The One That Got Away

by Jennifer Palgrave

  The receptionist sounded doubtful, so Lauren went on, ‘She was an important politician in her day and I’m writing her biography.’ That seemed to do the trick, an odd way of pulling rank, Lauren thought, intellectual intimidation.

  ‘He can fit you in just before surgery closes, at ten to five.’

  The waiting room was far from empty when Lauren arrived. She resigned herself to quite a wait but it was a busy practice with several doctors present, and it was only a little after five when she heard her name called.

  Dr Kumar had distinguished silvery grey hair, gold-rimmed spectacles and a well-cut dark suit. He shook her hand and invited her into his office. He looked fatigued but smiled at her politely. ‘How can I help? Karen said that you were enquiring about one of my patients.’

  ‘Yes, Judith Butler, who died just before Christmas at Karori Gardens. I believe you were the attending doctor.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. What did you want to know? I should warn you that I cannot breach patient confidentiality.’

  ‘Was Judith your patient, or were you called in when she died?’

  Dr Kumar looked a little defensive. ‘Our practice regularly attends elderly patients at Karori Gardens. It was Christmas Eve and we had been very busy that day. I can tell you that she was not my regular patient.’

  ‘Can you tell me a little about what an attending doctor does in these circumstances?’

  Dr Kumar visibly relaxed, once he realised he wasn’t being asked to reveal private information. ‘Our job is to ascertain that the patient has indeed passed away. We check for a pulse and look for other vital signs. We look at the patient’s records and we speak to the staff about the circumstances. I can’t give you specific information but I was satisfied that her death, although sudden, was not inconsistent with her medical records. Older people usually hang on till after Christmas, but to die suddenly is not uncommon.’

  ‘I know she had Alzheimer’s.’

  ‘Death can be a relief, it’s always distressing when people hang on for too long.’

  ‘Is there any possibility someone could have hastened her death?’

  Dr Kumar looked startled. ‘Karori Gardens has an excellent reputation and I have never heard of any such suggestion before.’ He stood to conclude the interview.

  21

  ‘I never stood on ceremonies’

  Lauren bypassed Palmerston North, taking Highway 57 towards Ashhurst. A couple of days earlier she had called Judith Butler’s daughter, Jen Bates, who had been named in the death notice. She told Jen that she was involved in Ro’s project on Labour women and that she had recorded an interview with her mother some time before she died.

  ‘I’d like to discuss some of the content of that interview with you. And as well as interviewing women politicians of the day, we’re also talking to some of the family members to find out what it was like for them.’ Lauren excused herself the fib, if it could help her find out more about what happened to Judith.

  Jen seemed friendly on the phone and eager to talk about her mother. She explained how she had grown up in Palmerston North but moved to Ashhurst after marrying into a local farming family. Her mother had been disappointed, the Bates were all National voters and Federated Farmer types, like most in the district. Jen and Trevor had raised their children on the farm and the older two had left home now, just her and her husband and youngest daughter left in the house. She agreed to see Lauren and gave her directions.

  The countryside Lauren was driving through looked fertile. She could see monster wheeled irrigators in the paddocks that were divided with wire fences. Her view from the road included milking sheds, haybarns and other outbuildings as well as the occasional farmhouse. Most paddocks were empty of livestock, but large herds of cows munched contentedly in some, suggesting they were to be rounded up for milking. Rolling countryside to the east gave way to the steeper bush-clad slopes of the Tararua Ranges.

  She spotted the Bates’ driveway by its dairy company number. The entrance had the usual rural postbox with its red flag up, as well as a patch of red hot pokers flanked by flax bushes. Her car rolled noisily over a cattle-stop and up the long gravelled driveway to the house on a small rise giving a view over the surrounding farmland. Jen came out of the front door and greeted her. She was a strong-looking, tanned woman of medium height with a warm smile.

  ‘Come in. I’ve put the jug on and the scones are just out of the oven.’

  Country hospitality, Lauren thought, remembering her student holiday job many years back, when she cooked for the shearing gang on a South Island sheep station. She’d become a dab hand at scones, always required in great quantities for morning smoko, though she seldom had occasion to make them now.

  They sat down at the kauri kitchen table. Lauren was surprisingly hungry after the two-hour drive and was soon wolfing down a scone smothered in raspberry jam and cream, for all the world like a shearer.

  She complimented Jen on her baking, swallowed the last mouthful and began. ‘So, tell me what it was like for you when you were growing up in Palmerston North and your mother was elected to Parliament. She was in for two terms, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, she got in on the 1984 swing to Labour, when I was fifteen and my little sister was twelve. She’d stood the time before, and before that, in the seventies, she was elected to the Palmerston North City Council. I was born in 1969 and I can’t remember a time when Mum wasn’t involved in politics. She was out lots in the evening at meetings, there were always people calling in and there were often meetings at our house. I complained so much when I was twelve about being chucked out of the living room just before my favourite programmes, that I got a television in my bedroom, the envy of my friends.’ Jen smiled at the memory.

  ‘I’m making it sound as if Mum was neglectful but she wasn’t at all. She was a very bright, outgoing person and she was fun to be around. When she was home she saw to everything. Dad was more the quiet type but he looked after us when Mum wasn’t there.’

  ‘Did he find you and your sister a handful?’ Lauren asked, adding ‘Teenagers, you know.’

  Jen cast her mind back. ‘Dad was at work, didn’t usually get home ’til after five. Everyone came around to our house after school because there were no parents. Congregating at the house where there is least supervision, scoffing toast or cereal or icecream after school, playing loud music …my kids have been through that stage but at least I’m around, so they couldn’t get out of hand. When Dad arrived home, the other kids would scarper and he would try hard to be the disciplinarian. We had to help get the tea, do the dishes and then our homework. And off to bed by nine, lights out soon after, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Sounds pretty normal.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jen. She placed her cup carefully down on its saucer and looked at Lauren with a rueful expression. ‘Of course, it was before the days of cellphones, so Mum was really out of touch, not like nowadays. Parliament often sat late and I couldn’t usually phone her in the evenings though there were times when I really would have liked to talk to her.’ She paused. ‘But on the other hand, Parliament is only in session about half the year so she was still around a lot.’

  ‘How did your mother seem over those years? Did she like being an MP, do you think? Very different from local body politics.’

  ‘She was a born politician, she just loved it. But there was a tense time when there was all that ill-feeling between David Lange and the Roger Douglas camp. Mum was somewhere in the middle, she admired David Lange but I don’t think she was close to him. And while she didn’t really like Roger Douglas all that much personally, she seemed to think that was the right track to be on, until it all started to come unstuck. I couldn’t follow it really.’

  ‘Anything specific upset her, do you recall?’ Lauren didn’t really expect a useful answer.

  Jen looked thoughtful. ‘There was a time when my sister and I got really worried. We thought Mum and Dad might be headed for a divorce. Dad seemed really grump
y and once when she came home from Wellington she had a cut on her lip. They had the most tremendous row that night, we couldn’t help hearing them yelling at each other. She just looked miserable around then. Actually, I started to go a bit wild.… But you don’t need to know all this.’ She looked away and started rearranging the cups and saucers on the table.

  Lauren smiled sympathetically. ‘It’s just what the project is interested in, politicians and their families. But I do have a difficult subject to broach and I don’t know quite how to go about it without upsetting you.’

  Jen looked puzzled. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Have you ever heard of a politician named Kevin Driscoll, same era as your mother?’

  ‘I do recall the name. I seem to remember that my mother didn’t think much of him. But how is that relevant to anything?’

  Lauren took the plunge. ‘Kevin Driscoll was closely involved with the Douglas camp, he was their numbers man. I think he may have had a brief affair with your mother.’

  Jen looked shocked. She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Mum would never have!’ Her face reddened. ‘And that’s quite an accusation to make. Is the project just digging up dirt, in which case I don’t want anything to do with it!’

  Lauren tried to reassure her. ‘No, this is something quite serious. We have reason to believe that Driscoll was involved in a plot to kill David Lange. Obviously, that didn’t happen, but we understand from talking to your mother that he said something to her about it. She first mentioned it when Ro, my colleague, was originally interviewing her, and then told me more about it.’

  ‘That’s crazy. I find that hard to believe. Did she actually say she’d had an affair with him?’ Jen stood up and began clearing the table, banging dishes down noisily on the bench.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Lauren, turning towards her, ‘but she said it was an awful mistake. I don’t think it lasted long. Politicians often run off the rails, women too, and it was the eighties, it was quite a free time.’ She could see how upset Jen was, so to soften it, she said, ‘Judith did say she had a really strong marriage–she said your father was a lovely man.’

  Jen faced Lauren, clutching a tea towel. ‘This is all a bit of a shock, with Mum only just passed away.’ She began to pace around the room, trying to make sense of it. ‘I suppose you noticed that Mum’s memory was going. She found it hard to remember what she had for breakfast, or what happened yesterday. But she had very clear recall of earlier times, she wouldn’t have been confused about that, we often used to chat about those days. I suppose she tried to protect me.’ She added with a wry smile, ‘Even though I am middle aged with three children.’

  She glanced at the clock. ‘I have to go and pick up my daughter.’ She frowned at Lauren and Lauren stood up too. ‘Just one more thing. New information on the Lange plot has come to light. Kevin heard an interview on the radio with Rowan Wisbech, the leader of this project, and realised that his past was catching up with him. It is just possible that he took your mother’s life.’

  ‘What?’ Jen shrieked. She turned on her heel, grabbed a purse and car key from the kitchen bench. ‘That’s absurd. I think you’d better leave.’

  Lauren said a hasty goodbye and made for her car. She reversed, the farm dogs barking as she did so. She drove off feeling a mixture of embarrassment and upset. How might she have handled the disclosures better? Jen’s reaction was probably inevitable, no matter how Lauren had told her. Had the trip been worthwhile? Jen had confirmed the story about the cut lip, though Ro had already had it confirmed from Judith’s flatmate. And she’d said her mother’s memory for times past was good. But nothing else. Lauren drove back to Wellington oblivious to the landscape around her.

  Later that evening, as she was preparing for bed, the phone rang. ‘Hi, is that Lauren? It’s Jen Bates here. I’m sorry I was so angry with you this afternoon.’

  ‘I quite understand, I was the bearer of upsetting news.’

  ‘Yes, it was indeed. I talked it over with my husband this evening and he thought I should phone you, tell you how surprised we were when Mum died so suddenly.’

  ‘You weren’t expecting it?’ Lauren had reached to close her bedroom window, but she paused, straightened again.

  ‘The thing is, I couldn’t get down to see her as much as I would have liked but I do go–did go–most weeks. I last saw her on Christmas Eve, in the morning. She seemed very well. She was on and off, but that was a good day for her. We went and sat for a while out in the gardens. She didn’t seem like someone who was ready to die.’

  There was a long pause. Lauren said, ‘Hello?’ Had they been disconnected?

  Jen snuffled. Her voice sounded constricted. ‘My husband said to put aside the stuff about Mum telling you she had an affair and focus on what you said about the possibility of that man wanting Mum out of the way. We’d like to know more. So, how can we find out the truth? Have you spoken to the police? Should we get in touch with them?’

  Lauren said, ‘I’ve an ongoing conversation with a police officer about the Lange plot. She’s back from leave next week and I’m going to see her. I’ve other evidence to put in front of her and I’m sure she’ll want to get in touch with you. I’ll give her your details.’

  Early Monday morning, Lauren phoned Deirdre for an appointment and was delighted that she could see her that afternoon–perhaps she wasn’t back at full speed yet after her holiday. Lauren arrived slightly early and they spent a few minutes on seasonal pleasantries: how was your Christmas? Decent weather during your holiday?

  Then Deirdre said, ‘So what do you have to tell me, Lauren?’

  The story came tumbling out. The car tampering, the break-in to her apartment, her phone call to Brett to tell Kevin to lay off. How she’d gathered evidence about Judith Butler’s death and Kevin or someone he’d hired might have killed her.

  There was a pause. As usual, Deirdre had listened carefully. ‘Did you report the break in to the police?’

  Lauren was nervous. ‘I was waiting for you to get back because I knew you’d understand.’

  ‘What about the car tampering. Has that been reported?’

  ‘No, same reason….’

  Deirdre sighed. ‘It’s much easier to collect evidence if we get on to a crime as soon as we can. Never mind, I’ll get you to go down to Central and fill out an incident report, police will get a statement from you, come and take a look at your apartment and your car. They’ll probably do some finger-printing so be prepared to clean up afterwards.

  ‘The next thing. Phoning Brett: was that wise? You’ve alerted him to what’s going on and that could make an interview with him more difficult.’ Lauren winced. ‘Now, Judith Butler.’ Deirdre stopped and thought for a moment.

  She stood up, pushed her chair into the desk, paced from side to side of her office, came back, pulled the chair out, and sat down again. She said, ‘What on earth were you thinking? If you were suspicious about Judith Butler’s death your proper course was to inform the police as soon as you could. I’m not the only person in the police force. All this poking around and questioning that you’ve done will have just muddied the waters. And it’s now far too late,’ she looked at the calendar, ‘two weeks since her death, for us to examine the scene in any useful way.’ She paused again and then looked at Lauren, her brown eyes steely. ‘I suggest you get on with whatever it is you usually fill your time with and leave solving crimes to us.’

  Lauren was dumbstruck. She felt just as she had when ticked off by the headmistress of her school for some misdemeanor–and that was decades ago! Her stunned silence must have had some effect, because Deirdre relented. ‘Look, Lauren, you did some useful work on the Lange investigation and I’m grateful for that.’ Then she frowned again. ‘But you will have realised that that possibly resulted in an early death for Judith Butler. If inquiries had been official that would have been unlikely to happen.’ Lauren was aghast. Deirdre was blaming her–or her and Ro–for Judith’s death.

  Deirdre carr
ied on. ‘We’ll follow up on this information and we may call in Kevin Driscoll for questioning, but it’s still unlikely to result in any sort of charge. Meanwhile, you may think you’re safe, but I’m not so certain. I would strongly advise you to be out of Wellington for the next while, and that applies to your friend too.’

  ‘Ro’s in Australia,’ said Lauren, ‘She’s been at a conference and is adding some days’ holiday before she comes back. I suppose I could go to Auckland for a time.’

  ‘Good,’ said Deirdre. ‘I’ll let you know if there’s any outcome from all this, but meanwhile, please, no more sleuthing.’ She stood up and gave Lauren a wintry smile.

  22

  ‘It is the bright day that brings forth the adder’

  Darya arrived at Wellington station mid-morning. Brett had driven over early and she’d told him she’d get the train. She went to the bank of lockers and chose a free one, into which she placed a large sealed envelope. She closed the locker, chose a four-digit code to lock it, then walked briskly towards the waterfront.

  Kevin was met by Executive Chauffeurs at Wellington airport. He was due to have lunch with Brett at Shed 5, a waterfront restaurant. Brett had sounded cool when they last spoke. Kevin couldn’t tell whether that was because of the conversation they’d had in the Wairarapa about the Lange stuff. Naturally they couldn’t talk about that over the phone. Or was it that the land transfer wasn’t going well? It turned out that the best feature of the property, a small lake ringed by bush, was subject to an iwi settlement to compensate local Maori for historic land confiscation. That had escaped Kevin’s notice.