ll do now, Lauren?’
It was the question she needed. ‘I’ve stopped feeling scared, thanks to you and Kiano, but I tell you, I’m still really angry. I’ll talk to Deirdre again but she’s not back for a week. What I really want to do is nail those sods for attempted murder. And if they carry on like this, it might be for attempted murder now as well as thirty years ago.’ She sprang up, eyes suddenly alight. ‘Hey Michael, can I use your landline. I’d like to phone Brett. And he won’t know your number. I’ll take him by surprise.’
Michael looked apologetic. ‘We decided not to get one, Lauren. But use my mobile if you like.’ Lauren almost snatched it from his hand. She was feeling a rush of energy and needed to phone Brett before her courage dissipated. She keyed in the number from her contacts list, stood still and waited. Michael was standing nearby with a coffee in his hand, listening.
‘Brett? It’s Lauren Fraser. No, I’m not after Darya… No, I’ve already arranged a time to visit a gallery with her. Brett, it’s your friend Kevin I’m phoning about… What?... Your colleague, then. I believe you have influence with Kevin. I noticed the way you were with him that weekend in the Wairarapa. You need to know that in the last three weeks my friend Ro’s house has been burgled, my apartment has been broken into, my car tires have been deflated causing an accident and I have received a threatening email. As you will realise, this all relates to the work Ro and I have been doing to unravel the plot against David Lange in 1988. Your friend Kevin was definitely involved and there were others.’
She decided not to elaborate. She didn’t want to get into an argument with him, so she went straight on: ‘You need to let him know the police are gathering new evidence at the moment from a number of sources. And it would not go well with Kevin and whoever else is involved if anything happened to Ro or me. Get Kevin to call off his dogs… What?... Oh, I’m sure you can. After all, Brett, you’ve always considered yourself a cut above people like Kevin. I’m sure you can manage…No, I don’t want to have a meeting. I’m very busy on this case. Goodbye.’ She ended the call.
Michael laughed. ‘That was telling him. I reckon you’ll get a bit of peace now. Oh, by the way, did you know that Judith Butler died? I saw her funeral notice in the paper a couple of days ago.’
20
‘Men at some time are masters of our fates’
Lauren was back in her apartment after a few days with Michael and Kiano. Kiano had offered to install a videocam on her front porch, but she disliked the idea. The call she’d made to Brett had settled her; she no longer felt frightened. She didn’t think there would be more interference. Of
course, he must be wondering if Lauren and Ro had anything on him, but he would be unlikely to think that harming them would help him go unnoticed and she was confident he could control Kevin.
It was the news about Judith Butler that she found unsettling. She’d texted Ro right away, as soon as Michael told her of the death. It was late afternoon in Melbourne. Ro, supposedly now on holiday, was actually in the State Library of Victoria, doing some research on the 1980s neo-liberalism and the struggle between Lange and Douglas.
When she saw the text from Lauren, Ro said aloud, ‘Oh no!’ and was glared at by nearby library users. Lauren was asking her to phone urgently. Perhaps something else had happened to her? She left her spot in the library and ran out into the street to make the call. She found a shady spot and leant against the wall.
Lauren wasted no time on niceties. ‘Judith Butler died on Christmas Eve. I’ve just found out.’
Ro jerked upright. ‘That can’t be right! I saw her just a couple of days before Christmas, and she was fine.’ Her voice got louder. ‘She was one of my favourite interviewees. She might have been forgetful, but she was in good shape physically. This is weird. Have you seen a death notice?’
Lauren had found the notice online. ‘It said she died peacefully. She was seventy-six.’
‘That’s not old these days. Lauren, I don’t believe she would have just died. I saw her the day before we went to the Sounds, took her some soap and hand lotion. She seemed fine.’
‘Well, the notice did say peacefully, not suddenly,’ said Lauren again.
‘Bullshit!’ said Ro, ‘I bet it was sudden–and I’ll bet my bottom dollar it wasn’t natural. It’s all too convenient–she spills the beans to us and then she carks it.’ Her voice rose, and a passer-by looked at her curiously. ‘Lauren, you need to find out more about it. It’s creepy.’
Lauren sighed. It would be easier to take it as just a sad coincidence. But Ro was adamant.
‘Okay, Okay, I’ll see what I can find out and let you know when you get back to Wellington.’
‘Thanks Lauren–and you take care, too.’ Ro headed back in to the library, picked up the books she had ordered and returned them to the desk. She needed to go for a long walk to settle her distressed feelings.
Ro’s conviction rubbed off on Lauren. It was now more than a month since Lauren had visited Judith. Ro was right, the woman was suffering from a degree of dementia, and she did have a walker, but she had not seemed frail when Lauren interviewed her. Surely there couldn’t have been foul play…or could there? Deirdre had said she’d ask the facility to beef up security. She wondered if Deirdre had specifically mentioned Judith?
She wondered who she could talk to at Karori Gardens. Perhaps the staff member who found Judith dead. She phoned the rest home to see if she could arrange that. She lied, said she was writing Judith’s biography and it was important to include end of life material. And that she would take up no more than five minutes of their time. There was some hesitation. She held, while consultation went on at the other end of the phone. Finally she was asked to come at eleven thirty the next day, the end of Jasmine’s morning shift. She arrived to find the receptionist expecting her. She was asked to wait while Jasmine was located.
‘Just sign in while I’m looking for her.’ The receptionist went off and Lauren began to sign in, then stopped abruptly. She glanced around–no one in sight–then leafed back to Christmas Eve and ran her eye down the list of visitors. Good heavens, Darya Wilson’s signature, visiting a Mrs Kravetz. What was that about? Why did the name sound familiar? And why would Darya take the time to visit someone in a rest home? She’d said she didn’t know anyone in New Zealand.
There was no Kevin Driscoll signature. She mocked herself. He wasn’t going to sign in if he could avoid it–and it wouldn’t be hard in this rabbit warren to slip in, even if they were being more careful about visitors. She turned back to today’s date and dutifully finished filling in her arrival time, purpose of visit, person she was visiting, and put the register back on the desk.
Jasmine came in. She seemed to be Indonesian or from the Philippines, like so many of New Zealand’s rest home workers. She murmured greetings, eyes downcast, voice hesitant. Lauren sat down with her in the reception area, but out of range of the receptionist’s hearing.
‘Thank you so much for agreeing to see me.’ Lauren was effusive. She sensed that the woman wondered if she were in trouble somehow, and was not confident about speaking up. ‘I am writing about Judith Butler. I would like to hear of her last hours. She had been an important person, she was a member of New Zealand’s Parliament.’ Now I’m talking down, she thought, and stopped.
Jasmine brightened. ‘She was a very nice lady. So sad. I was surprised.’
‘Surprised?’ Lauren tried not to sound too eager.
‘She had not seemed so sick. Then I had to help her into bed that afternoon and when I came back to get her for dinner, she was’–she hesitated–‘gone.’ She crossed herself.
Lauren was puzzled. ‘Why did you have to help her into bed that afternoon?’ Jasmine explained how she had found Judith sitting in a chair with her tea cup broken on the floor, and how wobbly Judith had seemed.
‘Had she had any visitors?’
Jasmine screwed up her face in thought. ‘I do not know,’ she said. ‘I did not see anyone, but I am not always near that room. But,’ she brightened, ‘a name would be in the visitors’ book if anyone came. We are very careful to record visitors; we had a training session on security just recently.’ She spoke again of the shock of finding Judith dead, and finished, ‘But when they called Dr Kumar, he said old people just go when they are ready. He is a very kind man. But so sad, just before Christmas.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I cried when I cleared her room. All those lovely Christmas cards.’
Lauren rose, said her thanks again, and left. She felt slightly sick. So Judith had been well until the day she died. She had a ghastly feeling Ro was right –it was foul play. They might have stricter security in place, but she bet that a visitor could avoid being noticed. There were always lots of people around. As she walked to her car, she thought grimly that pursuing a cold case was one thing, but this was another. All too immediate, too present. And Kevin–she was sure it was Kevin or someone he hired–wouldn’t have bothered if it weren’t for Ro and her.
She drove home, ate lunch and went to fetch Monty from Phyl’s on autopilot, all the time thinking about Judith. ‘I’ll have him back mid-afternoon,’ she told Phyl, ‘I’ve got a hair appointment after that.’
She put Monty into the back seat of her car and drove over to the wind turbine track in Brooklyn West. Familiar territory for the dog. He bounded out of the car and rushed up the track, tail waving joyfully as he sniffed for rabbits.
‘Monty! Come here!’ called Lauren, and she kept him in sight as she began walking up the steep track. It was a stiffish climb, one that followed the contours of a long fence snaking its way up the slope. The track emerged onto a flat area of grass where the wind turbine soared grandly upwards. The view was spectacular, with Wellington city stretched out in front, Cook Strait on the south side of the city, and the harbour on the other.
Lauren paused there, plopping herself down on the edge of the grass by the turbine. Usually she took time to admire the view, but not today. Today she was mulling over the interview with Jasmine. Judith’s death just didn’t seem natural. And if Kevin had murdered her, what else might he be brewing? Two break-ins and deflated tyres might have been just the start for Ro and her. She was glad she’d phoned Brett and hoped that was enough to stop Kevin.
She sat there, idly plucking the tops off pieces of grass, and wondered if she was being melodramatic. Perhaps it was a natural death. Her thoughts were still disjointed, but she decided to do some more digging. The Dr Kumar whom Jasmine had mentioned would be a good place to start. He had been happy enough to sign the death certificate.
She sighed. A pity Deirdre was still away. If Kevin had don
e it, of course he would have got in somehow without signing the visitors’ book. Weird that Darya happened to be there. Perhaps she could contact her and ask if she’d seen Kevin that day?
She watched Monty turn on his back and, twisting from side to side, slide down a slight grassy slope. It had become a ritual act, a way of scratching his back. She let him climb up and roll down several times before they set off again down the track. Home, return Monty to Phyl, change into respectable clothes, get to the hairdresser. Lauren always thought she got a better cut if she looked smart when she arrived.
When she walked into the salon Kateryna greeted her with more than her usual enthusiasm. ‘I’m very pleased that you sent Mrs Wilson to me, such a kind woman.’ For an instant, Lauren couldn’t think who she meant–Darya didn’t seem like a Mrs Wilson.
‘Oh–Darya! Yes,’ she said.
Kateryna continued, ‘I told her of my mother in Karori Gardens and said that she would dearly like to converse in Ukrainian.’ So that’s why Darya was in the visitor’s book! Kateryna chatted on. ‘At first I thought I had offended her, she said she would be too busy. But a few days later Mama told me that a nice woman had been to see her and they enjoyed talking about the old days. She even visited on Christmas Eve, so thoughtful!’
Lauren stiffened. Perhaps it wasn’t such a simple explanation. That was quite a coincidence. She shrugged to loosen her shoulders.
Kateryna said politely, ‘Please keep still, the scissors are very sharp.’
‘Sorry.’ Lauren tried to relax. But Darya? Could she have set up her visits just to get to Judith Butler? No, too far-fetched altogether. Brett was unlikely to have confided in her.
It had been difficult to get an appointment with Dr Kumar. He was a GP at a group practice in Karori West. The receptionist tried to put her off. The practice was full and they were not taking on new patients. ‘It’s not for a consultation,’ Lauren said, ‘I just need five minutes of his time…’ She searched for an explanation. ‘I was close to a woman who died recently at Karori Gardens. Dr Kumar completed the death certificate and I want to ask him about the circumstances.’
The One That Got Away Page 16