Mavis Levack, P.I.

by Marele Day

  ‘You’ve left your name. Stop bothering her, she’ll call back if she’s interested.’

  ‘But she doesn’t have our number.’

  ‘She seemed to find our address without any trouble.’

  Eddy took a pile of library books out of his bag and handed her the one on top: Exercise for Dummies. He’d remembered. He was a thoughtful husband.

  ‘Thanks, Eddy, you’re a gem.’

  He accepted a small peck on the cheek. ‘Well, the kettle’s boiled,’ he said. ‘We may as well have a cup of tea.’

  Eddy kept a watchful eye on both the letter and his wife for the rest of the day. They read their books, they watched TV. Several times Mrs Levack interrupted her reading and her viewing to glance at the letter, propped tantalisingly against the toaster. But every time she started to get up to go to the kitchen, Eddy said, ‘Cup of tea, dear? I’ll make it.’ They had many cups of tea that day.

  Soon it was time for dinner and Ms Valentine still hadn’t called. ‘She’s probably got a lot on her plate,’ said Eddy. ‘Speaking of which, you’ve hardly eaten a thing. You’re not upset, are you?’

  ‘No,’ Mavis said in a small voice. She toyed with a pea. ‘Would you like my chop, Eddy? I’m thinking of becoming a vegetarian.’

  ‘Leave it aside, you might feel like it later. She may still call, and there’s always tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, Eddy.’

  Mrs Levack was just removing her washing-up gloves when she heard the buzzer.

  ‘Miss Valentine!’

  Claudia looked tired. She was still smartly dressed but her face showed signs of strain. Mrs Levack thought about offering her the spare chop, sitting in the fridge wrapped in foil, when she said: ‘You rang me, Mrs Levack. Sorry I wasn’t there to take the message personally.’

  A frown manifested from the wrinkles of Mrs Levack’s forehead. ‘Your secretary seemed such a quiet girl, not very talkative at all. I asked if I could talk to you but she didn’t say anything.’

  ‘It’s my Ansafone, Mrs Levack. You just leave messages on it. Like a tape recorder.’ She ran her hand over her brow.

  Eddy put the newspaper down on the coffee table. ‘I told her it was one of them answering services, but she insisted someone had spoken to her. Sometimes I think Mavis lives in another century.’

  Ms Valentine gave Eddy a wan smile, then turned to his wife: ‘What did you ring about, Mrs Levack?’

  ‘This, dear.’ Mrs Levack handed her the letter. ‘I know I shouldn’t have done it, taking mail out of letter boxes, but it was sticking out. See, it’s one of them long envelopes and . . . if I knew his next of kin I would’ve given it to them, but you were the only one I could think of.’ She glossed over the fact that it had been Eddy’s idea to phone.

  ‘It was all I could do to stop her steaming it open,’ threw in Eddy.

  Mrs Levack let Eddy’s remark pass. Even if it was true, he shouldn’t be bringing it up in front of company. ‘It might be important, dear. Aren’t you going to open it?’

  Claudia Valentine, in the presence of Mavis and Eddy Levack, opened the letter and read it. To herself. You’d think after all the trouble Mrs Levack had gone to that Ms Valentine would at least share it, especially as whatever it was seemed to brighten her up no end.

  ‘When did you pick it up, Mrs Levack?’

  ‘Just today, dear. I rang you as soon as possible.’

  ‘Ever since you came here the first time she’s been snooping around. Thinks she’s Angela Lansbury,’ said Eddy.

  But Claudia didn’t think there was anything wrong with that, in fact she was looking most pleased. ‘You’re a jewel, Mrs Levack. I don’t know how to thank you.’

  Mrs Levack went all fluffy, like a little girl in her first party dress.

  ‘Don’t go telling her things like that,’ said the voice of reason. ‘She’ll never get her hat on the way her head’s swelling out.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Eddy! Just go back to reading the paper,’ said Mrs Levack, flush with power. It was a bit strong, but if she was going to be a private investigator, she had to talk tough.

  ‘Claudia,’ said Mrs Levack confidentially, ‘that letter, ahem, is it important?’

  ‘It’s just a letter from a publisher. Would you like to read it?’

  Would she like to read it? Is the Pope Polish?

  Her eagle eyes moved along the lines as she read:

  Dear Mark Bannister,

  Thank you for sending us ‘The Life and Crimes of Harry Lavender’. You are a talented writer but I’m afraid this one’s not for us. There are some good touches here and there but the writing is, we think, slightly overdone and there doesn’t seem to be any plot. I am sure that you will find somebody to take it but I don’t think that we are the people.

  Awaiting your further instructions re return of disk.

  Yours

  Nancy Grosz

  ‘Oh, the poor thing . . . all that writing and they didn’t want it. I knew he was a writer, though. Didn’t I say he was a writer?’

  ‘You thought he was a student,’ said Mr Levack. ‘It’s not the same thing.’ Mrs Levack looked breezily past him, his slings and arrows bouncing right off. ‘That girl’s been round again,’ she said knowingly, ‘looking in the letter box. That’s what gave me the idea to do it.’

  ‘Ha!’ snorted Mr Levack. ‘You don’t need any excuses to go through people’s mail.’

  ‘I didn’t even open the box, Eddy, it was sticking out the slot.’

  ‘Humph!’

  It was time for Claudia Valentine to make an exit. She patted the letter safely in her pocket and made her way to the door. ‘I’ll be in touch, Mrs Levack, Mr Levack,’ she smiled. ‘If anything else crops up, Mrs Levack, don’t hesitate to call.’

  Eddy was lying in bed chuckling to himself.

  ‘What?’ said Mrs Levack, putting her teeth in the glass.

  ‘All this cloak and dagger you’ve been going on with and you know what, Mavis? You didn’t even ask her what it was all about.’

  How could she have been so obtuse? She’d been so taken up with her own little achievements she’d lost sight of the big picture.

  ‘You know who Harry Lavender is, don’t you?’

  ‘A jockey,’ she took a stab.

  ‘Not even close,’ said Eddy. ‘You want to be a private investigator, you’d better read the newspapers. He’s one of the Mr Bigs.’

  ‘You mean that chap who did the Great Train Robbery?’

  ‘Not Ronald Biggs,’ Eddy sighed patiently. ‘The Mr Big of crime and corruption in our fair city. Gambling, drugs, property developments.’

  Mrs Levack was so impressed she put her teeth back in. ‘My goodness,’ she said. ‘It’s almost like meeting a film star. A brush with fame.’

  ‘I wouldn’t get too enthusiastic about it if I were you, Mavis. You might get more than brushed.’

  Mrs Levack hadn’t even thought about her own personal safety. She had been investigating the case and she hadn’t been killed yet, it’d probably be all right. Still, she’d make sure the doors were locked at night and look both ways when she crossed the road.

  ‘I think you’d better phone Ms Valentine and ask her what it’s all about. You might have bitten off more than you can chew.’

  Mrs Levack liked chewing on big bits. ‘Do you think she’ll tell me?’

  ‘Why not? You’re practically her personal assistant.’

  First thing in the morning, well, about ten o’clock, Mrs Levack phoned Claudia Valentine.

  ‘Who?’ Mrs Levack heard on the other end.

  ‘Mavis Levack,’ she repeated, pronouncing each syllable distinctly.

  ‘Sorry, I’ve had hardly any sleep.’

  Mrs Levak thought she could detect the faint odour of whisky down the telephone line. What an exciting life private investigators had, investigating all day, partying all night. ‘Good time, was it?’ Mrs Levack suggested.

  Mrs Levack thought she heard Claudia groan, then
take a large swig of something. ‘Claudia?’

  ‘What was the question?’

  ‘I . . . actually, Eddy and I were wondering, that is, if you could tell us what happened, you know . . . about the death of young Mark Bannister.’

  Another swig, then an indrawn breath. ‘Mark Bannister was writing the bestseller of the century and became the victim of a murder so perfect that someone smelled a rat . . . And wanted it caught.’

  ‘How was Harry Lavender involved?’

  ‘How wasn’t he involved? You can read all about it in the afternoon paper.’*

  ‘Ahem, if you don’t mind me asking, do I get a mention?’

  ‘A mention? No. But then neither do I. Believe me, it’s better that way. I have to go now. I’m very, very tired.’

  Eddy had hardly walked in the door before his wife snatched the paper out of his hands. There it was, the whole story, right on the front page. Mrs Levack devoured it almost in one go, so eager was she.

  ‘Heavens above,’ she exclaimed. ‘And to think we were involved in it, that we played a part in solving the mystery. Won’t we have something to tell them down at the bowls club, eh, Eddy?’

  ‘Might be better to stay quiet about it. I’m sure he has henchmen looking out for people who can’t keep their mouths shut.’

  Perhaps Eddy was right. Mavis might mention it to Freda, but she knew Freda was like Fort Knox when it came to keeping secrets. She more or less had to be, because Mavis had a few of Freda’s secrets tucked up her sleeve.

  Mrs Levack went to her viewing spot and looked across to the flat. For the first time in weeks the curtains were open. She could see movement. She picked up the binoculars. A young couple, standing right at the window in passionate embrace.

  ‘For Gawd’s sake, Mavis, enough’s enough. What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘A bit of quiet, please, Eddy. I’m working on my next case.’

  *For the full explanation, see The Life and Crimes of Harry Lavender, published by Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1988.

  The One That Didn’t Get Away

  ‘Sounds just like a gun going off,’ joked Mrs Levack as Eddy popped the cork on the second bottle of Cockatoo Ridge Brut. Their celebratory dinner was over and for once in her life Mrs Levack was leaving the dirty plates on the table. They could wait. It wasn’t every day you celebrated your fortieth wedding anniversary.

  ‘Well at least no-one can say it was a shotgun wedding, Mavis.’ Eddy laughed loudly. He was in a jocular mood, which is just where Mrs Levack wanted him. They’d had drinks down at the club with Freda and Bill and the others. They’d come back and exchanged gifts—a new bowl for Eddy, a Black and Decker drill for Mrs Levack—and had a nice roast dinner. Just one more small thing and Mrs Levack’s evening would be complete.

  ‘I happened to be tidying up today and you know what?’

  ‘What?’ said Eddy, which is what anyone would say.

  ‘You know that drawer you always keep locked?’

  Of course he knew the drawer. ‘Which drawer would that be, dear?’ he asked.

  He was using that innocent tone on her but she wasn’t going to be put off. ‘In the cupboard in the spare room. I know what’s private’s private, but there seemed to be a piece of paper poking out the back of it. I thought it best to retrieve it. We don’t want your important papers going astray, do we?’

  Mrs Levack was taking a bit of a punt. Eddy had always maintained there was nothing important in that drawer. If it was ‘nothing important’, why keep it locked? Eddy’s explanation was that in a relationship people should keep some things back, that as well as sharing you needed to be your own person. Sounded to Mrs Levack as if Eddy had been watching too much Oprah Winfrey.

  What she had found written on that paper looked very important, and rather disturbing as well.

  ‘I fail to see how a piece of paper could have escaped unless someone was tampering with it. Want a refill, dear?’

  She got the drift of his insinuation but as there was an element of truth in it, Mrs Levack could hardly protest. ‘I was only guessing. It might not be from that drawer at all. You’d be the best judge of that.’

  Mrs Levack cleared her throat. ‘See if this rings a bell—“Goodbye, Syl. And thank you for all you have done. 7pm 5/1/40 . . . It seems useless enduring further pain”.’ She went back to her normal voice. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but were you thinking of topping yourself back in 1940?’

  Eddy started chewing on a morsel of meat that was caught in his back teeth, as if the action might serve to jolt the memory. At their age anything that jolted the memory had to be considered a bonus. ‘Give us a look at that piece of paper,’ he said.

  Mrs Levack reached into the pocket of her polyester/cotton blend slacks. She remembered a previous girlfriend or two, but the only Syl that came to mind was Sylvester Stallone. ‘If I give you back the paper will you tell me about it, Eddy? Was it a young love that went awry? Did you write the note and change your mind?’ A wife had the right to know these things.

  ‘It’s a complete mystery to me.’

  Mrs Levack brought the piece of paper out of her pocket and hesitated before passing it over. Eddy reached for it but Mrs Levack deftly moved it away. ‘Promise?’ she persisted.

  ‘Mavis,’ Eddy assured her, ‘if it all comes flooding back to me, you’ll be the first to know.’

  Mrs Levack handed the paper over as if serving him a delicate morsel. She watched his face change. The piece of paper seemed to do for Eddy what the madeleine had done for Proust. Mrs Levack had never read any Proust but she had seen a recipe for madeleines in Woman’s Day once.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It’s a suicide note but it’s not mine,’ he murmured.

  ‘But it’s in your handwriting.’

  ‘I wrote down verbatim what the cops told me. It was in the days before photocopiers.’

  ‘Whose note is it, then?’

  ‘Bloke called Greg Vaughan.’

  ‘Was he a good friend?’ asked Mrs Levack sympathetically.

  ‘I didn’t even know him.’

  ‘Then how come . . . ?’

  ‘It’s a long story, Mavis. From long ago. I suppose there’s no harm telling it now,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Are we missing anything on the TV?’

  Mrs Levack had a quick squiz through the program. The Bill was on but they could miss that for once. She might never get another chance of finding out why her husband had the suicide note of a complete stranger locked away in a drawer. ‘No,’ she said.

  He reached over and took her hand. ‘Are you comfortable, Mavis?’ Eddy was mellowing just right. Mrs Levack poured him another glass of mood enhancer.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Eddy.’

  ‘Well, fasten your seatbelt.’

  Eddy took a long draught of champagne. ‘It all began when a big shark ate a little shark. Remember that, Mavis, it’s the motif of the story—big fish eat little fish.

  ‘I suppose I’d better start when I got involved, back in 1954. As you might recall, I was working on the trams at the time, the Balmain run. I used to have a drink over there when I’d finished my shift. You get to know the regulars—bit of a nod here, comment on the weather there—sometimes strike up a conversation.

  ‘Remember the time Dad nearly drowned? Silly old bugger, going out fishing by himself on the harbour. Couldn’t swim to save his life.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Levack. ‘We hadn’t been married long. Gave your mother a real fright.’

  ‘And me,’ added Eddy. ‘I was in the pub with this bloke Ray—Ray Smith, an engineer by trade. Ray could see something was up. He commented on the fact that I was drinking whisky instead of my usual. I told him why. Ray went quiet for a moment—in fact I wondered if I’d said something wrong. He sat up suddenly, as if he’d been away somewhere else. “Sorry,” he said, “it reminded me of my own father.” “He drown?” I asked. He looked away from me, just staring into nothing. After a while he said, “I don�
��t know”.’

  Eddy put his glass down. He knew how to make a pause work in a story. Mrs Levack sat there looking at him as if she were watching TV—glued, but wishing he’d get on with it.

  Eddy resumed. ‘It was as if he had a lot of bits and pieces but wasn’t quite sure how they fitted together. It happened in 1935. Ray said his father had gone away on a fishing trip. He said “fishing” in a funny way, as if there was more to it. He told me there’d been foul play. They thought his father had been murdered but they never found a body. Only an arm. And that was a fluke. A couple of fishermen caught a shark that had swallowed an arm. The arm had a tattoo of two boxers on it, so it was pretty easy to identify.’

  Mrs Levack could hardly contain herself. ‘Eddy,’ she said in tones of hushed excitement, ‘it’s the Shark Arm Case, isn’t it! I saw that shark—I was only about five, mind you. Mum took me down to Coogee Aquarium. I wanted to wear my best shoes, the dainty little ones with the straps, but Mum wouldn’t let me—’ she gabbled on.

  ‘You saw the shark disgorge the arm?’ interrupted Eddy, incredulously.

  ‘No, that happened a couple of days later. Mum read it in the paper. I remember all the hoo-ha. I snuck a look at the paper later. There was a picture of the arm with the boxers on it. I’d never seen an unattached arm before,’ said Mrs Levack with a certain amount of macabre delight.

  ‘For a kid of five you certainly took in a lot of detail,’ commented Eddy drily.

  ‘I’ve always had sharp powers of observation, even as a child,’ said Mrs Levack proudly.

  ‘Then you must know all about it, about Holmes getting shot and everything,’ said Eddy in a huff. ‘I needn’t say another word.’

  Oh no, thought Mrs Levack, I’m losing him. She had to get him back on track. ‘I was only five, Eddy, I couldn’t read, only look at the pictures. I don’t remember about anyone getting shot. I probably didn’t even understand what getting shot was. There was no TV in those days. Please go on, I’m sorry for interrupting,’ she said plaintively. She poured some more champagne into his glass as a gesture of reconciliation.

  Eddy shifted in his chair, waited for the bubbles to settle. Mavis still didn’t know how to pour champagne without it all frothing over the sides. ‘I wanted to surprise you, Mavis. There was a reward offered—a thousand pounds. I said to Ray if he told me everything he knew, maybe I could do a little investigating. We’d split the reward money. You know what I wanted to do with my share? Take you on a luxury trip to Tasmania, for a start. Five hundred quid was worth a lot in those days.’