Mavis Levack, P.I.

by Marele Day

  Oh, if only it was just gloating, thought Mrs Levack. It was fairly obvious what he was doing in her bed but she couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d ended up with a bullet in his chest. She would think about all that later. More pressing was the need to get him out of here. Then there were other things she had to attend to. She’d have to soak the sheets in cold water first to get the blood out, put them through the wash cycle, then into the dryer. Would it all be done before Eddy came home tomorrow? That’d be another lot of washing she’d have to do as well.

  Despite how awful she was feeling, she was going to have to make a start on it. ‘The truth is, Freda, he’s still here and I need a hand to shift him.’

  ‘Bill gets like that some mornings after the club—lies there, mouth open, dead to the world.’

  Mrs Levack wished Freda hadn’t used that particular turn of phrase. She braced herself: ‘Freda, I think you’d better take a look for yourself. If you feel at all squeamish, just pretend it’s television.’

  Freda gasped when she saw the body. Then she quickly swallowed and regained her composure. It was just like television, except that it was in Mavis’s bedroom. She recognised the face—it was the man who’d bought the drinks last night. She took a good look at the body. Mavis had done quite well for herself, she thought enviously.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  Mrs Levack tried to focus her mind on what might have happened. ‘He must have been alive when he came back here; I could never have dragged him up the stairs by myself. There’s no sign of a break-in. We usually sleep with the window open in summer, I suppose someone just climbed in and . . . bang! It’s a violent world we live in, Freda.’

  ‘You could at least have the decency to cover him up,’ said Freda, never taking her eyes off the body.

  ‘He was covered up. I didn’t want to get any more blood on the sheets than was already there.’

  ‘That’s going to be quite a washing job,’ sympathised Freda. ‘Better soak them in cold water. The stain’ll just set if you use hot.’

  Mrs Levack rolled her eyes. ‘Go teach your grandmother to suck eggs,’ she said under her breath. Over her breath she said: ‘I think it’s time we put his clothes back on. Especially if we’re going to take him outside.’

  ‘Take him outside? What do you mean? You don’t want to tamper with anything before the police come.’

  Mrs Levack felt her head aching. ‘Please, Freda. How ever am I going to explain to the police what a man with a bullet through his chest is doing in my bed? We’ve got to get rid of him. Take him to the cliff and let him fall off. He’s dead anyway, he’ll never notice the difference. The body will wash up on the beach, the police can take it from there. I wouldn’t be much help to them anyway. I didn’t hear or see a thing.’

  Very gingerly Mrs Levack started to wipe the blood off the body so that when they dressed him it wouldn’t get on his shirt.

  ‘Won’t the police think it’s funny that there’s a bullet hole in his chest but his shirt’s perfectly intact?’ queried Freda.

  ‘It’s going to look a bit peculiar if we take him downstairs in his underpants,’ explained Mrs Levack.

  ‘It’s going to look a bit peculiar if we take him downstairs at all,’ Freda retorted. ‘This is Bondi. This is the middle of summer. Every man and his dog will be down at the beach today.’

  Despite the cloud swirls in her brain, Mrs Levack saw the wisdom of Freda’s words. ‘OK, we’ll do it tonight. But let’s get him dressed and out of the bed. At least that way I can put the sheets in to soak.’

  Together they managed to get his shirt on. Mrs Levack did up the buttons while Freda smoothed the front of the shirt down.

  ‘Shame, really,’ sighed Freda. ‘I like a man with a good chest.’

  ‘Do you mind,’ said Mrs Levack offended. ‘That is my body. He did spend the night with me.’

  ‘Did you . . .?’ Freda didn’t need to complete the question.

  ‘I don’t think I need to reveal all the intimate details,’ insinuated Mrs Levack.

  ‘Huh! I bet you don’t even remember his name,’ retorted Freda.

  Mrs Levack rummaged in the pockets of his jacket. She found a passport. ‘Barry Musgrove,’ she read.

  ‘That’s convenient, isn’t it?’ said Freda. ‘I mean, people don’t usually carry their passports round with them.’

  ‘They do if they’re going overseas,’ said Mrs Levack, brandishing a Thai Airways ticket. She peered at it more closely. ‘It’s today. Sunday, the twenty-fourth.’ She looked at the bedside clock. ‘He’s going to miss the flight, it leaves in half an hour. I’d better ring the airport and let them know.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Freda, rather haughtily. ‘And what are you going to tell them?’

  Mrs Levack plopped down on the bed and wished it was this time yesterday. This time yesterday she didn’t have a hangover, this time yesterday she would have decided to stay home and watch television instead of going to the club.

  But it wasn’t this time yesterday, it was this time today. There was a dead man in her bed, she had a pile of washing to do, and she didn’t even feel like being alive.

  Then, to top it all off, she had an even worse thought. ‘Freda,’ she said, her lip quivering, ‘what if it was Eddy they were after and they shot Barry by mistake?’

  ‘What a lot of nonsense,’ said Freda. ‘Who’d ever want to kill Eddy? I think you bit off more than you can chew bringing this stranger home last night. Obviously someone didn’t want him leaving the country.’

  ‘Do you think I should ring Eddy? Just in case?’

  ‘They’d be on the greens by now. For the final round. You don’t want to put him off his stroke, do you?’

  The last thing Mrs Levack wanted to do was put Eddy off his stroke. She was plunging further and further into the heart of darkness. For the first time since she’d gone through the menopause she felt herself on the verge of tears. ‘I just want to get things back on an even keel. I couldn’t possibly explain this to Eddy, I can’t even explain it to myself.’

  Freda sat down and comforted her friend. ‘There, there, it’s all right. You get your washing done and I’ll come back tonight with the car. We’ll pop Barry in, take him up to the cliffs and everything will be back to normal. All right, love?’ Freda got up to go.

  ‘Freda,’ Mrs Levack said plaintively, ‘I don’t want to stay here by myself with . . .’ She looked at Barry now lying on the floor.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose he’s going to be much company,’ said Freda. ‘Tell you what, Mavis, why don’t we go down to the club? We’ll just act as if nothing has happened. Who knows, you may be able to get a few more pieces of the jigsaw.’

  Mrs Levack thought about it for a moment. If anything untoward had happened at the club, it was better that she find out now before Eddy came home.

  ‘Back for hair of the dog?’ joked Gavin, the barman.

  Mrs Levack grabbed Freda’s arm. ‘He knows,’ she said under her breath and through her teeth.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Freda under hers.

  Gavin put a Reschs and lime in front of Mrs Levack and a shandy in front of Freda. Reg came over and joined the girls. ‘Unusual to see you here of a Sunday, Mavis,’ he said. It sounded innocent enough but Mrs Levack knew better.

  ‘Just having a quiet drink with Freda,’ she said. You can piss off any time you like, Reg, she thought.

  ‘Not like last night, eh?’ his voice nudged her.

  ‘Last night?’ repeated Mrs Levack innocently.

  ‘You do a lovely rendition of “Cry Me a River”. I never knew you could sing, Mavis.’

  Mrs Levack said nothing.

  ‘The young bloke seemed to enjoy it,’ continued Reg.

  ‘Young bloke?’ repeated Mrs Levack.

  ‘Young bloke buying you the drinks. Never seen him in here before. Don’t think he was a bowler. Just someone walked in off the street.’

  ‘He wasn’t that young, Reg. He w
as forty if he was a day.’

  ‘That’s twenty years younger than most of us here, isn’t it? Apart from young Gavin. He put you in a cab all right, did he?’

  Put me in a cab? Is that what they thought happened? ‘Yes, he did. Very gentlemanly. He come back here after?’ queried Mrs Levack.

  ‘Nah,’ said Reg. ‘It was quite late at that stage, he must have called it a night as well. Don’t you remember him saying he had a plane to catch?’

  It was late Sunday afternoon now. Mrs Levack and Freda walked Flopsy along the beach. Mrs Levack spared a thought for her and Eddy’s little dog Muffin, a ball of energy on four legs till the arthritis finally got to him. Most of the bathers were packing up to go home. Theoretically dogs weren’t allowed on the beach but nobody really minded Flopsy. Bill had put in years as a Bondi Beach lifesaver. The least they could do was turn a blind eye to his dog walking along the beach.

  ‘You know what?’ said Freda. ‘I think you’re home and hosed. No-one knew who he was, no-one even suspected you took him home. Who’d imagine a handsome young thing like Barry would be interested in you?’

  Mrs Levack looked at Freda triumphantly. ‘Do I detect sour grapes?’

  But Freda wasn’t exactly the loser. ‘You can detect what you like,’ she said. ‘All I know is I don’t have a load of washing to do and a body to dispose of before my husband comes home from Wagga.’

  The man with the passport in the name of Barry Musgrove had needed an anonymous place to sleep that night. He’d put the upfront money for the last job into a Swiss bank account. But he hadn’t done the job. It was a mug’s game. He was getting out. He’d go to Bangkok, change passports and disappear completely.

  On the eve of his departure he didn’t want to be anywhere the boys could find him. They’d know by now he hadn’t hit the target. They’d be after him. The boys would never think of looking for him in a bowling club, would they? And when the old lady was so compliant, it seemed too good to be true.

  He was right. It was too good to be true. No-one runs out on the mob.

  The anonymous gunman who’d stealthily climbed through the window of that flat in Bondi had seen the old lady peacefully snoring beside the target. There was no point in laying her out as well. Besides, she bore an uncanny resemblance to his mother.

  ‘God,’ said Freda as they dragged the body towards the front door, ‘now I know what they mean by a dead weight.’

  ‘Freda,’ said Mrs Levack, intent on the job in hand, ‘the less talking the better.’ She opened the door a fraction and peeped out. Everything was as quiet as a mouse. Good.

  Mavis and Freda each grabbed an arm and manoeuvred Barry to the top of the stairs. Not only was he heavy, he was also getting rather stiff. It was a difficult job getting him down the stairs but eventually, with a great deal of silent grunting, they managed.

  Unfortunately Freda hadn’t been able to park directly outside. ‘If this was television, I would have found a spot no problem,’ Freda remarked.

  Mrs Levack waited with the body propped up stiffly for Freda to come by with the car.

  After what seemed an eternity, Mrs Levack finally spied the familiar red car cruising to a halt. But her relief was short-lived because before Freda could get out of the car, Mrs Levack saw another familiar sight. Young Lisa, entwined with a young man. Both heading this way. That was no surprise, Lisa lived here after all, but she was certainly going to be wondering what Mrs Levack was doing downstairs with a stiff.

  As Lisa and the young man entered the building, Mrs Levack put her arms around Barry and started nuzzling into his cheek. It wasn’t that pleasant, his cheek was very cold and unresponsive, but there wasn’t much else she could do in the circumstances.

  As Lisa giggled up the stairs with her young man Mrs Levack heard her say: ‘That’s my neighbour. You’d think she’d be past it at her age, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘The guy didn’t look that interested,’ commented Lisa’s young man.

  Mrs Levack was fuming but she wasn’t really in a position to say anything. She stayed there nuzzling Barry’s cheek till she was sure they were out of sight.

  ‘Mavis, for heaven’s sake, can’t you let him rest in peace?’ It was Freda.

  ‘Oh thank God you’re here,’ said Mrs Levack. ‘Is the coast clear?’

  Freda looked at Mrs Levack—is the coast clear indeed. ‘Let’s just get on with the job, shall we?’

  It took them quite some time to get him in the car. What with the stiffening and everything, it was almost impossible to get him into a seated position. They tried laying him down but his legs stuck out.

  They looked at each other. ‘You know what we’re going to have to do, don’t you?’ said Freda. ‘We’re going to have to break his legs.’ Mavis winced. ‘Well, Mavis, if you don’t like the idea you can always lay him out on your bed.’

  That fixed Mrs Levack. With a decisive movement she swung the door shut. That seemed to do the trick—Barry’s legs were much looser now in his trousers. She tucked them in under Flopsy’s blanket and got into the car.

  It was a balmy night as the two women drove towards the cliffs at North Bondi. There were a few late-night people wandering along the esplanade, a few cop cars patrolling as they always did. Freda drove carefully, so as not to jolt Barry unnecessarily. Mrs Levack looked back at him. Sleeping like a baby, he was. One quick shove and the whole thing would be over.

  The car came to a quiet halt at the end of the street. So did another car. A car with very bright lights. Mrs Levack sat stock still, almost like a stiff herself. The only part of her that wasn’t still was her heart. Any minute now it would plop right out onto the dashboard.

  ‘It’s the police,’ said Freda. ‘Get out of the car. We don’t want them looking in the back, do we?’

  They got out of the car. ‘Something I can do for you, officer?’ asked Freda as casually as she could.

  The young officer looked disappointed to find two old ladies. He was sure he was onto a couple of druggies. ‘You were driving very slowly. I wondered whether there was something wrong with the car.’

  ‘Oh no, nothing at all,’ said Freda, rather too quickly.

  ‘No,’ added Mrs Levack. ‘Just taking a little drive.’

  ‘At two o’clock in the morning?’

  ‘I don’t know if you realise it, young man, but the older you get the less sleep you require. Been nice talking to you, we’d better be off,’ said Mrs Levack.

  ‘I’ll just check your licence before you go,’ said the cop, politely but firmly.

  Mrs Levack and Freda froze. The licence was back in the car.

  ‘I’ll get it for you,’ said Freda finally.

  The cop started following her to the car.

  ‘Officer, officer,’ called Mrs Levack, trying to divert him. The cop hesitated, not sure which lady to attend to. Mrs Levack called again. Relief. He came back.

  ‘Actually, officer, I’ve always wondered how . . . what was it I was wondering?’

  The cop was looking at her very strangely but at least he was looking at her and not Freda. ‘Everything all right?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Levack. ‘It’s silly, really, I just wanted to know whether you wash your own shirts or whether all the police shirts go into one big wash.’

  He was looking at her even more strangely now. ‘Marcia!’ he called to someone in the police car. A young girl dressed in a police uniform got out of the car and came over. ‘Can you help this lady with her enquiry?’ he said to his colleague in a somewhat ironic tone.

  Mrs Levack did sometimes wonder who did the washing in the police force, but it wasn’t exactly a life or death type of question. However, it had served its purpose. Freda was back now with her licence.

  While Marcia explained to Mrs Levack about the washing, the officer checked the licence. ‘Everything seems to be in order,’ he said, giving it no more than a cursory glance. He actually now wanted to get shot of the old ladies as quickly as possible. �
�Drive safely.’ He and Marcia got back into the police car.

  Mrs Levack and Freda got back into their car, breathing huge sighs of relief. But the job wasn’t over yet. They weren’t going to be able to dump Barry here, not with the police car waiting for them to leave.

  ‘There must be other cliffs. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves by malingering. What about the Gap at Watson’s Bay?’ Mrs Levack turned around and addressed Barry: ‘That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? The Gap is one of Sydney’s landmarks.’

  Freda drove a little quicker this time. They went through Dover Heights, onto Old South Head Road to the Gap. Out there everything was black and inky, except for the waves crashing on the rocks. No police cars followed, in fact there was no other traffic at all. They could have been the only people left in the world.

  ‘Well, Mavis,’ said Freda, ‘let’s get on with it. I’d like to get a few hours’ sleep tonight.’

  Mrs Levack stared wistfully at Barry. ‘Actually, I was thinking . . . be nice to give him a bit of a send-off, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Mavis, this is no time to get sentimental.’

  ‘It’s all right for you, he didn’t die in your bed.’

  ‘That’s right. And if he hadn’t died in your bed we wouldn’t be here in the first place,’ Freda reminded her.

  In a huff, Mrs Levack got out of the car, opened the back door and tried to lift Barry out by herself.

  ‘There’s no need to take it like that,’ said Freda, getting out as well.

  Together the two women lifted him over the fence and dragged him across the grass. The three of them stood on the edge, Barry sagging a little on account of his broken legs, looking down at the crashing waves. ‘C’mon, Mavis, I’m going to get sick if we stand here too long.’

  Mrs Levack started reciting: ‘They shall not grow old as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them or the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning we will remember them.’

  ‘What are you doing the Anzac Day poem for?’ Freda could hardly believe it. ‘What’s wrong with the Lord’s Prayer?’