Gith

by Else, Chris

  At the far corner of the house I saw a window open a few centimetres. It was maybe half a metre above my head so I couldn't see in, but I could see that those curtains were closed too. A noise, though. I wasn't sure what it was or where it came from.

  'Hello?' I said, loud enough for somebody inside to hear.

  Another noise. It was a wet, strangled sort of sound and it came from the window. An animal?

  'Anybody there?' Louder this time.

  'Garrrrrggggg.' Almost a shout now, angry or scared. Somebody needing help? Somebody in deep shit by the sound of it.

  I walked back the way I'd come, climbed the step and tried the back door. It opened into a kitchen: everything neat and tidy, the benches clean, a toaster and a metal kettle shining clear and bright. I crossed the floor and went into a hallway, a narrow corridor with nothing on the walls. There was light down there from an open door to the right. The room I wanted was on the left, though — the last door. There was a plastic doorknob with a key sticking out from the lock below it. I turned the knob and pushed. The door didn't move. Locked. The key then. Open now. It swung inwards with a creak. Dim light inside. Just a little star of brightness from the gap at the top of the curtains.

  'Gurrrrgh.' A low, heavy sound like the breath of a monster. My guts tightened. The door swung wider. I could see the dim shape of the foot of a wrought-iron bedstead. Something there on it. And then the smell came, a great woof of it, like sewage and ammonia. I reached inside and flicked on the light switch.

  A thing there, a body, staring eyes. Mouth twisted and sagging at the right-hand side. A lined face, smudged with dirt, thin grey hair like frayed string.

  'Dagmar?'

  He was dressed in filthy pyjamas. His right arm, folded up like a roasted chicken wing, rested on his chest. The left was up beside his shoulder, tied by a rope to the bedhead.

  'Jesus!' I said. 'What's happening here?'

  His mouth opened in a lopsided hole, tongue sticking out, yellow stumps of teeth. 'Guuurggh.'

  I moved further into the room, up towards the head of the bed, and started to undo the knots in the rope. They were done up tight. The skin round the old man's wrist had worn away in a dark band, like a bracelet. He looked up at me. His right eye was half closed but the other was leaking tears. His gaze flicked away and suddenly he went mad, growling and yelling and thrashing his left arm around so that the rope jumped out of my grip.

  I looked up to see Moss standing right behind me. I guess I yelled with the shock and jumped back, grabbing hold of the head of the bed. Moss was staring, not at me but right through me to some place far, far away.

  'Get out of my fucking way!' I shouted, and pushed past him.

  Moss moved aside around the bed's foot as I headed through the door and down the hall. My only thought was to get out of there as fast as I could. Something stopped me though.

  I turned and looked back. Moss was just standing there in the hallway beside the door, like he was made of wood. He wasn't looking anywhere — not at me, not into the room.

  'What's going on, Moss?' I called down the hallway. 'What the hell are you doing? Your dad needs help. He's had a stroke or something. You can't just tie him up, for fuck's sake!'

  He moved then, his head swinging round a bit so that he was staring at me, round eyes like pale stones. He looked like a corpse standing up.

  I went outside and got into the Surf, called Hemi on my mobile and told him what had happened. I wasn't sure what to do after that. I didn't want to go back inside, but I didn't feel it was right just to drive away either. Not until somebody got there, at any rate. I stayed where I was. Waited.

  After a while Moss came out and sat down on the back step, his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging down between them. Slowly, his head dropped so his chin was on his chest. Then, after a minute or so, it lifted again and he stared off into the distance, way beyond me, up to where the hills joined the sky. It went on like that, head dropping and then lifting. He looked like some weird machine, like one of those pumps on an oilfield, only in real slow motion. Spooky. I guessed Dagmar was still tied to the bed. No worse off than he had been before. I hoped not, anyway.

  Hemi wasn't in the cop car that came up the hill. Given that Moss was a suspect in the Anneke Hesse case, I guess he figured he had to hand over to Kevin Ryan's team. The two cops that turned up were another bloke-and-sheila pair. They tried to talk to Moss but he didn't even see them so they came over to me. I told them where Dagmar was and they went inside. Moss didn't move and they more or less had to step round him. One of them, the bloke, was back out again in a couple of minutes, talking on his RT as he walked towards me. I opened the door and got out of the Surf.

  'We'll take care of things from here,' he said. 'It would be good if you could give us a statement though.'

  'No problem.'

  'Could you stop by the community hall? Somebody will see you there.'

  The somebody turned out to be Kerry Ryan. We went through what had happened and he asked me a few questions. He seemed a decent bloke. Tall and good-looking, with dark hair and blue eyes. He had the kind of voice that makes you feel comfortable, and he seemed to be listening in a way that said he wasn't just thinking about what he could get out of you. Perhaps it was his easy way of doing things, but when he asked me if I had anything else to say I almost started right in about Anneke Hesse.

  What stopped me? I'm not sure. Partly, I just thought he wouldn't believe me, which would only piss me off. On the other hand, if he did go for my story, what would he do? Send a bunch of cops chasing after the owners of white vans. And if they started hassling the real killer, whoever it was might come after Gith again. No, I thought, stuff it. It was a long way better that he didn't even start. He could do what the hell he liked, arrest who he wanted, just as long as he left Gith and me out of it.

  He was looking at me. I could tell he thought I was hiding something, which I was. And I still hadn't given him an answer.

  'No,' I said. 'Nothing else.' Not about Moss Vield, anyway.

  ***

  WHEN I BECAME Gith's caregiver it was the beginning of the end for Michelle and me. It wasn't clear right away but I started to move into a whole different kind of life, one that more and more left Michelle on the outer.

  Gith and I couldn't work on the Riley full time. There weren't enough spares. There were long stretches when we were surfing the Net for them or waiting for them to come and we were always running out of money. We got a bit of help from the trust but it didn't seem right to dig too deep into what Gith had, even though she wanted to. After a while I started to get other little jobs to fill in the time, doing servicing and repairs for friends and neighbours and people who were passed on to me by other friends and neighbours. The driveway and back yard usually had two or three extra vehicles in it. Gith did most of the work on the Riley, and she helped me out with the paying customers whenever she had time.

  I had to keep an eye on her but she was a quick learner. She had started to get the words back by then, and what with those and pointing and other moves, she could make a fair fist of a question if she had to. Plus, her short-term memory was near to a hundred per cent again, so I never had to show her anything twice. She was getting stronger, as well. She was skinny but there was a lot of torque in her feeble-looking wrists and she had no trouble lugging wheels or doors or engine heads around. The better she got at the job, the more it seemed to me that she could do it for a living. It didn't seem likely that she would ever qualify as a mechanic, but if she was helping me I would get through a hell of a lot more work than I would on my own. I started to think what it would be like for the two of us to run a repair shop together.

  Michelle didn't like of any of this. She didn't like the cars in the yard because it usually meant she couldn't get her little Mazda into one of the garages; she didn't like all the time I was spending with Gith; and she didn't like the fact that she and I hardly talked any more. I guess I was pretty useless company. Wo
rking with somebody who had so little to say meant I lost the habit of talking in the normal way. On top of that, Michelle's life had gone off into places I didn't know. She had opened her second salon by then and was well on the way to starting a third. Because of that she had stopped doing hair. She was an employer and manager and was starting to make good money. None of this mattered to Gith and me. We cared about it as much as Michelle cared when the Riley's motor fired for the first time.

  When we weren't working, Gith and I did a lot of fooling around. I told her jokes — real bad jokes — and she'd laugh like a drain. Or else we'd be sitting on the sofa watching TV and we'd start nudging each other and the nudges would get harder and harder until she was bouncing off me or I was almost knocking her over. Sometimes I'd just tickle her. She had this fantastic laugh, big and deep and full, that just exploded out of her, like she was giving it everything. Making her laugh was just about the best thing I knew. Given all that she'd gone through, it seemed like a really big deal.

  Michelle didn't like this stuff either.

  'It's unhealthy,' she said.

  'What is?'

  'You and her. You're like Siamese twins.'

  'She needs me.'

  'That's the problem. That's what's sick about it.'

  'I don't get you,' I said.

  'You need her to need you. You're obsessed with her.'

  'And you're obsessed with your business.'

  'That's different. That's normal.' She shook her head. 'I don't know — I'm not sure I can put up with much more of this.'

  'More of what?'

  'Watching you with her. It makes my skin crawl.'

  'You don't have to be here,' I said. The words just came out and I found I didn't want to take them back. I felt terrible about it but I didn't.

  'No,' she said, staring at me. 'I don't, do I?'

  She didn't leave, though, not right then. I'm not sure why. Maybe she'd talked to a lawyer and found out that I might get a half share of her business if we split up. Maybe she still had an eye on Gith's trust fund. Maybe there was still the ghost of the old feelings there. Whatever the case, Michelle kept on living at the Epuni house and she and I kept on sharing the same bed, even though all we did in it was sleep. It took another four months before she finally told us she had got herself an apartment in Wellington so she didn't have to come out to the Hutt every night. Bit by bit, over about a year, she spent less and less time with us and more and more in her new life. In the end we hardly saw her at all. She'd just turn up now and again when she needed something. Gith and I didn't mind. We were sweet.

  ***

  I WAS REAL popular for the next day or so. Everybody wanted to know about Moss and Dagmar, even though I wasn't that keen to talk about it. Dolly McKenzie was first. She came by the service station and bought five dollars' worth of gas — and then she baled me up behind the shop counter and asked me a lot of questions.

  'Well,' she said when I was done. 'Dagmar's not the nicest person I ever met, but really. You wouldn't wish that on anybody, would you? You wouldn't wish that on a dog. I mean, Moss wouldn't treat his dog like that.' No, I thought. He'd shoot it.

  'Hard to comprehend, isn't it?' she went on. 'Why did he do it?'

  'I don't know,' I said. 'But he just seemed like he couldn't cope with it. Maybe he felt he had no other way to go. I mean, he's so used to living without any help from anybody that he didn't know what to do.'

  'Hard to believe. And the thing is, nobody noticed, did they? I mean, the police have been up there before. They interviewed Moss and took his car — did you know that? If they were going to speak to him, you'd think they'd want to talk to Dagmar as well, wouldn't you? Dearie, dearie me.' She shook her head as if it was all too hard to figure. 'It goes to show. Even in a place like this people can just disappear.'

  'I guess.'

  'Like that poor girl. They haven't found her yet.'

  'No,' I said.

  'I expect there's a connection. Don't you think so?'

  'No, I don't, to be honest.'

  'People in those situations. The horrible things that happen to them. Sadists and murderers. I expect he tortured her. I expect he kept her alive for hours doing disgusting things. And that girl of yours. Someone told me she got attacked on Sunday. At the show.'

  'That's right.'

  'Poor wee innocent! Was it a mugger?'

  'No.'

  'Not something nasty? Surely not.'

  'Just a bit of bullying, I guess.'

  'It's not right, is it?' Dolly said.

  'No. That's for sure.'

  ***

  SIMON INGREST WAS next in line. Simon is not like his wife. In fact, except for their age and their matching haircuts, he is just about the opposite: kind of moody and serious and seeming to think the worst of everybody. He didn't like my ideas about why Moss had done it. He had a different story. Tim Dixon, who had retired to a little house in Anzac Street beside the church, had done a bit of work for the Vields in the old days. Tim said Dagmar used to rule Moss with a rod of iron. He had seen Dagmar lay into Moss one day, knocking him out cold, for doing nothing much.

  'What goes around comes around,' Simon said, brown eyes staring at me. He had the same sort of look as one of those droopy dogs.

  'Justice?'

  'Psychology. Somewhere in there . . .' he tapped his forehead, 'Moss wants his revenge. The opportunity comes, and, well . . .'

  'Makes sense,' I said.

  'Of course it does. There's no telling how nasty people can be to each other. He would probably have let the old man starve to death.'

  'I don't know about that,' I said.

  'Well, this sure strengthens the case against him.'

  'What case?'

  'Anneke Hesse. They impounded his station wagon. He's obviously on their list of suspects. Just like he was the last time. For that other girl.'

  'Yes,' I said, 'but I never could figure that one out.'

  'A witness saw Mattie getting into a white wagon. A Ford Laser or a Corolla, they said. Moss has a Corolla. Plus, he was in Katawai that day organising fertiliser. Plus, he's obviously the type.'

  'Is there a type?'

  'They have profiles, don't they?'

  'He wasn't here the day Anneke went missing,' I said. 'You don't have Moss around without noticing him.'

  'Hmm.' Simon thought about this. 'Well, I have to say he's close to the top of my list. Along with that Cleat fellow.'

  'I don't think it's either of them,' I said.

  'Oh?' He stared at me. 'What's your theory then?'

  'I don't have one.' Except that whoever it was, was driving a white Mitsubishi van. I almost said that but I stopped myself.

  'Hmm. All I know is we don't need people like that in this community. Riff-raff and ratbags and rapists. We have women and children here. The last thing we need is the government dumping Cleat and that kind of person on us.'

  'I guess he lives here,' I said. 'Or his mother does.' She's been here a lot longer than you, I might have said.

  'Ah, well. She's another one, isn't she? A viper, if ever I saw one.'

  'Maybe she just needs to be treated decently.'

  'Decent people need to be treated decently. That's my point.'

  ***

  DOWN AT THE pub they were just as keen to hear the details. They were standing three deep round our table by the time I got to the end of the story.

  'They arrested Moss?' Pat Harrigan asked.

  'I don't know,' I said.

  'Yeah, they arrested him,' Monty answered.

  'Just an excuse,' Mark said. 'The real idea is for them to get up there and pull that place to pieces, go through it with a fine-tooth comb.'

  'What for?' Tom raised his eyebrows.

  'Anneke Hesse. He's still in the frame for that, eh.'

  'Too right,' Monty said. 'It's crawling with cops up there.

  You can see them from my place.'

  'That's what they do,' Mark went on. 'They arrest you for
something minor — illegally possessing a firearm or spitting on the floor or something — and then they grill you about the thing they're really interested in.'

  'What happened to Dagmar wasn't minor,' I said.

  'Same principle, though, eh?'

  'You reckon that girl's buried up there?' Trevor Bittington asked.

  'Has to be,' Mark said. 'And the other one, too, is my bet.'

  No, I almost said, she's up at the lake.

  'Where, though?' Trevor asked.

  'Anywhere. I mean, there's all that bush on the edge of Moss's place up towards Gatter Hill. Nobody's been in there for fifty years. What do you reckon, Monty?'

  'Well.' Monty cleared his throat, took a pull at his beer.

  'Where would you bury 'em?' Tom turned to Mark.

  'Don't know. In a paddock, maybe. In a low-lying bit. You dig a big hole and stick them in and then you let a few head of stock wander over them.'

  'That's smart,' Tom said.

  Monty wasn't so sure. 'They have detectors for that sort of situation.'

  'You going to run a detector over three-fifty hectares?'

  'Do you believe Moss did it?' I asked Monty.

  'Don't know,' he said. 'It makes sense.'

  'No it doesn't. He wasn't there that day, when Anneke went missing, was he?'

  'I didn't see him. But, you know, he might have picked her up round the corner.'

  'But the whole bloody point is that you and Mavis saw a white wagon. If he picked her up round the corner you didn't see him, and if you didn't see him who's to say it was a white wagon that picked her up?' It didn't come out the way I wanted. I wasn't even sure it made sense.

  'Not more white wagons,' Mark said. 'I got them coming out my bloody ears.'

  I was riled by now. 'It wasn't a white wagon. It was a white van, with a black dog.'

  Mark pulled a face. 'Jesus. Let go of your bloody van, won't you? I'm sick of hearing about it. They'll charge Moss Vield with those murders. I'll put ten bucks on it.'

  There was a silence.

  'Go on,' Mark said, pointing at me. 'Put your money where your mouth is.'