Oliver managed to find a park not too far away from the café where they were meeting. Foot traffic was light, just the few scurrying along late to work, and the fewer still sauntering along not caring that they were late.
Likewise the café was half empty, too late for the pre-work caffeine rush, and too early for the mid-morning fix. The establishment was a chain store, the sort where you could walk into any branch and be greeted with the same coffee and snack selection. Oliver scanned the crowd but Amanda hadn’t arrived yet. He ordered their coffees, then carried the order number over to the table Jennifer had snagged along one wall.
Five minutes later their drinks were delivered by a bored waitress and Amanda was officially late.
‘Is late one of her things?’ Jennifer asked.
Oliver shrugged. ‘I can safely say I have no idea what her things are.’
‘I’m disappointed, Oliver,’ came a voice from the table behind them. Oliver twisted in his seat. The woman seated at the next table had short black hair and wore jeans with a white plain T-shirt. Sunglasses rested on the top of her head and the remains of a chocolate muffin and a half empty coffee cup sat before her on the table.
He remembered barely glancing at her when he was walking to the table. She was another stranger. If it hadn’t been for the smile, he wouldn’t have recognised her now.
‘Are you going to join us or shall we do this like secret spies and talk back to back?’ Oliver asked.
Amanda laughed and rose in one fluid motion, the movement of a person used to leaving places in a hurry. She pulled a chair up and sat between Oliver and Jennifer.
‘Amanda.’ She held her hand out and Jennifer gave it a firm shake.
‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ Jennifer replied.
‘I won’t ask if it was all good,’ Amanda said with a smile. Jennifer smiled back. ‘I bought a copy of your book, Oliver, I was impressed.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So who’s the new problem?’ She gestured to Oliver’s head.
‘A grumpy old man.’
(Oi!)
You are grumpy.
(You haven’t even seen grumpy yet. Keep pushing, sonny.)
Oliver filled her in on Angus and the murder investigation. When he finished, Amanda nodded slowly and chewed on the end of her hair. Jennifer threw a look at her husband, recognising her own gesture. He pretended not to see.
(Coward.)
Pragmatist.
‘You know everything that happened with Violet.’ She addressed it as a statement, assuming Oliver had told his wife all about it. Satisfied by the nodded response, she continued, ‘My grandmother was happy to let things rest after it was all over. I wasn’t. I’ve been keeping an eye on our mutual friend.’
Oliver noted she was careful not to use any names.
‘Only an eye?’
‘For now.’ Amanda grinned at him. She turned to Jennifer. ‘You met Victor?’
‘I saw him, but we never spoke,’ Jennifer replied.
‘That’s the best way to know Victor. Anyway I’ve been keeping an eye on him, too. Yesterday, he became very interested in the murder of Ashley Trent.’
A cold shiver went down Oliver’s back.
(Big scary man, is he?)
Short scary man.
‘Why?’
‘That’s the big question, isn’t it? I don’t know, but I can tell you this. Victor never does anything without being paid, so this isn’t a personal interest.’
‘How did you know Oliver was involved?’ Jennifer asked.
‘I may have been driving down a certain street in Newtown, where Victor was parked watching a certain house, and who should come out but a certain author. You’ve lost the spare tire, I see.’
Oliver felt his face prickle with heat and he inched his chair in. It was true that the last time he’d met Amanda his stomach had been more padded than it was currently. A knee injury had prevented him from running for a few months, and while that excused the lack of exercise once he stopped working full time, it couldn’t account for the junk food he’d eaten every day while working from home. Oliver had dropped a few pounds through sheer adrenalin during those first few days of Violet’s visit, and it proved to be the terror-filled impetus he’d needed to kick start a new regime of healthy(ish) eating and exercise.
‘Thanks,’ he mumbled.
Jennifer and Amanda exchanged grins.
Determined to regain some control Oliver asked, ‘Assuming that Victor still works for…for the same employer, is the interest on the victim or the accused?’
‘That’s a good question, Oliver,’ Amanda replied.
He tried to ignore the slightly surprised tone.
‘Could we ask him?’ Jennifer suggested. ‘The direct approach is often the best.’
Amanda smiled. ‘Perhaps in your field of work, but in mine, the direct approach is usually the quickest route to failure. Besides, I have a feeling that Victor will be coming to see you soon enough. I thought you should be prepared.’
Oliver’s stomach give a little turn and he realised he was disappointed by the thought that this might be a fleeting reunion.
(Aye, fancy her, do ye? She’s an attractive lass.)
No, it’s not like that. She’s just an exciting person to be around.
(I’d not be telling yer wife that.)
‘Thanks,’ he said out loud. ‘So are you sticking around or is the warning it?’
‘I thought I’d stick around. If our mutual acquaintance is involved and there’s anything I can use to nail him, then I want to find it.’
‘You know I don’t think it’ll hurt to use his name,’ Oliver said.
‘Perhaps not,’ Amanda replied. ‘But the APM has a long memory, and if you remember there was the whole issue with the painting that he might hold a grudge over. I don’t want to risk drawing attention to myself.’
(APM?)
‘Acting Prime Minister.’ Oliver pointed a finger to the side of his head to indicate Angus had asked a question.
(Of New Zealand?)
Yes, the acting Prime Minister of New Zealand is interested in this murder.
(Well, this just got interesting.)
It wasn’t before?
‘Jennifer, you and I should catch up for coffee. Compare notes on your husband.’
‘No!’
The women turned to Oliver who waved at his head again.
(Don’t blame me.)
‘I’d like that,’ Jennifer replied.
(I lied before. Now this is interesting.)
Shut up.
ELEVEN
Amanda’s prediction proved to be accurate. After Oliver dropped his wife at work, he headed home. When he pulled into the driveway there was a car waiting outside the house. By the time he got into the garage, a man stood next to the letterbox. As he walked down the driveway to meet his visitor, Oliver had a sudden realisation that in their previous encounters, the man had never come onto the property.
Victor was dressed in a black suit, light blue business shirt, and black shoes. He wore glasses and a gold stud in one ear. His head was completely bald and he was somewhere between Reed and Oliver in height.
‘Mr Atkinson,’ the visitor said with a smile. For some reason his formality always made Oliver’s skin crawl.
‘Can I help you?’
(Is this the man ye said was like my father? My pa would use him to pick his teeth clean.)
The man’s smile widened. ‘Oh I hope so, Mr Atkinson. I happened to notice that you were at the residence of a Mr George McMurry yesterday. My employer would consider it a great personal favour if you could advise me as to what you were doing there.’
(Does he bore people into submission?)
‘What’s Matthew Darcy’s interest?’ Oliver asked.
(I used to beat up kids his size for their lunch money.)
Victor took the use of his boss’s name without comment. ‘My employer is always interested in the swift resolution of crimes
, especially cold-blooded murders.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw one of his neighbours pulling out of their driveway. They waved and tooted their car horn and he used the distraction of waving back to consider his next move. Would it hurt to let Victor know what he’d found out? It was basically nothing anyway.
‘If I tell you what I know, what happens then?’ he asked.
Victor nodded his approval of the question. ‘That depends on what you know.’
Although he didn’t consider that a satisfactory answer, Oliver didn’t see any harm in continuing so he filled Victor in, leaving out Angus’s involvement.
‘Well, then,’ Victor said when Oliver finished, ‘my employer wishes you to continue your investigation. He would very much like justice for that poor girl.’
‘Even if the finger gets pointed in his direction?’ Oliver took a chance.
The visitor laughed. ‘Now why would it do that, Mr Atkinson? Don’t waste your time looking there.’
(Was that a threat?)
Now you know why he makes me nervous. I can never tell.
‘I may be in touch from time to time, to see how things are going,’ Victor said, before turning to leave.
‘Just so we’re clear, Victor, I’ll look in whatever direction the investigation takes.’
Victor turned back and appraised him. ‘This is a new, more assured version of you, Mr Atkinson. It will serve you well I think.’
Oliver remained where he was until Victor’s car disappeared around the corner. Then he started counting quietly to himself.
(What’re ye doing?)
‘Wait — five, six, seven…’
(What for wh—)
Oliver’s cell phone rang. He clicked the button to answer it. ‘Hello, Amanda.’
‘Hello, Oliver. How was your meeting with Victor?’
(How the bloody hell did she know?)
‘Why don’t you come inside and I’ll fill you in.’
There was silence for a moment, then the sound of a door slamming. He spotted Amanda striding towards him from a car parked four houses down.
(How did ye know?)
‘Experienced guess,’ Oliver muttered. ‘She’s always close by whenever Victor comes around.’
‘Good to see you learned something from last time,’ Amanda said with a smile.
Oliver grinned back and led her through the garage and into the house. In the kitchen he switched on the jug and took two cups out of the cupboard.
He turned around to see Amanda surveying the lounge. He quickly ran an eye over it from an is-this-tidy-enough-for-visitors point of view. For once there were no piles of washing or leftover breakfast dishes in sight.
‘The house looks good. Did you get a cleaner?’ Amanda asked. The wry smile on her face showed she was joking.
‘There has to be some perks to earning a little money,’ Oliver replied. ‘Ditching some housework was the first thing I did.’
(Ye used to do housework!)
We’ve been over this, Angus. Give it a rest.
Amanda accepted her cup of tea without comment, which was slightly disappointing. Oliver was hoping to get points for remembering how she drank it. Angus also appeared disappointed that she didn’t appreciate Oliver’s new tea making abilities. He grumbled about it for quite a while.
They sat at the dining table and he filled her in on the conversation with Victor.
‘Strange,’ Amanda said when he’d finished.
‘Could Matthew Darcy and Ashley have been having an affair? That would give him a motive to shut her up, especially if he’s going to become Prime Minister.’
‘There’s no if about it. The current PM is going to stand down in a couple of weeks and Matthew has the support to take over,’ Amanda replied.
‘There you go,’ Oliver said. ‘He was having an affair, she threatened to go public, so he killed her.’
Amanda ran her hands through her hair. ‘Possible, and we could check it out, but I don’t think so. For one thing he wouldn’t draw attention to himself by getting Victor involved. It’s like a big neon sign saying, Over here! He’s too savvy for that.’
Oliver could see a rapid resolution to the case slipping away. ‘But if he was desperate he might make a mistake.’
‘Oliver,’ Amanda sighed. ‘Desperate is not a word I would associate with Matthew Darcy. Look, I want to nail this guy way more than you do. I’m just saying it doesn’t feel right. But it’s definitely worth checking out. What’s your next move?’
He looked at her with raised eyebrows.
‘This is your investigation, Oliver. I’m only here to help.’
(And to make sure ye don’t balls it up.)
‘Okay,’ Oliver nodded. ‘Then I think we need to find out if Ashley knew Matthew Darcy. And we need to talk to George’s sister. She’s away until Wednesday.’
Amanda laughed. ‘Claire McMurry isn’t away. She’s in a private facility in Wellington being treated for alcohol addiction.’
Oliver frowned. ‘But she’s so young.’
Amanda stared at him and waited. Oliver glanced across to the wall where a family portrait hung. He studied his young daughter’s innocent face and wondered how he could protect her from the world.
(Ye can’t. Teach her how to kick the world’s backside and she’ll be fine.)
‘Okay, fine. I’m assuming you know where. I’ll go talk to her before she gets home. You find out if there’s a link between Matthew Darcy and Ashley.’
‘Yes sir,’ Amanda offered a mock salute. ‘I like this new take-charge Oliver.’
‘I sense a but.’
‘Not at all. Confidence is a person’s biggest strength.’
‘Well, then…thanks.’
‘However…’ Amanda continued.
‘That’s a fancy but.’
‘Over confidence is a person’s biggest weakness. Walk the line carefully.’
(I like her. It takes skill to inflate an ego and squash it like a ripe tomato in the space of a few seconds.)
‘Don’t worry. With you here to tell me when I’m doing something wrong, how can I fail?’ Oliver replied.
Amanda reached over and patted him on the arm. ‘Exactly.’
TWELVE
Oliver phoned ahead, so when he presented himself to the front door of the Green Recovery Home he was shown straight into a small living room and asked to wait. The large house was set back from the road in the suburb of Wadestown, overlooking the central city. From the outside, the large wooden house seemed no different from its neighbours. The grass and garden were immaculately maintained and there were no signs or indications that it contained a facility for the treatment of addicts — an expensive one, judging by the pricing on their website.
The visitor’s room held several comfortable chairs, a floor to ceiling bookcase, and a large wall-mounted television. Oliver scanned the bookcase for his book, but disappointingly it wasn’t there. There was an eclectic collection of classic literature and modern thrillers.
(This place makes me uncomfortable.)
You’re a ghost, you don’t feel anything.
There was a sudden chill in his forehead, like a brain freeze from eating ice cream too fast.
(Feel that, sonny?)
‘That’s enough,’ Oliver snapped.
‘What’s enough?’ came a voice from behind him.
Oliver whirled around to see Claire McMurry standing in the doorway, with a puzzled expression.
‘Sorry, I was um, just thinking that’s uh… enough books to last a long time.’
Claire stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Oliver saw that she was thin and her face was pale. Dressed in sweatpants and a dark blue T-shirt, her long auburn hair was swept back untidily in a ponytail.
‘You’re here about Ashley,’ she said.
He nodded and indicated they should sit. Claire took a chair by the window, tucking her legs under her in the easy way the young and flexible could do. It re
minded him of Rose doing the splits and asking him to join her. Oliver didn’t think he had ever been able to do that.
‘I’ve talked to your mother and brother. I thought I should talk to you.’
‘Does my mother know you’re here?’ Claire asked.
Oliver thought about lying but decided to keep things simple. ‘No. Is that a problem?’
A smile ghosted across the girl’s face. ‘Hardly. Are you writing a story? Because I’m not going to dish any dirt on Ashley.’
‘No,’ Oliver replied. ‘I’m trying to prove that your brother didn’t kill her.’
‘What makes you think he didn’t?’
(No love lost there.)
‘Just an annoying feeling I have.’
(Oi, you want another cold blast?)
Claire grinned and there was a glimpse of the girl in the family photo. ‘Well you’re annoying feeling is right. George is a pain, but he wouldn’t have killed Ashley. He was completely, do-stupid-romantic-things in love with her.’
‘What about you?’
Claire cocked her head to the side. ‘Do you mean was I in love with her, or did I kill her?’
Oliver squirmed a little at the misunderstanding and he felt the temperature in his cheeks go up a few degrees.
‘I didn’t kill her. As for love. Maybe a little bit. But she was one of my closest friends and I didn’t want to screw that up by saying or doing something stupid.’
‘You left that to your brother,’ Oliver quipped, earning another grin.
‘When I heard the news,’ Claire said, her smile dropping away, ‘I wanted to leave here and find the nearest bottle.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying, you seem very young to have a drinking problem.’
‘I don’t have a problem, I have an addiction,’ she corrected him. ‘Besides I never stood a chance, it’s a family trait.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I come from a long line of drinkers. My great, great grandfather was a local legend. It was said he took his first drink at five years old and didn’t stop until the day he died.’
(What rubbish. I was six.)
‘That doesn’t sound like someone to aspire to be like,’ Oliver said.
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