Live and Let Bondi

by Clare Kauter

  Martha placed a glass of water in front of Natalia (who shot me a pointed look while thanking her) and then placed a mug of coffee in front of me before sitting down next to me with a cup of tea.

  I took a sip of the coffee, a little apprehensive after my earlier experience – the coffee I’d had that morning had been viscous, like primordial slime ready to evolve into some kind of new life form in my mouth, every aspect of which was going to give me nightmares. When Martha’s coffee met my tongue, I was pleasantly surprised. “That’s delicious.”

  OK, Martha was crazy, but she certainly had some redeeming qualities. This coffee and that view… Yeah, I could definitely marry her.

  She beamed. “I get the coffee from a place down the road, I Bean Everywhere,” she said, speaking with the enthusiasm of someone truly passionate about their caffeine, a quality I admired. “Although if you want a really amazing coffee, you should go there before nine in the morning. Their early morning barista, Azita, will blow your mind. It’s all in the way she grinds.”

  I stared at her wordlessly for a moment, wondering how I should respond to that news. “That’s quite a promise,” I said finally. Martha smiled, seemingly oblivious to the double meaning in what she’d just said. I took another sip of the coffee and then got down to business. “So, Martha – can I call you Martha? – You wanted to talk to us about, uh… well, why don’t you just tell us how we can be of help?”

  She smiled and set her cup of tea on the table. “I know you must think I’m crazy,” she said. “But I swear to you, I saw that young man down on the beach and he asked me to find his murderer. I couldn’t let him down.”

  “So you saw the ghost of the murdered man,” said Natalia, no hint of disbelief or judgment in her voice. Martha nodded. “Right. And did you know this man while he was alive?”

  “No, I didn’t. I only heard about the murder when it was on the news.”

  “Why do you care, then?” Natalia asked.

  Martha raised her eyebrows, shocked at Natalia’s abrupt manner. I suspected that a lot of people reacted that way when they first met her. Martha recovered quickly and said, “Well, I feel it’s my duty. The man was murdered not far from my home, after all. And, as you know, he contacted me specifically for help with this case.”

  “The ghost contacted you,” Natalia said, removing a notepad and pen from her bag.

  Martha nodded. “Yes.”

  “Odd that he contacted you and not someone he knew in life.”

  I was a little worried about Natalia’s interrogation technique – it sounded like she was accusing Martha (my darling Martha) of something – but Martha (my strong, beautiful Martha) seemed to be only mildly flustered by it. “Well, I suspect he was drawn to me due to my spiritual nature. I’ve felt presences before, you know.”

  “Other murder victims have asked you to help them?” asked Natalia, pen poised. “Do you have a list of names?”

  “Oh, no, no, nothing like that,” she said. “This was the first time I’ve actually seen a ghost.”

  “But you’ve felt presences before?”

  “That’s correct, yes,” said Martha, nodding.

  “OK,” said Natalia, writing something down. “And could you describe the spirit in question, please?”

  “Of course. Well, he was tall. Hmm, let’s see… Quite handsome, really. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was still alive.”

  If I didn’t know better… Oh, my beautiful deluded Martha.

  “Tall and handsome,” Natalia repeated. “Right. What was he wearing?”

  “A hooded sweatshirt,” said Martha, squinting her eyes as she struggled to remember the details. “It was grey, or perhaps a dark blue. I didn’t notice his pants or shoes, if he even had any.”

  “You think he might have been pantless?” I asked, frowning slightly. I was sure if I’d seen a man wearing a hoodie and no pants in the middle of Bondi Beach I would have remembered, ghost or not.

  “Oh, no, dear,” Martha said with a laugh. “I mean he may not have had legs at all. It was very foggy when I saw him, so I can’t be sure whether he manifested entirely or just from the waist up.”

  “Of course,” I said, unable to think of anything else to say. It was foggy when she saw him. Was it possible she’d just imagined the ghost in the fog? Wait, what was I thinking? Of course she’d imagined it. Either that or she was straight up lying, and I didn’t think Martha (my love, my world) would do that.

  “Did you get a good look at his face?” I asked.

  Martha nodded decisively. “I did, yes. And after he told me who he was, I hurried straight home and googled the man. It was definitely him.”

  “OK,” said Nat, her face betraying no hint of what she thought of the woman’s story. “Start from the beginning. What exactly happened the morning you saw this ghost, and what did he tell you?”

  Martha frowned. “I don’t know why you’re so interested in the ghost,” she said. “He told me quite plainly he didn’t know who’d done it and that was why he needed me to hire you. I don’t think learning more about him will help you.”

  “You never know what detail might help us crack the case,” I said, smiling at Martha to butter her up. “It would be very useful if you could tell us what exactly happened.”

  Martha smiled back at me, but she still looked unconvinced.

  “You know how spirits can be,” Natalia said. “Sometimes the meanings of what they say aren’t immediately clear. Perhaps he passed a message to you that he intended for us to hear.”

  I frowned. ‘You know how spirits can be’? It was bad enough hearing that kind of thing from Martha, but from Natalia? She didn’t actually believe in this stuff, did she? Maybe that was why she’d been given the job of supervising new recruits – because she was crazy. But whether she believed in ghosts or not, it seemed to work.

  Martha’s eyes widened. “Good thought. I hadn’t considered that. Alright, where should I start?”

  “When did you see the ghost, where, and what were you doing immediately preceding the manifestation?”

  I studied Nat with fascination. No, I decided. She didn’t believe in ghosts. But how could she possibly know that spirits were fickle and sent coded messages and all those other things? Had she really worked that many cases in – what was it she called it? – the Shitty Case Division that she’d learned the supposed habits of ghosts?

  Dear lord, I hoped I wouldn’t be stuck as her partner for long.

  “Well, three days ago I was out for my morning walk,” began Martha. “I go every morning, a long walk up the beach. Keeps my mind sharp.” Nat and I looked at each other, both trying to keep what we thought about that from showing on our faces. “I usually leave here at six and head out, and I was on my way back when I met him, so it must have been perhaps six-forty-five. It was a very cold morning, gloomy and quite dark. There was a nasty chill in the air – obviously, because it’s winter – and there was a fog rolling in over the water.”

  “It was dark and foggy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then how did you see his face?” Nat asked. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but it wasn’t exactly kind, either.

  “He was quite close,” Martha replied, thinking hard. “And the sun was starting to come up by that point, so I was able to see his face.”

  Nat wrote something down on her notepad. “OK. And what exactly happened when you met the ghost? What did he say?”

  “Well, I couldn’t really see too far ahead of me because of the fog, you see. Suddenly up ahead of me – a few metres in front – he appeared. I’m not really sure how it happened. There was a shadow in the mist and then I saw him. He was facing me. I stopped – I was nervous, you see, because there was no one else out on the beach. At least not that I’d seen. I thought maybe he was going to mug me or something, so I froze. Then he said my name.”

  I frowned and stopped in the middle of sipping my coffee. I swallowed quickly and said, “Wait, the ghost knew yo
ur name?”

  Martha nodded. “Oh yes. He came back to talk to me specifically.”

  Well, that was interesting. Assuming this woman was telling the truth and wasn’t just an amazing liar, what did that mean? Obviously it couldn’t have been a ghost she saw on that beach. Not to mention it was near dark and hardly perfect conditions at the time she claimed to have seen the man, so it seemed unlikely she would have been able to see anyone. So what, had she hallucinated the whole thing? She hadn’t known Jake Rogers in life, though, so why would she have hallucinated him? How would she have known his name to look it up when she got home? Perhaps she’d heard the name on the news and for whatever reason it had come to her in her subconscious that morning. Yes, that had to be it. There didn’t seem to be any other logical explanation.

  OK, so she’d imagined the whole thing. Then she’d hired us to investigate the murder based on what she believed was a command from beyond the grave. Where did that leave the investigation? It seemed wrong to investigate something based on an old lady’s delusions, but what was the alternative? Tell her she was crazy and not take the case? No chance. Maybe the fact that there had been a murder so close to her house had traumatised her and that’s why she’d hallucinated this ghost thing. In that case, we’d just have to investigate it anyway and hope we turned something up so she could move on.

  “What did he say after he called your name?” Nat asked.

  “Well, once he addressed me – I can’t really explain it. I just felt a sense of calm wash over me. I realised he didn’t mean me any harm.” She frowned, recalling the details of her delusion. “He called my name, and then introduced himself as Jake Rogers. He said that the place where we were standing was the place he’d been murdered. He said he didn’t see who’d stabbed him, and his soul couldn’t be at rest until the killer was brought to justice, and he needed my help. I told him I had no experience in solving murders, and he said he knew I had the means to hire someone to figure out what had happened. Then he disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” Nat repeated, her pen pausing. “How exactly?”

  Martha shook her head, face blank. “I have no idea,” she said. “It seemed as though I blinked and then he was gone. I assume he went back to the other realm.”

  Nat nodded once. “OK. And since this event you haven’t experienced any other supernatural phenomena?”

  I slid a look to Natalia, but she was focused on Martha. Why was she asking that? Hoping for more clues from Martha’s subconscious? Seeing how bad the delusions were and whether we should alert a doctor? Whatever the reason, I couldn’t say Nat wasn’t thorough. She was much better at this than I’d expected when she showed up smelling like she’d taken a bath in a barrel of whiskey.

  Martha shook her head. “No, nothing since that morning. I called as soon as I could and made an appointment with your company. I suspect he knows that and that’s why I haven’t heard from him again,” said Martha, nodding at me as she spoke. I nodded in return, like that made total sense. Of course that was why she hadn’t heard from the ghost again – because he was waiting for her to meet with the private investigators first. Ghosts are nothing if not practical.

  Natalia finished writing her notes and asked a couple more questions while she finished off her glass of water, but we didn’t find out anything more of value. Once I’d finished my coffee, we decided we should leave. I kissed Martha’s hand as I said goodbye and noticed her blush slightly. Excellent. I was in. (Seriously, you have no idea how nice that apartment was.)

  On the walk back to the car, we discussed what Martha had told us.

  “Do you think she’s telling the truth?” I asked.

  “I think she thinks she is.”

  I nodded. “You seemed to know a lot about ghosts.”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo,” she said. “If you’re expecting good cases while you’re paired up with me, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

  I grimaced and decided to change the subject. “You weren’t exactly polite with my future wife in there.”

  “Witnesses are more likely to remember details correctly if they’re questioned by someone who doesn’t smile or use a friendly tone.”

  “No wonder your case record is so impeccable,” I said. “No danger of getting a smile or friendly tone from you.”

  She shrugged. “Exactly.”

  Chapter Five

  Natalia

  We climbed back into Billy’s creepy Toyota Pervis, ready to hit the road.

  “I’ve organised to meet up with Jake Rogers’s family next,” I said as I flicked through the file to find the address. While I was typing it into the phone, Billy started Bazza up and pulled out of the car park, casting one last longing look at the ocean before we left.

  “I’m sorry, do you and the beach need a moment alone together?” I asked.

  Billy smiled. “No, it’s OK. I’m sure I’ll be back to question Martha –”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course you will.”

  “– so I’ll just check in with the beach then.”

  “Your social life sounds pretty wild.”

  “You have no idea. I’m –”

  “Take the second exit on the roundabout,” Lady God boomed.

  “Just tell me to go straight, you dopey bitch,” Billy snapped at her. I raised my eyebrows at him and he glanced across at me sheepishly. “She cut off my punchline.”

  “You can just say it now.”

  He waved his hand in the air dismissively. “The moment’s gone.” He shook his head. “I swear she’s just doing this to annoy me. She’s probably in cahoots with Bazza.”

  “In cahoots?” I repeated.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. You just sounded like a seventy year old,” I said. “I guess you’re brushing up on your vocab for when you spend time with Martha.”

  He frowned. “People say ‘cahoots’. It’s not that strange.”

  “Sure. You hear it all the time. Especially in nursing homes.”

  “It’s not –”

  “Continue straight for one point seven kilometres.”

  “Why must you always undermine me?” Billy demanded, glaring down at my phone.

  “Searching for results on: why must you always undermine me.”

  “No, I didn’t – don’t –”

  “Seven ways to stop people undermining you.”

  “No! Stop! I don’t want to know!”

  “One: try putting distance between yourself and the person you feel is undermining you.”

  “Shut up!” he said. “I don’t want to know about distance!”

  “Distance to destination: three point nine kilometres.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked, defeated. “What have I done to deserve this?”

  “Did they not have phones in Queensland?” I asked. “Is that why you’re struggling so much?”

  He turned to me, his eyes pleading. “Please make it stop.”

  “But it’s so much fun watching you lose an argument with a GPS.”

  “Please,” he begged.

  Sighing, I reached down and tapped the screen, shutting the phone up.

  “Thank you,” he said, sounding like he really meant it. It made sense. Braver men than him had been driven to tears by Lady God’s wrath. “So, we’re going to talk to the victim’s family?”

  I nodded. “His brother.”

  “Right,” he replied. “And he knows we’re coming?”

  “Yep,” I said. “I called yesterday to make sure he’d be home.”

  “What did you tell him?” he asked.

  “Obviously that we are investigating his brother’s murder on the whim of a ghost,” I said, rolling my eyes at him.

  “I didn’t think you’d tell him that,” Billy said. “I just thought he might have asked who hired us.”

  I nodded. “I thought he’d ask that too, but he didn’t.”

  Billy frowned. “Does that strike you as odd?”


  “A bit,” I admitted. “He seemed pretty keen to help out though, so maybe he was just so relieved that someone was still looking into it that it didn’t occur to him to question why.”

  “Still seems a bit strange that he wouldn’t wonder who it was that had hired us.”

  “Maybe he just didn’t think of it while he was talking to me,” I said. “He’ll probably ask when we get there today.”

  “Probably.”

  Unlike Martha, our victim’s brother Roy didn’t live in a fancy apartment overlooking the beach. His suburb was a little further south and a little more inland, an area populated mostly by old red brick blocks of flats with doors falling off the hinges. It wasn’t a particularly upscale area. Then again, it wasn’t surprising. Roy was still studying at university and I knew from my research that his parents had passed away a few years ago. He’d been the only family Jake Rogers had. As student accommodation went, this suburb wasn’t too bad. Some of the lawns had been mown in the last year and everything.

  Billy parked the car a little down the road from Roy’s apartment block. We got out and walked to the door of the building. There was no security buzzer – there wasn’t even a door handle. The dust speckled glass door was propped open with a brick that looked like it had also been used to smash open a window to one of the first floor apartments, which was now taped over with a garbage bag to seal out the weather.

  We walked in and climbed the stairs, which were covered in carpet that was stained and smelled of fifty years of urine. Roy lived on the second floor. When we knocked, he answered almost immediately.

  “Roy?” I guessed when he opened the door. Although in all the pictures we had of Jake Rogers he was wearing a fancy suit whereas this guy standing in front of me was dressed in shorts and a singlet, there was some family resemblance between them. Same dark hair and eyes, although their features were different. Roy’s nose was broader, face a little rounder.

  Roy nodded. “You must be the private investigators, right?” he asked. He opened the door fully. “Come in.”

  We followed him into the apartment which was about as clean as you’d expect. It was a two bedroom place, and judging by the smoke filtering out from under bedroom door number two, Roy’s housemate was here too, busy working on his botany. All the furniture was second-hand, either scrounged from the side of the road or picked up free on Gumtree. Nothing matched and almost everything was faded or stained or ripped. The coffee table was strewn with old beer bottles and pizza boxes and odd socks that had once been white but now looked like they could stand up and walk off by themselves.