“Uncle Kethter, Uncle Kethter, pick me up!”
Kit knelt down to the small child and gave her a hug instead.
“Hi, Chelsea,” he said meekly.
The child looked at him sagely.
“You look thick,” she announced with finality.
Kit grinned. “Thick or sick?”
“That'th what I thaid, thick!”
“Yeah,” Kit agreed, still unsure which way to translate the childspeak. “Right on all counts.”
Sarah approached Kit and appraised him with a look similar to that of her child.
“Chelsea's right, Kit. You don't look too good. Are you all right?”
“No,” Kit admitted. “No, actually, I feel awful. My throat's dry, my head aches and my balance is a bit fuzzy.”
“Then the sooner we get you home, the better. Come on, everyone. Into the car.”
“Okay,” said Jo, eyeing Sarah's tiny car with dismay. “So who's riding on the roof?”
“Not a problem, not a problem.” Sarah extricated one hand from the baby's wrappings and waved it effusively. “Mike, take out the baby seats and throw them into the back.”
Mike complied.
“Now,” Sarah continued. “It might not be legal but desperation is as desperation does. Mike, you take Rosie and sit in the back. Kit, if you fold those legs of yours around your neck you should just squeeze in. Chelsea can sit on your knee. Jo, could you join them and baby-sit Alice. Kelly, you can sit in the front.”
Kelly delivered the others a smugly beatific smirk.
With her charges safely ensconced, Sarah pulled out into the rush-hour traffic.
Avi had lost all sense of time and was now measuring it in hospital cubicles. So the time was now four cubicles past reception. Since their arrival Avi had seen, in order, a male nurse carrying a clipboard who wanted all manner of personal details, which Elizabeth calmly dictated, even patiently spelling Avrahim's name twice, a female nurse who transferred him from the wheelchair onto a trolley then deftly manoeuvred the ungainly contraption down a narrow corridor into the first tiny cubicle, a second male nurse who helped him change from his bloodstained clothes into a crisply clean hospital gown and a female doctor who listened dispassionately to Elizabeth's recounting of her husband's violence, appraised his injuries, which made Avi sob in agony, and, mercifully, authorised a pain-killing injection.
The second male nurse had re-appeared and administered the drug before wheeling the trolley out of the cubicle to deposit it in the hallway with a blithe comment about sending Avi to x-ray. After a very long wait a porter had arrived and soundlessly wheeled the trolley down several corridors to the second cubicle, Elizabeth trailing anxiously behind. There followed another seemingly endless wait until he had been moved again, this time into the x-ray department where his hand and skull were photographed from several angles. It hurt.
Cubicle three had apparently been in the orthopaedic department, where he was sent next. The wait there was so long Elizabeth began to suggest that they had been forgotten when the staff changed shifts. The subsequent visitation from the orthopaedic specialist was much briefer. He spoke of a broken nose, a cracked cheekbone and of multiple fractures to the small bones in the hand. He said Avi would be treated. Then he mentioned concussion and informed them that Avi would be admitted to hospital overnight for observation. It was now the fourth cubicle and Avi was waiting to have his hand, the one he played all the melodies with, encased in a plaster cast.
“Danny is going to kill me when he sees this, Mum.”
“There's not much he can do about it, is there. It's not like you did it on purpose, to spite him.”
“Mum, you don't know Danny. To hear him talk, creation was designed to spite him.”
“Well, you don't have to take him so personally.”
“True. Look, Mum, if they're going to make me stay here all night, I'd better let the band know. They'll either be steaming mad or beside themselves with worry already and if I walk in tomorrow with no warning and a plaster cast, I'm dead meat. Once we find out what ward I'm going to be in, would you mind ringing Kit to tell him what's happened?”
“Should I guess? Will he be steaming mad or beside himself with worry?”
Avi attempted to grin through the bruises.
“What do you think?”
The television news was mercifully scanty. A reporter on the scene spoke in hushed, over-dramatic tones about the grisly discovery of a body in the back shed of a house in an inner-city Christchurch suburb. The camera panned back to show the front of Kit's house, wisteria in full bloom, while the voice-over advised clinically that no details of the deceased were being released as the next of kin had not yet been notified. Kit sighed with relief.
Throughout dinner the topic of Danny's murder had been judiciously avoided but now that the children were safely tucked up in bed the conversation was taking a harder edge. Kit had haltingly recalled his discussions with Rossiter and staunchly maintained his lack of knowledge. The others, in their turn, told their own tales, first Jo then Kelly and lastly Mike.
“By the way,” Mike added. “Who the hell is Keith Barrett?”
“Keith Barrett?” Kit repeated.
“Yeah. A guy about your height, late forties, grey hair, very square hands. Hang on.” Mike rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a handful of business cards. “Yeah, here.” he handed Barrett's card to Kit. “This Keith Barrett,”
“Oh, No! That Keith Barrett. Damn! I'd forgotten all about him.” Kit looked at the others. “He was coming to meet me today. All the way from Wellington.”
“I get it,” Mike exclaimed with a flash of inspiration. “K.B. Keith Barrett. That's who sent that James Bond fax.”
“Yeah,” Kit explained. “And probably the phone call that Kelly took. He's offered me a business deal. I'm going to take him up on it because I need the money, but just between you guys, I'm not sure if it's strictly honest.”
“That sounds ominous, Kit,” broke in Sarah. “Are you sure you should be doing... whatever it is you're going to do?”
“No,” Kit shook his head. “I'm not sure at all but, like I said, I need the money. You other guys, you've all got real jobs apart from the band. Well, Kelly hasn't but he obviously doesn't need one. But I rely on fixing bits of furniture and I'm slowly starving to death on that. I know Mum and Gabriel reckon I'm not fit to do anything much but Dr Phillips put this guy onto me, so she must think it's okay.”
“So what's the job?” Jo asked, all attention.
“Oh, sorry, um... making furniture. You know, like the stuff I've got at home. Stuff that looks like it's real old. That's the catch. This guy Barrett has an antique shop in Wellington. I reckon he's going to sell my replicas as the real thing and that's not legal.”
“Then don't do it.”
“Nice morals, Jo, but like I said, I'm seriously broke and seriously desperate. Look, I've only told Avi this but.. well, you know I said I didn't have any money for cigarettes before? Yeah, well I haven't had any money for four days. One of the reasons I was drumming so badly the other day was because I couldn't afford to buy any food.”
“Kit, that's dreadful!” Sarah was full of concern. “You should have said something.”
“I did. I told Avi.”
“When do you get paid next?” Mike inquired.
“Not till next week.”
“And you've got no money at all.”
“No.”
“This happens regularly?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, don't worry about it,” Sarah took charge. “On Monday we'll take you in to the Social Welfare and see about an emergency grant. Do you know how much you usually get?”
“Not really. Mum and Gabriel handle all my money for me because they reckon I'll only stuff it up. Gabriel's been giving me fifty dollars, but it doesn't go very far.”
“Fifty dollars? To live on? Do you have a lot of debts then? Is that where the rest of your money’s going?”
“No. None, oh, except the usual power and phone.”
“Mortgage?”
“No.”
“Then you're being ripped off, Kit. I think we need to have a word with your brother.”
“That's what Avi said.”
“Speaking of Gabriel,” cut in Mike, “Kit, Gabriel brought you some medication yesterday. I know you're supposed to take it regularly. Have you got it with you?”
“Hell! No,... no I haven't.”
“Leave that to me,” said Sarah, unfolding herself from the couch. “I'll call Margaret Phillips. I think she should know what's happening anyway, especially if the police continue to hassle Kit.” She hurried off to the telephone.
Brian Rossiter polished his glasses feverishly in frustration.
“Damn it, John!” He pounded his fist into the desk between himself and Senior Sergeant John Matheson. “That boy is as guilty as hell. I know he did it. His fingerprints are all over the murder weapon. He’s even got fresh cuts on his fingers.”
“That won't hold up in court and you know it,” Matheson answered. “He's a qualified tradesman. He uses that thing. If the murderer wore gloves, of course Simmons's prints will be the only ones on it. However, take a look at this, it might interest you.”
Matheson held out a computer printout. Rossiter scanned it and shrugged.
“Explain!”
“I found a couple of pill bottles in Simmons's kitchen cupboard. I gave them to the forensic people. That's the analysis. Quite interesting really, especially from what you say of Simmons's past form. Most of the tablets are pretty innocuous. Something called lithium carbamazepine. According to this note it's standard long-term medication for chronic depression. Simmons must be a pretty sick young man.”
“So I gather.”
“But this is where it gets interesting. The chemist who did this analysis noticed that two of the tablets were slightly grainier, so he checked them separately.”
“Okay, hit me with it. What 's in them?”
“Good old-fashioned L.S.D.”
Rossiter rubbed his hands with glee.
“Good work, John! I knew there was something. I was sure that lad was off his face when he was in here this morning. So much for all that crap about reforming. He's still the same pathetic junkie he always was.”
He rose from his chair and stretched languidly.
“I'll guarantee you, John, that if we keep digging through this little muck heap we'll find drugs at the bottom. Especially where Kester Joseph Simmons is concerned.”
‘Charlotte Jane’ was nearly water-logged with coffee. Sarah held out a fresh cup to Jo who re-entered the immaculate cream-upholstered lounge, rubbing her ear.
“Well, he’s still not answering his cell phone and I've tried everywhere else I can think of,” she said ruefully. “I got extremely short shrift from Uncle Jacob. I asked him if Avi was at home and he just bellowed ‘No’ and slammed the phone down in my ear. I rang our place. Mum had conniptions when I told her Danny had been killed but she hasn't heard from or about Avi all day. I tried the music department at the university. I couldn't figure why he'd go there with all this going on, but it was a long shot. Anyway, he wasn't there. The coffee shop hasn't seen him and there's no answer at your place, Kit, surprise, surprise. So, I'm afraid, no Avi.”
“Maybe his car has broken down,” Mike suggested. “It's about the only possibility left.”
“So why didn't he phone one of us?” Kit asked.
“Maybe he tried. We have been kind of pre-occupied today.”
“Get real, Mike. We can still hear our phones. We've been here for hours now. He should have called or at least sent a text.”
“I hate to say it,” Jo said quietly. “Kit's right. Even if he was on foot he would have got here by now. If nothing else, if I know my cousin as well as I think I do, he would have phoned out of sheer guilt for missing today's rehearsal.”
“So where is he?” Kit was beginning to sound genuinely worried.
Jo drained her coffee. “Okay, it's my turn to jump to conclusions. I don't want to be a scaremonger but I can't stop thinking something awful might have happened to him.”
“Like what?”
“Like we don't know who the hell killed Danny last night. Maybe they got Avi as well. Maybe he's a hostage or something.”
“Maybe he's dead,” added Kelly.
“Hang on a bit,” enjoined Mike. “Let's not assume anything so drastic. Hey,” he paused at the sound of the doorbell. “That's probably him now.”
Mike leapt up to answer the door. Standing outside was a well dressed middle-aged woman, her greying hair pulled back into a serviceable bun, her face alive with a wide smile and twinkling green eyes.
“Hi, Doctor Phillips, come on in.”
“Hello, Michael. Sarah asked me to call and check on Kit. I believe you've all had a rough day.”
“Yeah,” agreed Mike, ushering Margaret Phillips through the passage and into the lounge. Kit favoured her with a wan smile.
“Kit,” she began, settling into a kneeling position on the floor beside his chair. “Sarah rang me. I've brought you over some more tablets. Sarah said that you can't get back to your house, so I made the prescription out for a month. I don't think you'll need anything like that amount but it's best to be safe, isn't it.”
She handed Kit two bottles.
“This one is the lithium. Those are the ones you take every day. This other bottle is the chlorpromazine. Now look carefully. I've written my phone number on the bottle. If you feel really bad and you need help, phone me straight away, then take one of these. Promise? I know young Avrahim has a supply of these, but I want you to carry this bottle in your pocket all the time. Especially if you have to go back to the police station. Promise?”
Kit nodded.
“I promise. You haven't heard from Avi, have you?”
“No, should I have?”
“He's on the missing list,” Jo cut in. “Nobody's seen him all day. He said he was planning to stay at Kit's last night, but he wasn't there when we got there this morning and he hasn't turned up anywhere since. To be perfectly honest we were just beginning to wonder if the murderer got him as well.”
“Stop saying that!” Kit shouted at her.
Margaret Phillips put a comforting arm around his bony shoulders and threw Jo a warning glare.
“Did Avi stay with you last night?” she asked Kit gently.
“Yeah, I think so, yeah, I'm sure he did.”
“You don't sound terribly sure.”
Kit wrung his hands nervously.
“I don't remember much about last night. I've been feeling really strange for the last few days.”
Margaret was suddenly all attention.
“What sort of strange, Kit. Can you describe it?”
“If it was a drum beat I would say my snare is a sixteenth behind the hi-hats. Everything's vaguely out of sync. And all those weird symptoms I told you about last time I saw you have got worse. And last night was truly ghastly. I think if the others are honest they will say that I was acting pretty weird. Avi gave me one of those chlor-whatever tablets at lunch time. I think it was the second one in two days...”
Margaret raised her eyebrows.
“Anyway,” Kit continued, “I had these weird dreams all night. I kept seeing these huge, hairy spiders with red hair. They were trying to eat me. I can remember them walking up and down the driveway, yelling at each other. No! Wait a minute! Maybe it wasn't all dream. When the spiders were yelling, one of them sounded like Avi.”
“So who was the other one?”
“Danny. I'm sure it was Danny.”
Margaret paraphrased. “So you heard people in your driveway, but you thought they were spiders?”
“No, I heard spiders, but they might have been people.”
“Okay. One of the spiders might have been Avi?”
“Yeah.”
“And the other might have been Danny?”
“Yeah.”
“When did you last see Avi?”
Kit thought carefully. “This morning. He brought me breakfast and said he was going home to have a shower.”
“Why?” asked Jo.
“Why what?”
“Why go home for a shower. You've got one at your place.”
“Yeah, but he wanted some clean clothes as well.”
“Fair enough.”
“There were extra breakfast dishes in the sink,” Mike agreed.
“So Avi was at your place this morning, left before you others arrived and hasn't been seen since?” Margaret was still paraphrasing the information.
“Pretty much,” Kit acknowledged.
“Did he mention Danny this morning?”
“No.”
“Did you see Danny this morning?”
“No. Avi woke me and told me he was leaving. I don't even remember him going. I was barely awake and I must have gone straight back to sleep.”
“He was pretty wasted still, even when we got there,” Mike filled in. “We had to haul him out bodily and throw him under the shower. We found Danny just after that.”
“You do realise there is another logical scenario here?” Kelly interjected. The others stared at him. “Maybe it's Avrahim the police should be questioning, not Kester.”
“What are you getting at?” Kit demanded savagely.
Kelly leant back lazily, clasped his hands behind his head and spoke slowly. “Avrahim is heard in the driveway yelling at Daniel, Daniel is found dead and Avrahim has decamped from the scene. Personally, I would consider such decampment highly suspicious.”
“You're not serious?” Jo was incredulous. “Avi. Murder Danny. Get real, Kelly.”
“Why not?”
“Because he's Mister Nice Guy, that's why not. He's so nice he's nauseous.”
Power Ride Page 15
