‘We don’t want to be starving when we get there,’ said Lauren. ‘We may not even be offered a drink.’
‘We mightn’t want it if he did offer it,’ said Ro, almost sounding lighthearted. ‘Never know what might be in it.’ Lauren was still nervous, but that made her laugh.
Lauren thought she could get to the house from Masterton, the way the taxi had taken them. She had begun to think she’d taken a wrong turning when she saw the high fence and gate ahead. They stopped, Lauren pressed a buzzer.
‘Is that the courier?’ said a voice. It was Brett.
‘It’s Lauren Fraser.’ A pause, then, ‘Come in.’
The gate rolled back and they drove in. By the time they were out of the car, Brett was standing on the front porch. Good heavens, thought Lauren, we’ve caught him before he’s shaved. He certainly wasn’t looking as suave as usual. His hair was disordered, not artfully. He definitely had a five o’clock shadow, his shirt looked unironed and his trousers rumpled. He managed a civil greeting, though.
‘Hello, Lauren. What an unexpected pleasure. And…?’ He turned to Ro.
‘This is my friend Rowan Wisbech.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Brett. ‘The historian of the Lange years. I heard your interview with Kim Hill.’
Before Ro could respond Lauren said brightly, ‘We’re hoping to see Darya.’
‘Well, you can’t.’ It was abrupt.
Lauren said, ‘That’s a shame, there were a couple of things we wanted to talk to her about.’
‘Perhaps I can help. If it’s about the Arts Festival, I’ve arranged for a bank transfer as promised. Your friend Megan has already been on the phone to me.’
‘That’s good news,’ said Lauren. She lied. ‘I’d told her that I’d follow up while Ro and I were over here–we’re having a day out. Megan was getting stressed, I think she’d heard something from Darya, wasn’t quite sure what was going on.’
‘I put her on a plane yesterday morning.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know she was leaving the country. I would have made sure to say goodbye.’ Lauren’s voice trailed off. The conversation was already flagging. She rallied. ‘Look, perhaps we can come in for a minute? It’s very hot here.’ They were still standing on the porch and the heat of the day was becoming uncomfortable.
‘OK,’ said Brett, ‘but I’m in the middle of packing.’ He waved them in ahead of him and as she passed Lauren caught a strong whiff of whisky. He showed them into the dining room. The whisky bottle and glass were sitting on the elegant long table. It was now piled up with various items and half-filled boxes, and there were more boxes on the floor.
‘Do sit down.’ He waved them to the table and sat down himself by his whisky glass.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ He poured more into his glass and held up the bottle inquiringly.
‘Not a whisky, thanks,’ said Lauren. ‘But I’d love a cup of tea. You too, Ro?’ (She decided he’d no reason to spike it yet.)
Brett got up grudgingly and went through to the kitchen, poking his head back again to ask what sort of tea they’d like. While he was out of earshot, they looked at each other. ‘We can try to keep him talking for a bit,’ said Lauren. ‘Why don’t you frame some tactful questions about the poison plot?’
Brett returned holding a tray awkwardly, two mugs with the strings of teabags hanging down their sides and a carton of milk. A far cry from their elegant dinner, thought Lauren.
‘What brings you to the Wairarapa?’ he said.
Lauren spoke up first. ‘Just a day out–we’re doing a few wineries–but since we’re here, there might be some questions you can help us with.’
Ro took that as a cue, though she sounded nervous, ‘There’s now a lot of evidence that Kevin Driscoll administered poison to David Lange–and as Lauren told you, we think he was trying to silence us because we were looking into it. We know there were people egging him on. You were around then. You’d be in a position to give us some possible names?’
It was tactfully done, but Lauren couldn’t resist. She chipped in, ‘I heard you and him arguing that night I was here and he said he’d take you down with him if he was questioned again. So what’s the story?’
Ro looked shocked. She hadn’t expected Lauren to take him on so directly.
Brett was dismissive. ‘I’m surprised at you, Lauren, snooping around. Kevin was very drunk. You’ve got it all wrong, these accusations about a so-called plot against Lange. You’ve been listening to a demented woman’s ravings.’
‘So you know about Judith Butler? Do you also know that that so-called demented woman is now dead, and it’s become a police matter?’ said Lauren.
Brett hardly reacted, raised an eyebrow and had another sip of whisky.
Ro was no longer nervous, and she wanted to keep Brett focused on the Lange plot. ‘I’ll remind you of the background,’ she said. She began talking, lecture-style, about the backing for the Roger Douglas crew from international business.
‘I know you were one of the Friedmanites who visited New Zealand on several occasions, and had meetings with the Business Roundtable and some of the government MPs who supported Douglas. You were right there when the sale of state assets came onto the agenda.’
‘Don’t lecture me about those times.’ Brett spoke more shortly than usual for him, except that the whisky was slowing his words down. ‘Yes, I was there. You make the sale of the state assets sound wicked. The government needed capital to get New Zealand out of the mire that Muldoon had left it in, and anyway, it’s sensible for the state not to try and run activities that business can run more effectively.’
‘That’s not what recent history shows,’ said Ro. ‘A pity we ever sold some assets, and we’ve had to buy them back. And it’s now become clear that fortunes were made by those business people smart enough to get their hands on the family silver.’
‘Is that so?’ said Brett. Lauren was sitting back, beginning to enjoy the exchange, but wondering when the political might turn personal.
‘Yes, and the prime minister at the time became more and more uncomfortable about selling everything off–banks and other financial institutions, forestry, our national airline, electricity companies. Things were turning sour. Extraordinary when a prime minister has to disagree with his own government’s programme. So where were you when he said it was time to stop for a cup of tea? Where were you when the Douglas camp were wanting to “roll the fat man”?’ Ro drew quote marks in the air to show she was quoting and slowed down to emphasise the words.’
She paused for breath, and Brett interrupted her again. ‘You lefties are always so paranoid. I’m tired of it. Let me tell you what really happened. Come into the living room, we’ll sit somewhere more comfortable–and have another drink.’
26
‘For we will shake him, or worse days endure’
He poured himself another whisky, added a small amount of water, and carried his glass and the whisky bottle into the living room. Lauren and Ro left their tea mugs behind, but declined the offer of a glass of wine. He gave them sparkling water from a bottle in a small fridge that was part of the drinks setup, and brought out a selection of cheeses and olives which he put on a coffee table.
He then sat in a comfortable leather armchair while Lauren and Ro shared a sofa. Lauren wondered how Brett was going to squirm out of it.
Brett mainly spoke to Ro. He said, ‘Lauren knows that economics was my strong interest at Cambridge. And that I had the opportunity to go to Chicago and do some postgraduate work. There was such an air of excitement about Milton Friedman’s work. We were young, things seemed poised for change…guess you lot were involved with women’s lib and socialism and so on, but we thought we were bringing a brave new world into existence, too.
‘New Zealand took on the new ideas wholeheartedly’–he saw their expressions, and said, ‘At least to begin with. And my specialty was international financial policy. I first visited on behalf of the bank I worked for in the City. In
the end I went out on my own. My first job was to help an American company buy a portion of one of the first assets sold, a development fund.’
‘What exactly does this have to do with Kevin and a plot to kill Lange?’ Lauren couldn’t help herself.
‘It has nothing to do with a plot, because there was no plot. If you listen, I’ll explain why people were upset at the thought the asset sales would stop. There wasn’t nearly enough capital flowing around in New Zealand to purchase all the state assets that were up for grabs. I found I had a talent for bringing people together in a bid. I took a slice of each deal for myself, and as well clipped the companies’ tickets. I took a percentage of all the large transactions that I’d organised.’
‘Do you expect us to be impressed?’ said Lauren. ‘Was making money all you were interested in?’ She remembered their conversations in Cambridge and inwardly answered her own question. ‘You still haven’t told us where Kevin Driscoll comes in.’
Brett said, ‘Bloody Lange got cold feet just when the asset sales were going really well. Then asset sales got taken away from cabinet ministers and suddenly we were faced with bureaucrats who were far less inclined to cut deals.’
He took another sip of whisky. ‘I met Kevin Driscoll at some of the meetings before they changed the rules. He was the errand boy for the Douglas crowd. I fixed him up with a cut in some of the deals so that he would keep us close to the action.’
He saw the horrified expression on Lauren’s face, and said, ‘All right, all right, that might seem dubious, but I was young and impetuous. When Lange made the process bureaucratic, Kevin got very upset. He had seen himself as masterminding the deals by trading information back and forth between the politicians and the purchasers. He got very nervy when the rules changed. I think he’d bitten off more than he could chew and he lost money in the ’87 crash.’
Ro had been listening carefully. ‘From what I’ve read, Kevin wasn’t the only nervy one, was he? What about you money men?’
‘We weren’t nervy, we were disappointed. Douglas had the right idea. So yes, there was talk about rolling Lange, but that was in a political sense, you must surely understand. Lange’s supporters–of whom there seemed to be very few, I might add, apart from his staff–used to say the same kind of things about Douglas.’
‘So how did that political talk turn into Kevin trying to poison Lange?’ Ro was not to be put off.
Brett looked at her. ‘We don’t know that that happened. But Kevin did get very wound up and he asked if I would help him out with his loan. I refused, of course, I had no reason to take on board his risks. I guess I did imply there’d be some reward if Lange was brought down. I was talking about a leadership challenge. Kevin maybe thought I meant something darker. So perhaps he did try to do away with Lange, but obviously it didn’t work. No harm done.’ He shrugged and drained his glass.
At last! Ro glanced at her phone. Yes, it was still recording. Brett saw the glance and went to speak, but Lauren interrupted. She got up from the sofa, stood close to Brett’s armchair and almost spat at him. ‘No harm done? Brett, that’s attempted murder. And Kevin hasn’t the backbone to poison someone without a lot of pushing. Misunderstood you? That’ll be the day.’ She suddenly understood why someone might stamp their foot.
‘I tell you, there was no plot.’ Brett looked offended. ‘Look, I’ll admit to a few backhanders back in the eighties–fruitless to investigate now, I’m sure. But plotting to kill Lange, that’s ridiculous. Anyhow, the slowdown was just a hitch in the process.’
‘No plot,’ repeated Ro. She was with an effort staying cool. Still sitting on the sofa, and not raising her voice. ‘No plot, but it was you who was encouraging Kevin to roll Lange, and offering him money if he succeeded. No plot? You needn’t give us any other names. It was you.’
‘There was no plot. Look, people like me, who help the super-wealthy invest their fortunes and the big institutions make lucrative investments, have to be very careful. A whiff of scandal and none of my clients would ever touch me again. That was a long time ago when I was young. It’s ancient history. And of no account now.’
A whiff of scandal. That’s what Lauren and Ro were bringing him. Lauren wondered, how far would Brett go to avoid a scandal? Or did he rely on those around him to deal with inconvenient facts–and people.
Brett suddenly ran out of steam. He got up to renew his drink, taking another big splash. He sat down and wiped some sweat from his brow.
Then he said, slurring his words a little, ‘Lauren, I fancied you back in our undergraduate days. You were rather cool and aloof and I always loved a challenge. But I can see that it would have been a waste of time. I know about your proclivities.’ He threw a rather suspicious glance at Ro.
Lauren sat back down too. She said coldly, ‘I did marry and have children. I wasn’t immune to charming young men. But although you had your fair share of charm, there was always something about you that I didn’t trust. And now I know how right I was.’
She followed up Ro’s accusation. ‘We’ve recorded this discussion. There might be more than a whiff of scandal coming your way.’
Brett shrugged, looked disbelieving, then shut his eyes. Lauren wondered if he was falling asleep. Then he said, ‘It hasn’t been easy for me, Lauren.’ He was starting to mumble. He looked emotional. ‘My marriage might be on the rocks. Darya is a difficult woman, I think you’ll appreciate that. But I’m fond of her.’
‘For goodness’ sake!’ Lauren snapped. ‘You’ve been fond of a few women in your time, and they haven’t always enjoyed it. I know you were had up for hitting Barbara Bagstock. And what did you try on Darya, that she pulled a gun on you?’’
Brett had the decency to blush, but didn’t answer the question. ‘A little tiger. Anyhow we’ve had a big row and I’ve sent her home–she was none too happy about it, left me behind to pack up and said she’d see me in court. Didn’t realise it was for her own good, she was starting to interfere in my business.’
He got up, poured himself another glass. This time, he brought the bottle back and plonked it on the coffee table.
Now Ro snapped. ‘Your business, eh? Your precious clients probably don’t give a stuff about how you treat women, but your business has to look squeaky clean. It might not look so good once all this comes out.’ She waved her phone at him.
Lauren couldn’t help herself. She knew Deirdre would consider she was barging in. But she didn’t want to hear him say yet again that there was no plot. ‘It’s not just the Lange plot. We have a very good idea why you sent Darya home.’
Brett’s eyes narrowed and he jerked a little, apparently trying to regain concentration.
‘Judith Butler died suddenly on Christmas Eve. We thought Kevin might have helped her on her way, trying to get rid of a witness.’
Brett snorted and took another gulp. Lauren continued. ‘But did you know that Darya visited her nursing home on Christmas Eve?’
He startled. ‘What? What are you talking about? What are you trying to say?’ In spite of the whisky, he looked more engaged, more alert. He stared at Lauren, who suddenly wondered if she should continue. She did.
‘Who would stand to benefit if Judith Butler were removed? Kevin, but you too, if you were involved; and that means Darya as well. And what’s more,’ Lauren moved in for the kill. ‘Darya was seen directing Kevin on to a catamaran on the day he was last seen. There was a witness.’
Brett lurched to his feet. ‘You interfering bitches!’
They sat frozen. ‘Hand over that phone.’ He stumbled towards Ro, bumping against the coffee table. Ro looked paralysed, but Lauren pulled her sideways and they rose hastily. Brett rounded the table, saying, ‘Don’t think you can get away with this,’ in a slurred voice. There was nowhere to go. Brett was backing them into a corner. Ro tried to slither past him but Brett grabbed her by the arm. Ro pulled away and knocked a vase. It crashed to the floor, and broke. Brett took no notice.
‘Let go of her,’ Laur
en cried. Brett snarled. ‘Give me the phone, or I’ll…’ he threatened. Ro tried to shake him off. ‘You’re hurting me. Let go!’ As they continued to struggle, she dropped the phone. Lauren dived down and scooped it up. She made for the door and Brett dropped Ro’s arm and stumbled after her. Lauren turned, thinking she should hold her ground. She looked him in the face and was shocked at the rage she saw in his eyes. They were narrowed, impersonal, looking at her as if she was no-one, a nothing.
A buzzer sounded. Brett stopped in his tracks, looked confused, swore and then made for the intercom. ‘Who is it?’
They heard a woman’s voice, one familiar to Lauren. ‘Police. Open the gate.’
‘Shit,’ said Brett loudly, glared at Lauren and Ro and lurched out of the room. They heard him open the front door, heard the crunch of the police car on the gravel, and then the car door slam shut. A voice said, “Can we come in, please. We are here to see Darya Wilson.’
There were sounds of people entering the hall. Deirdre and who else? wondered Lauren. Brett shut the door behind them and his voice got louder as they approached the sitting room. ‘I’m sorry, my wife is not here,’ he said.
‘Will she be long?’ Deirdre’s voice. Then Deirdre reached the doorway. She looked both dumbfounded and angry. (Lauren wouldn’t have thought that was possible.)
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ She positively barked it. ‘And who is this?’ She looked at Ro as if Ro might suddenly turn into Darya. She also took in the shattered vase on the floor.
Lauren hastily introduced her. ‘Rowan Wisbech, my friend who’s writing about women in the fourth Labour Government.’
Deirdre ignored her, turned to Brett. ‘I asked, will your wife be long?’
Brett was trying to stand up straight. ‘She has gone back to England.’ Deirdre’s face got tighter. Her brown eyes were cold. But she didn’t miss a beat as she said, ‘In that case, Mr Wilson, I will need to talk to you. Jerry here will get some general information from you first.’ She nodded to her offsider and said, ‘Identification and so on, please Jerry.’ Then turned back to Lauren and Ro. ‘Meanwhile I’d like to see you two in another room, right now.’
The One That Got Away Page 20