Ghostly Hitchhiker Box Set

by Rodney Strong

  ‘You can sod off,’ he said to Oliver. ‘Thanks to you Niki isn’t speaking to me.’

  He didn’t want to point out that it was the man’s own fault. ‘She’ll get over it. Let me buy you a beer.’

  Indignation and reluctance to turn down free alcohol played across Alex’s face before he finally gave a curt nod.

  ‘I’m Tess,’ the woman said, thrusting out a hand which Oliver shook.

  ‘I enjoyed your music,’ Amanda said.

  ‘Cheers,’ Tess replied with a glance at Alex.

  ‘I’m surprised you’re playing tonight, what with Ashley’s funeral this morning,’ Oliver commented.

  Alex shrugged.

  ‘The gig was set up before the funeral. We have to take the opportunities where we can,’ Tess answered.

  ‘I’m dedicating the last song to her memory,’ Alex added defiantly.

  ‘That’s nice of you,’ Amanda said. Tess had a sour look. ‘You know,’ she said to the bass-player, ‘I promised to buy a bass guitar for my nephew. Could you show me yours?’

  Without an obvious reason to say no, Tess reluctantly led her away, occasionally watching Alex over her shoulder.

  ‘She likes you.’

  Alex watched Tess for a few seconds, then shook his head. ‘She’s a mate.’

  ‘None of my mates ever looked at me like that,’ Oliver said.

  Alex shrugged again. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘You were in love with Ashley. And your uncle was her landlord and lives next door to her.’

  ‘Yeah, so what?’

  ‘So your uncle caught you spying on Ashley. That sounds bad for you.’

  (Pervert!)

  ‘Whatever. My uncle got it wrong. I wasn’t spying on her, I was trying out my new binoculars.’

  ‘I don’t think the manufacturers designed them for getting a close-up view of a girl in her underwear.’

  A smile flitted across Alex’s face.

  (Sick pervert!)

  Is there any other kind?

  ‘It doesn’t look good, Alex. You were obsessed with a murder victim.’ Oliver used the words deliberately to wipe the smile of his face. It worked.

  ‘You tried to break up her relationship, you spied on her at home. I should be calling the police right now.’

  ‘For what?’ Alex sneered. ‘For having the hots for a girl? It’s not against the law. And even if it was, she’s dead. Who’s going to complain?’

  ‘Maybe you weren’t happy with watching. Maybe you figured breaking them up wasn’t going to work, and maybe you realised she was never going to love you back. So you snapped and killed her.’

  Alex leaned in so his face was inches away from Oliver’s. It was like a slow motion headbutt that didn’t connect. Oliver could feel the heat rolling off him.

  ‘And maybe you don’t know what you’re talking about. I would have killed for her, but I’d never have killed her.’

  ‘You had motive and means,’ Oliver insisted.

  ‘Fine then, go to the police. Tell them what you’ve got and they’ll tell you the same thing. You’re full of shit.’

  ‘Why’d you send me the text message then?’ Oliver fired into the dark.

  The response was a genuine sounding laugh. ‘What are you on about? What text message?’

  ‘The warning.’

  Alex laughed again. ‘Mate, if I was going to warn you, it’d be to your face.’ The smile dropped and his eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. ‘Like now — Stay away from me or else.’

  (Use yer head, lad.)

  Oliver swallowed nervously. I’m trying.

  (No, I mean use yer head. Smash him.)

  ‘For your sake I’m going to pretend that the man I suspect of murder didn’t just threaten me. That way I might be able to consider other possibilities. Like maybe you didn’t do it.’ The calmness of Oliver’s voice surprised them both.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ Alex spat, sending a spray of spittle onto Oliver’s face.

  For one of the few times in his life, Oliver saw red and it took every minute amount of self-control to stop him from grabbing the front of Alex’s T-shirt and shoving him across the bar. Something in his face, or maybe it was the way his whole body trembled with rage, caused Alex to take a step back.

  With Angus egging him on, it would have been so easy to take a swing at the man.

  It was Reed that stopped him. In particular, a conversation he’d had with his son a few weeks ago. Reed had just got his orange belt in karate and was proudly going around challenging everyone and everything (including the cat) to a fight. Oliver had told him that fighting was always the last option, and only if there was no other way.

  (Soft.)

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Says the baker who’s never been in a fight.

  ‘Sorry,’ Alex mumbled.

  Oliver searched his pockets and found a tissue, which he used to wipe his face.

  ‘I didn’t kill Ashley, you have to believe me,’ Alex pleaded. ‘I loved her.’

  ‘There was a lot of that going around,’ Oliver replied.

  ‘Listen, the week before she died I saw Ashley having an argument with someone. Well I heard them anyway, she was on the phone, but it was pretty heated. I could hear her through two closed windows.’

  ‘What was it about?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he admitted. ‘But she kept saying she wasn’t going anywhere so the person better stop shutting her out.’

  ‘Who was she talking to?’

  ‘I don’t know, man. Didn’t I say she was on the phone? But she was so mad when she finished the call, she threw her phone across the room. That’s all I know.’

  Alex turned and pushed his way across to the stage, passing Amanda on her way back to the bar.

  ‘That looked interesting,’ she commented.

  ‘Not particularly. What did Tess have to say?’

  ‘Apparently I can get a good deal on a bass guitar if I drop her name at the music shop on the next corner.’

  ‘Great. Anything actually useful?’

  ‘Don’t take your frustrations out on me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Oliver said with a sigh.

  ‘Just kidding,’ Amanda grinned. ‘I don’t care how you say things, I’m not your wife. Anyway she talked about Alex non-stop. It was a bit sickening. I wanted to tell her to have some self-respect. It’s a shame, because she’s cute.’

  ‘Are we here to talk to a suspect or get you a date?’

  ‘Can’t we do both? I think we’ve learned everything we can. Unless you want to stay for the rest of the set?’

  On stage the band were resuming their places.

  ‘I’ve had all the culture I need for one night,’ Oliver replied, leading the way quickly out the door.

  The cold air was a welcome change from the sauna of the bar. Oliver felt the sweat on his face cool. At least he hoped it was sweat and not Alex saliva. With a shudder he wiped it with the sleeve of his jacket.

  ‘Are we any further ahead than we were?’ he asked Amanda.

  ‘Unless information falls out of your head, we’re always further ahead than we were.’

  ‘All we’ve seemed to do is eliminate another suspect.’

  Amanda zipped up her jacket and smoothed the front down. ‘Which is progress,’ she replied with a grin. ‘Besides, what sort of investigators would we be if we eliminated Alex because he said he didn’t do it.’

  ‘Reluctant ones,’ Oliver grumbled.

  Amanda loosened her hair from its ponytail and laughed as she shook her head. ‘I thought you were starting to enjoy this sort of thing.’

  ‘I’d enjoy it more in the daytime,’ he replied, stifling a yawn.

  (And I thought I was old.)

  ‘Careful, Oliver, you’re starting to sound like an old dad, not a young one.’

  ‘Good night, Amanda,’ he said firmly.

  Thirty minutes later he was climbing into bed next to his wife.

  ‘How was t
he gig?’ Jennifer asked sleepily.

  (Loud and annoying.)

  For once we agree on something,

  ‘Enlightening in a headache inducing way,’ he replied.

  A minute later he was asleep.

  TWENTY FIVE

  After eight hours of interrupted sleep (woken first by the cat triumphantly bringing in a mouse at four in the morning, then by Rose proclaiming she couldn’t sleep because she’d lost rainbow bear), Oliver was able to rethink the previous night’s events while doing the dishes. Because being an author with two books didn’t excuse you from scraping cereal crust off bowls found behind the couch.

  Firstly, not only had they not eliminated Alex as a suspect, they now had a new suspect as well. As much as Alex was obsessed with Ashley, his bandmate Tess was infatuated with him. It was only a short step of logic to think she would reason getting rid of Ashley would allow Alex to turn his affections her way. And he still couldn’t escape the thought that he was supposed to know who Tess was.

  (Aye, all musician types are shady sorts.)

  It still feels like we’re going around in circles.

  The cat, who liked going around in circles, raised his head and gave Oliver a baleful look, perhaps still annoyed about having his mouse taken away from him.

  (So stop and do something useful.)

  What would be useful is if you knew who did it. You’re not exactly bringing a lot to the table here, apart from your certainty that George didn’t murder anyone, and a whole lot of sarcasm. Oliver scrubbed the bowl vigorously, accidentally banging it against the side of the sink. A small chip appeared.

  ‘Of course,’ Oliver muttered in disgust.

  (Do ye think I like relying on ye? If I knew who did it I’d go sort them out meself rather than watching ye destroy perfectly good dishes.)

  Does your certainty of innocence extend to the rest of the family? What about Richard, or Louise, or even Claire? Are they all innocent?

  (Course they are. They’re blood.)

  ‘Louise isn’t.’ Oliver examined the chip and decided it wasn’t bad enough to warrant disposing of the bowl.

  (Ye’re right about circles. Haven’t we had this conversation? Many times.)

  Oliver sighed. ‘Fine.’

  Abandoning the rest of the dishes, Oliver switched on his laptop and opened a blank spreadsheet. His fingers flew around the keyboard, translating thoughts into letters, which turned into pieces of the puzzle. After ten minutes he had a list of all the known suspects, their connection to each other and the victim, and any other information he could recall. And because he’d spent far too long in an office before becoming a full- time writer, Oliver had also tabulated it, put some colour graphs in, and was halfway through preparing a powerpoint presentation before he realised it probably wasn’t necessary. With warm cheeks he deleted the presentation file.

  (I don’t understand what ye just did, but I know I should be giving ye grief about it.)

  ‘I’m glad you can’t tell anyone,’ Oliver muttered.

  (Did all that messing around on the computer help at all?)

  Oliver stared at the screen. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe. I think I need to talk to some people again. I can’t shake the feeling that I haven’t asked the right questions yet.

  (Aye, you haven’t asked any of them if they did it.)

  ‘You think the direct approach would work?’ Oliver got up from the table and went in search of his cell phone. For some reason it was never where he remembered putting it down.

  (Calling a spade a spade never led to confusion.)

  ‘Asking someone if they murdered a girl isn’t exactly the same as identifying garden tools.’

  (When did the world get so complicated?)

  ‘Personally? When you showed up.’

  (Only yer kids find ye funny.)

  Oliver opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again, afraid that Angus was right.

  ‘Shut up,’ he replied instead.

  (Now I know why ye’re a writer. Ye need time for quick witted responses.)

  ‘No seriously, shut up,’ Oliver repeated, hearing the faint ring tones of his cell phone. He found it in the walk-in pantry between the bread box and a tin of peaches. The ringing stopped just as he picked up the phone. It was a private number, so he marked it up to a salesperson and slipped the phone into his pants pocket, where it immediately began ringing again.

  Another blocked number.

  Previously Oliver would have ignored the call, unwilling to waste time on pushy strangers convinced their product was better than the one you already had, or never wanted in the first place. However, since the adventure with Violet, half the people who called him had blocked numbers.

  With trepidation, he answered the call.

  ‘Outside, now,’ a voice said before abruptly ending the call.

  Despite the conversation being two words, Oliver recognised the voice. He thought he would have been better off if the call had been someone claiming to be from Microsoft and offering to fix a problem with his laptop. Peering through the glass next to the front door he spotted his visitor waiting by the letterbox. Pretending he wasn’t home didn’t appear to be an option, so Oliver reluctantly unlocked the door and made his way down the driveway.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Atkinson,’ Victor said.

  ‘Good morning, Victor. Would you like to come in for a coffee?’ Oliver asked, knowing full well that the man wouldn’t enter his property.

  Victor pulled at the cuffs of his (Oliver assumed) tailor-made suit and tilted his head marginally. ‘My employer is anxious to know what progress you’ve made.’

  ‘I’ve made plenty of progress, thank you for asking,’ Oliver replied, attempting to match Victor’s intimidating smile, feeling that he was nailing it.

  ‘Would you care to elaborate?’

  Oliver considered his words carefully. ‘You can tell your employer that the current direction of the investigation is steering away from a scenario that involves him.’

  Victor nodded, a raised eyebrow the only indication he was impressed by Oliver’s delivery.

  ‘That is only one consideration for my employer. He would also like to see the appropriate person punished.’

  (He uses way too many words to say catch the lad.)

  ‘It would help to talk to your emp…to Matthew Darcy,’ Oliver said.

  ‘If the investigation is heading in a different direction, how would that be beneficial?’

  Because I’m tired of talking to his lackey, Oliver thought, in words he would never say out loud. ‘Perhaps it wouldn’t. Perhaps it would be the future Prime Minister of New Zealand talking to a concerned tax payer. Or perhaps it would give me some information that points me in the right direction.’

  For the first time, Victor looked uncertain. ‘I’ll be in touch in one hour,’ he said, before spinning on his toes and striding back to his car.

  (Why do ye want to talk to Darcy?)

  Oliver watched Victor’s car pull away and disappear around the corner. ‘Because he doesn’t want to talk to me. And because Ashley Trent contacted him, and whether he realises it or not, the man may know something important.’

  (He’s a politician, what makes you think he’ll tell you anything?)

  ‘He’s a politician. He wants to prove that he knows things I don’t. All I need to do is ask the right questions.’

  (And what are those?)

  ‘No idea,’ Oliver muttered as he went back inside and locked the door. ‘Hopefully Amanda has some suggestions.’

  (Aye, I think her first suggestion will be that it’s a terrible idea.)

  TWENTY SIX

  ‘That’s a stupid idea.’

  (Told ye.)

  Oliver switched his phone to the other ear. ‘Stupid’s a mean word,’ he said automatically, adding to the long list of things he never thought he’d say as an adult.

  ‘I’ve got others I could use,’ Amanda replied.

  He sighed. ‘Look, it’s not going
to hurt, right? And maybe he knows something. Either way it would be nice not to have any more visits from Victor.’

  Victor had rung Oliver precisely sixty minutes after he left and confirmed that Matthew Darcy could meet with him for five minutes that night at 10:30. Oliver stifled a groan at the thought of another late night, but he agreed to be waiting at the side door to the Beehive, the large parliament building in Wellington that resembled a home for bees.

  He then rang Amanda to tell her. It was going about as well as expected.

  ‘He’s a politician and you’re, and please don’t take this the wrong way Oliver, you’re a slightly naïve suburban dad.’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s not insulting at all.’

  (It’s accurate.)

  ‘I did say don’t take it the wrong way,’ Amanda pointed out.

  ‘Is there a right way to hear that? I get what you’re saying, but before I became a writer I was in the corporate world. I’ve dealt with enough sharks to not lose any fingers.’

  ‘Mmm,’ came the less than confidence-inspiring response. ‘He might ask about me.’

  ‘No, he might ask about Violet Tumbleton, who doesn’t exist anymore. Relax, Amanda, I’ve got this.’

  ‘It’s a terrible idea,’ she replied.

  It was a sentiment echoed by Jennifer when she called after lunch.

  ‘Everyone’s faith in me is so heartening,’ he grumbled.

  ‘You know I have complete faith in you, Oliver, but this man is about to become the leader of our country. You don’t get to be there without some spectacular manipulation skills.’

  ‘I’ve got manipulation skills. I can get the children to do what I want.’

  ‘Really? Unless you’re going to tell the almost Prime Minister he can’t have any ice cream unless he tells you about Ashley Trent, I don’t think your experience will help much.’

  ‘I’m going to ask him questions,’ Oliver said.

  ‘Remember that when he answers your question with one of his own.’

  ‘I’ve got this, honey.’

  At 10:29 that night, he stood outside a brightly lit door trying to recall the confidence he’d felt when reassuring his wife. As if the security guard who barely believed his story about why he was loitering wasn’t enough, Angus had spent all afternoon reminding him that the two women in his life thought he was going to fail.