A Stranger in my Street

by Deborah Burrows

  He hesitated, clearly uneasy discussing what had happened that night. Then he nodded. ‘Chad and I watched the light of her torch disappear down the path and we returned to base together.’

  So Chad didn’t stab Doreen.

  ‘You mentioned that Chad was talking to a rating when you found him on the path earlier. Do you remember who that was?’

  ‘That one with the damned cat. Norbert Wilder. When I approached Chad he walked away.’

  My heart started to race.

  ‘Did he walk off along the path? In the same direction as Doreen had?’

  ‘Yes. I think so.’

  The timing worked. It just worked. I needed to speak to Tom.

  On the trolleybus home I decided I’d telephone Tom first thing tomorrow morning and suggest that we speak to Mr Goodley about it all. If we could convince the Crown Prosecutor, surely Detective Munsie would accept our theory.

  I got off the bus at around six-thirty. As I made my way along Megalong Street I saw Mrs Phoenix waiting at her gate, waving a piece of paper at me.

  ‘Meg, I’m glad I caught you. Arthur just took this message for you.’

  Captain Lagrange. Meet at 8.00. Betty Barwon’s house.

  ‘He telephoned a few minutes ago,’ she added.

  We used the red public phone box on the corner when we needed to make a call, but friends knew they could leave a message with Mr and Mrs Phoenix. I had told Tom that and given him the number, but I wondered what was so urgent.

  At home I changed into sensible shoes, slacks and a green woollen sweater that brought out the green in my eyes. I washed my face and re-did my make-up. As I brushed my hair I puzzled over the message. Why would Tom want to meet me at Betty’s? Perhaps he was intending to question her about her relationship with Nobbie. Anyway, it would give me a chance to tell him what I had learned from Don.

  Joan was out again with Wally; things were getting pretty serious between them and I was very happy for her. I told Ma over dinner that Tom Lagrange had asked me to meet him at Betty’s place and that I suspected I wouldn’t be home for a while. Her mouth tightened, but she said nothing.

  ‘You look nice,’ she said, as I rose from the table.

  ‘What does that mean?’ I sounded defensive.

  ‘That you look nice. Don’t read things into what I say.’

  ‘I’m allowed to look nice.’ Now I sounded very defensive.

  ‘Good heavens, Meg, I said that you looked nice. Go, then. Meet your Tom Lagrange. Break your heart. See if I care.’

  At that, she left the room and I thought she might have been crying.

  I was not in a particularly good mood as I made my way along the street to Betty’s house. There was no answer when I knocked on the front door, so I decided to go around the back.

  It had rained during the afternoon. A faint sheen of moisture gleamed on the concrete pavers along the side of the house and the velvety musk scent of geraniums was almost overpowering as I reached the backyard. Like most houses in the street, an enclosed sleep-out verandah ran along the length of the rear of the house. There were a couple of steps leading up to the back door. I stood on the top step and knocked. I heard a muffled, ‘Come in,’ so I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  The sleep-out was a narrow room, with louvred windows along two sides. On my left was a brick wall with a door leading into the laundry room. The door leading to the small internal kitchen was directly in front of me, next to a casement window, which provided some light for the kitchen. A camp bed, with a grey army blanket folded on top, was under the windows to my right. There was no other furniture. Faded rugs covered the wooden floor.

  I couldn’t see anyone.

  ‘Tom?’ I called. ‘Betty?’ I walked further into the room.

  My head exploded into pain and darkness. I started to fall and desperately put out a hand to grab at the door, but someone pulled me inside. The floor rushed up and I hit it hard.

  Twenty-eight

  I was being pushed roughly onto my front. My hands had been pulled behind my back and tied tightly together, and my feet were bound also. I shook my head and cried out from the pain that throbbed in my temple. Slowly the room began to swim into focus. I was lying on my side, under the louvred windows at the side of the back door. It was getting dark and it was difficult to make out anything, but someone was in the sleep-out with me. I felt a rush of terror for Tom.

  ‘Who’s there?’ I called out, my voice ridiculously small and high-pitched.

  A large figure loomed over me. He was pulling the blackout curtains across the windows. For an instant I thought it was Chad, but the figure resolved into Nobbie Wilder. He regarded me dispassionately.

  ‘If you scream I’ll have to slug you again.’

  ‘Where’s Betty?’ I lifted my head to look around.

  ‘She’s not here.’ Nobbie put on the light. It was very bright and hurt my eyes, making me blink.

  ‘Why have you tied me up?’

  ‘So you won’t get away, of course. I thought you were supposed to be smart.’ He sat down on the floor beside me. A piece of wood lay next to him, about the right size for a club.

  ‘What do you mean to do with me? This is mad, Nobbie. Mr and Mrs Phoenix and my mother all know I’m here.’

  He grunted and pulled out a knife. Just for a moment I thought that my heart had stopped, but he ignored me. The knife had a retractable blade and he pushed it in and out a few times. He picked up a whetstone, and ran it along the knife’s edge.

  ‘Who else are you waiting for?’

  There was a tight smile as he continued his knife sharpening, but he said nothing.

  ‘Are you waiting for Chad?’ My mouth was dry and my voice was croaky.

  ‘Now, Miz Eaton, I’m not going to talk to you. I’m not going to say anything at all. In the movies they always get a guy to spill the beans, just by asking. Now, I’m not saying that I’ve got any beans to spill, but I won’t be saying anything.’

  I licked my lips and tried to get some moisture into my mouth.

  ‘Oh, Nobbie, at least talk to me. Who are we waiting for, anyway?’

  ‘We’re waiting for your boyfriend. The Aussie officer, the skinny guy. I want to talk to him.’

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

  ‘So Betty tells me, but I don’t believe it. You should have stayed out of it all, Miz Eaton. I like you. I sure wish that you’d stayed out of it all. You know what they say about curiosity.’

  I wriggled my hands to try to loosen the bindings on my wrists, but they were not moving at all.

  ‘How is Sugar?’ I asked.

  He laughed. ‘Sugar is just fine. She’s a swell cat.’ He turned back to his knife.

  I kept worrying at the bindings. They seemed to be loosening, just a little.

  ‘You won’t get loose, Miz Eaton,’ he said, not looking up, still wiping the grey stone back and forth over the edge of his blade. ‘I’m in the Navy. They teach us how to tie things up real good.’

  ‘What makes you think Captain Lagrange is coming?’

  ‘Because you sent him a message to meet you here.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘You did. Well, Betty did, but he’ll think it was you.’

  ‘Did Betty help you get Jimmy, too?’

  ‘Like I said, I’m not saying anything.’

  He brought his hand up to his mouth and made a movement, like he was turning a key in a lock, and pretended to toss away the key. It was such a childish thing to do that I was momentarily stunned. I had absolutely no idea how to deal with this man.

  I wanted to keep him talking because if he was talking he might not hear Tom arriving and that might give Tom a chance. I’d scream if I could, but if I mistimed it he’d gag me or maybe stab me and then there would be no way I could help Tom at all.

  ‘So, where is Betty?’

  He ignored me.

  ‘Where are you from in America, Nobbie? How did you come to have Sugar?’

&n
bsp; Wordlessly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large folded handkerchief, which he used to gag me. I could hardly breathe and for a minute I panicked, sure I would choke or suffocate. Then I concentrated on breathing through my nose and trying to ignore the gag. I felt light-headed, but I was able to get enough oxygen. Just.

  Around fifteen minutes later we heard it. Someone was whistling as they came around the side of the house. Whistling ‘Green Eyes’.

  ‘Meg? You there, Meg? Betty?’

  It was Tom, of course, and he was close to the back door. I struggled against the bindings and tried to call out, but the material stuffed in my mouth meant that only a muffled sound emerged. It didn’t carry. When the door opened Nobbie was standing behind it with the piece of wood in his hand. Tom started to enter the room and I saw Nobbie raise the wood.

  Why had I worried? Tom was a soldier. He had seen a lot of combat and he was no fool. As he came through the door he feinted to the right, so that the club missed him, then he dived to the left and hooked his arms around Nobbie’s legs. The club dropped noisily and they both landed heavily on the floor near me, in an awkward tangle of limbs and torsos. I managed to push myself away from them and ended up in a miserable huddle by the camp bed, watching them grapple with each other.

  Nobbie was bigger and heavier, but had let himself run to fat. Although Tom was thin and his left hand was a liability, he was fit and agile and obviously trained in unarmed combat, so neither had an absolute advantage. Nobbie was pounding his big left fist into any part of Tom’s head and body that he could reach, and trying to catch Tom’s left hand, presumably to cause maximum pain. Tom fought like a wildcat, twisting and turning, digging his fingers into Nobbie’s eyes, using his elbows and feet and landing hard blows from his right hand in any exposed area while trying to protect his left.

  But I was all too aware that Tom was not in top form – he had been through too much in the last few months. Sooner or later he would fade and Nobbie would beat him into a pulp.

  Stan McLean slipped through the open back door. Tom shouted something at him before grabbing Nobbie’s right arm and bending it up behind him while at the same time hooking a leg around Nobbie’s so that he dropped onto his stomach. Stan disappeared. Nobbie was on the ground, grunting in pain, but he hadn’t given up the fight. He was twisting and kicking at Tom while trying to lift himself off the ground. I was terrified Tom would lose him and the whole terrible struggle would start again.

  Stan was suddenly at my shoulder, pulling out the gag. I gasped in relief at being able to breathe easily. He whispered that he’d be back in a minute and disappeared again. I pulled fruitlessly at the bindings at my wrists.

  The back door was pushed open again and this time Chad Buchowski appeared. His eyes opened wide as he took in the scene: me tied up by the bed and Tom and Nobbie locked in combat. Tom looked up, and because his attention was distracted, Nobbie was able to twist out of his grasp. In a flash he was back on his feet. Chad threw himself at the two of them. His big body obscured my vision and for a few heartbeats I had no idea what was happening.

  When Chad turned I saw that he had his right arm around Nobbie’s neck and his left arm was gripping the right and pulling it tight. Nobbie’s legs were jerking horribly. Suddenly he became limp. With a look of horror, Chad released Nobbie, who dropped to the floor at his feet. I thought for a moment that Chad had somehow paralysed him, but it was something about the limp way he was lying sprawled on the floor that made me realise he was dead. I shook my head a few times. I could feel that my eyes were wide and staring, and my breathing was fast and shallow. I turned my head to seek out Tom, and that sobered me. His lips were a thin line, his eyes black in a hard face etched out of shadows as he dropped to his knees beside Nobbie and felt at his throat for a pulse. He stood up slowly, shaking his head.

  He shouted at Chad. ‘What the hell do you think you were doing? Why did you do that? I had him. We could have taken him.’ I had never heard him raise his voice before.

  Chad’s voice was fast and he sounded scared. ‘I was trying to help. I had him in a choke hold. I didn’t mean to kill the guy. It was just a choke hold. To subdue him. He shouldn’t have died.’

  Tom became absolutely still, standing over Nobbie’s body. Then he leaped at Chad. He grabbed his right hand and twisted it savagely, at the same time hooking his leg around Chad’s knee. Using Chad’s own momentum, he brought him crashing down to land on his back, winded and wheezing. Before I could draw breath, Tom took Chad’s other hand and flipped him over onto his front, then twisted his arm up behind him. He had his left arm around Chad’s neck and Chad was grunting in pain.

  ‘I had him, Chad,’ said Tom, lowering his mouth to Chad’s ear and talking in a soft but bitter voice. ‘Why did you kill him?’ He pushed Chad’s arms up and leaned into Chad’s neck.

  Chad gasped. ‘I didn’t mean to kill him. I was trying to help.’

  ‘That’s a damned lie.’

  There was a movement behind me. Tom glanced towards me, saying, ‘Did you find anything?’

  Stan McLean appeared, carrying some dirty cords that had presumably been cut from Venetian blinds. He looked in horror at Nobbie sprawled on the ground, and Tom restraining Chad. But without a word, he went over to Tom with the cords. As Tom held Chad down, Stan tied his hands behind his back and bound his feet. Then Tom hauled him up to sit against the wall, behind the door.

  Tom got to his feet. His face was filthy with sweat and blood and his body was slumped with weariness, or something else. I saw him flick a look at Nobbie’s body as he slowly came over to me. He knelt beside me and gently touched my face.

  ‘Stan, bring a knife over here.’ He was again cool and in control, and he snapped out the order like the army captain he was.

  Stan handed a pocket-knife to Tom, who cut away the bindings. My hands were all pins and needles as the circulation returned and I gasped with the pain. Tom rubbed the wrists where they had been chaffed. That hurt even more, but I didn’t tell him. His hands were bloody. Now there was blood on my hands, too.

  ‘You saw that, didn’t you Meg? You saw him murder Wilder?’ Tom’s voice was low and harsh.

  ‘That’s a lie,’ said Chad. ‘Tell him M–’

  ‘Shut up, Buchowski,’ Tom snarled. ‘That’s an order.’

  He felt my head, asking me what I’d been hit with, did it hurt, could I see properly? I managed to tell him that I was fine, although I wasn’t sure what Nobbie had hit me with. I didn’t mention my terrible headache.

  Tom stopped rubbing my head and looked at me. His expression was bleak.

  ‘I got blood in your hair,’ he said. ‘It was on my hands. I’m sorry. I think you’re okay though.’ He gave a small laugh, more like a sob. ‘As well as can be expected.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I whispered, with as much of a smile as I could manage.

  He smiled weakly in return, and ran his thumb over the palm of my right hand. Then he helped me to sit so that my back was leaning against the camp bed. Tom and Stan crouched beside me. Tom went back to rubbing my wrists as Stan patted my shoulder. Tom’s eyes were far too bright. I wanted to cry and collapse in a heap, but forced myself to stay calm.

  Stan was watching Tom. I wondered if the expression on my face showed the same degree of dumb devotion. It was not a happy thought.

  ‘What happened here, Tom?’ I asked. ‘I don’t really understand. What did Nobbie intend to do with us? He kept sharpening that knife. And where’s Betty?’

  ‘I doubt we’ll find Betty. She’s either scarpered, or she became a liability.’ Tom’s mouth hardened. ‘And I think you and I were supposed to have been found dead tomorrow morning. Or maybe we would never have been found. Wilder was good at digging pits, remember.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I don’t know why they’d want you involved, but I think they were worried I was closing in on them and they wanted me out of the picture.’

  I tried to swallow, but my mouth
was too dry.

  ‘Stan, would you get Meg a glass of water, please?’ Tom asked.

  The boy was out the door like a shot.

  ‘How did they get you here?’

  ‘Someone left a message with Mr Phoenix that you wanted to meet me here,’ I said, my voice barely a whisper.

  Tom gave a short laugh. ‘I got a message that you wanted to meet me. I thought it sounded fishy, and Miriam told me she didn’t recognise the voice.’

  ‘Miriam?’

  ‘She takes the messages. So I went to your house first. Your mother told me that the meeting was my idea, so I knew for certain it was fishy.’ He seemed embarrassed. ‘She doesn’t approve of me seeing you.’

  ‘No. She doesn’t.’

  Stan had returned with some water in a cup. It tasted marvellous and I drank it greedily. Tom nodded approvingly at the boy.

  ‘I got Stan to come along as backup.’

  Stan looked like he had been handed the moon on a plate.

  ‘Now Wilder is dead, thanks to Buchowski.’ Tom’s voice was stone cold. He glanced towards Chad, who was hunched over, shivering. ‘And he can’t tell us anything.’

  ‘He can’t tell us where Jimmy is.’ Stan sounded close to tears.

  Chad raised his head to look at us. ‘Why have you got me tied up? I’m not the bad guy here. I was trying to protect you, buddy. Wilder was a big guy, and he was going to get away from you. Believe me, I was just trying to help.’

  There was murder in Tom’s eyes, and I thought he might go for Chad again.

  ‘Tom,’ I said, to distract him. ‘I’m pretty sure that Nobbie killed Doreen. The timing works.’

  ‘Why?’ Stan seemed perplexed. ‘Why would he kill Doreen? And . . . and kidnap Jimmy?’

  Tom flicked a look at me and turned to Stan. ‘Wilder was involved in the black market. I expect we’ll find a cache hidden here in the house. He worked in the PX – that’s the US version of our quartermaster’s store – so he had access to just about anything he wanted to sell. I’ve been involved in investigating what was going on.’