The One That Got Away

by Jennifer Palgrave

  ‘Oh,’ said Lauren, slumping in her chair, ‘so there was nothing suspicious about any of those episodes either?’

  ‘Yes, there was.’ Phyl paused. ‘They took blood samples and found he had poison in his system.’

  ‘Poison?’ Lauren sat up straight again. ‘Judith Butler thought Kevin might have slipped something into his drink. What sort of poison?’ She was all ears.

  ‘Deirdre said it was aconite–I was surprised when she told me; police often want to keep a few details back to throw at a suspect if they’re interviewing someone.’

  ‘But is aconite a poison? I thought it was some kind of herb.’

  ‘Deirdre said it’s a herb often used in alternative medicine.’ Phyl wrinkled her nose, she didn’t hold with such nonsense. ‘Harmless in small doses but it’s a poison if you have too much.’

  ‘A poison if you have too much?’ Lauren echoed.

  ‘Yes, so the hospital referred their findings to the police and that’s the question that’s never been solved. They couldn’t work out how it got into his system. Its effect was masked by his other problems but the aconite was enough to make him sick on its own and much more would have killed him.’

  ‘Extraordinary, and it was all hushed up? But if it was Kevin, how would he have got hold of aconite, and how on earth would he get it into Lange’s system?’

  They sat at the table, talking around the topic, speculating to little effect. When Lauren went back to her apartment, she googled ‘aconite’ but that wasn’t much help. An old-fashioned method of poisoning, seldom used these days, even though widely available and very potent in powdered form. A few cases were described on the internet but nothing very useful. Lauren wondered why it would have occurred to anyone at the hospital to test for aconite.

  She wandered about her apartment, fretting. Her meeting with Michael the next day wasn’t likely to throw up anything in particular, but it would be useful background. She wondered if she should tell him about Kevin and aconite, but perhaps that wasn’t wise. She hadn’t thought to ask Phyl about confidentiality.

  On Thursday Michael arrived early for their appointment, and Lauren ushered him into the living room. He wandered around, admiring the spectacular view and her renovations. He was clearly quite tense, so Lauren steered him to a comfortable chair and they both sat down. Then she said, ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we, then you can relax.’

  Lauren had expected Michael to describe the tensions within the government at the time, but what she got was surprising. As a gay man Michael had struggled with being in the closet. ‘It wasn’t a secret to my close colleagues,’ he said, ‘but no one spoke about it and gay male sex was illegal when I first got into Parliament.’ He shifted in his seat.

  ‘The Colin Moyle affair was still raw. When Muldoon was PM, he had used parliamentary privilege to say that the opposition MP was “picked up by the police for homosexual activities”. It was an era when media did not revel in digging up stories about politicians and their personal affairs, and Muldoon was widely despised for it, but it resulted in Moyle’s resignation.’

  ‘That was so disgusting,’ said Lauren. ‘And ironic, when you consider that ‘Piggy’ Muldoon was known to have a roving eye–and hand. Not that that got into the newspapers.’

  She chuckled. ‘I wasn’t here then, but a friend wrote and said one of the feminist groups had pasted up around the city a fake newspaper billboard that said ‘Rooting Pig Caught in Ngaio: PM Safe.’

  Michael gave a wan smile, but she could tell he was reliving what happened to him when he was in Parliament.

  He was walking along to his office in the old Parliament Buildings when someone called out through an open door, ‘Have you got a minute?’

  Kevin Driscoll! Michael had no time for him, and couldn’t imagine what he wanted. ‘Sure,’ he said and stepped inside. Kevin began with chitchat, the weather and polite inquiries about how Michael was. Michael wondered where the conversation was going, Kevin couldn’t care less about him. He eyed Kevin’s unfortunate blue suit and ill-chosen tie with distaste. Kevin rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly adjusting his collar.

  ‘You voted for the Homosexual Law Reform Act, didn’t you?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Michael. ‘I remember you didn’t.’

  Kevin was one of the few Labour members who’d voted with MPs like Norman Jones who notoriously told homosexuals to “go back in the sewers where you come from”.

  ‘I can see why you would,’ Kevin said, with some distaste. ‘You’re good mates with Don Shepherd, aren’t you?’ Michael thought of Don, who was so camp it was ludicrous to think of him as married, though he was in a marriage of convenience.

  Kevin leant back in his chair, crossed his legs and continued. ‘It’s surprising that the newspapers haven’t picked up on Don and his little friends. It wouldn’t look good if it got out, would it?’

  ‘If what got out?’ said Michael.

  ‘Oh, that whole scene.’ Kevin wiped his hand across his mouth. He veered off onto a different subject. ‘Important vote coming up in caucus on Monday, isn’t it. Lange should stop trying to put the brakes on. He needs to realise caucus is behind Roger, wants the economic programme to go ahead.’

  ‘I don’t think the whole of caucus is behind Roger,’ retorted Michael. ‘I’m not. I think Roger has lost sight of what Labour stands for. Those reforms are causing a lot of distress to the very people who voted us in. Anyway, I haven’t time for this, Kevin, I’ve things to do.’ He turned to leave. He wondered what the little prick was up to, he didn’t trust him as far as he could kick him.

  Kevin’s voice stopped him in mid-stride. ‘Have a look at this before you leave. I don’t think you should be so gung-ho about voting with Lange.’

  Michael turned round. Kevin was holding out a photo. Michael took it. He could hardly believe his eyes. The photo caught him on a footpath. He was facing another man, holding both his hands and leaning forward. Behind, Don Shepherd was smiling at them both. It looked as if Michael was about to kiss the guy. Closer up, he could see it was taken outside The Oaks, one of the city’s gay bars. ‘How dare you,’ he said. ‘You little rat! Where did you get this? Who took it?’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Kevin. You wouldn’t like it to get out, would you?’

  ‘The press doesn’t report this stuff.’

  ‘They do if someone mentions it in Parliament.’ Michael’s mind went back to Colin Moyle.

  Kevin was relentless. ‘You wouldn’t like your electorate committee chair or secretary or any of those old ladies in your electorate who do all that work for you to see copies of this, and more shots like it.’

  Michael froze. His entire body had turned to ice. Then he shook himself. He said again, ‘You dirty little rat.’ He stood up and walked out of the office. As he did, he heard Kevin: ‘Say what you like. Just make sure you vote the right way.’

  Telling Lauren, he’d relived that meeting moment by moment. Lauren couldn’t believe her ears. Kevin Driscoll again. Attempted murder. Now blackmail. She could hardly contain herself. ‘Gosh, that was heavy. So what did you do?’

  ‘What could I do?’ Michael buried his head in his hands, then looked up again. ‘Homosexuality wasn’t a crime any longer, but I’d been living in the closet for so long. I was too scared to come out. I was happy to support Fran Wilde’s Homosexual Law Reform bill, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say I was gay. Cowardly, I know.’

  ‘Those times were so different. Really hard for a public figure like you. Compared to you, I had it easy. Hugely disruptive for my family, but when I was coming out the tide was turning and there was much more acceptance. I can hardly imagine how difficult it must have been for you.’

  ‘I’m ashamed now at my lack of courage.’ Michael rubbed his face. ‘I voted against my principles. It was humiliating.’

  ‘But did your vote make a crucial difference?’ Lauren wondered.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ replied Michael. ‘That wasn’t the poi
nt. There was terrible tension right through Cabinet and the caucus at that time. I was a Lange supporter and sceptical about Rogernomics, but many in the Parliamentary party saw it as the only way forward. Lange’s hesitation was completely appropriate, in my view, as Douglas got more and more extreme and ideological. Of course the Douglas crowd mostly got what they wanted, and then they forced Lange out. End of the fourth Labour government, which I’d been so proud to serve in, to begin with.’

  He slumped in the chair. Lauren thought it best not to try to comfort him, so she gave him a moment to recover and then said, ‘Tell me more about the blackmail.’

  Michael sat up again. ‘There’s not much more to say about Kevin, he threatened me only the once but I could tell that he was keeping an eye on the way I voted. There was no further conversation, I just knuckled down. I was really worried that the way I voted would affect my relationship with Lange, but he was such a good man.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He called me into his office late one afternoon soon after I’d voted against him. He had been something of a mentor to me and I expected him to give me a real bollocking, but he was so nice about it. He said that he understood how people could be convinced by Rogernomics, it’s just that he thought it was all going too far and too fast.’

  Michael got up and looked out of Lauren’s window again. Then he turned to her. ‘I was embarrassed because of course I wasn’t convinced by the economics either, I was just scared for my own reputation and for my seat in Parliament. In any event, when the term expired I didn’t stand again, I was so devastated by what had been going on.

  ‘It’s amazing that you think there was a plot to kill Lange, though,’ he continued. ‘The day Lange called me in, he seemed quite cheerful, even offered me a drink.’

  Lauren was surprised. ‘I thought Lange didn’t drink?’

  Michael was recovering himself. He laughed. ‘On that occasion, he was sipping a glass of some ghastly looking greeny concoction. I thought for a moment that’s what he was offering me! I must have looked horrified. He told me not to worry, he wasn’t going to share it with anyone, it was a tonic one of his constituents sent him every week.’

  Lauren stiffened. ‘A tonic he drank every day?’

  ‘That’s what he implied. Poor sod, he had a lot of pain, his gut, I think, and he said he thought the tonic helped. You know his father was the local GP?’

  Lauren nodded.

  ‘Lange said the woman was famous for her concoctions, and his father used to point patients in her direction.’ Michael smiled at the memory. ‘Then he went on to offer me a choice of drinks from the liquor cabinet. It was a myth that he didn’t drink. His cabinet was quite well stocked and we each had a whisky and chatted about how things were going for me. He never tried to persuade me to change my views. That’s the thing about Lange, he was never an ordinary politician. He wasn’t a hustler, didn’t put pressure on people to support him. The tonic can’t have been that good, though, he did go downhill in the next few months and often looked quite unwell. It was a terribly stressful time.’

  ‘Must have been.’ Lauren agreed absently. ‘Michael, who did you say gave Lange the tonic?’

  Michael looked surprised. ‘One of his constituents–his father had a lot of time for her. In fact, now I think about it, it was the ghastly Kevin’s mother. Not that Lange called him the ghastly Kevin. Though I bet he preferred the mother to Kevin.’

  Lauren was back in her apartment, thinking over the interview. She couldn’t believe her luck. Never mind Michael’s description of the general atmosphere, he’d implicated Kevin in blackmail and shown how aconite could have got into Lange’s system. All the pieces added up. If Kevin’s mother was the herbalist who sent Lange bottles of tonic, Kevin could have spiked one of them with deadly quantities of aconite.

  It seemed unlikely that his mother had helped to prepare the spiked medicine, but that couldn’t be entirely discounted. Surely she wouldn’t have colluded with her son in a plot to kill Lange? She might not have cared about economic ideology, but perhaps she was motivated to do something to help her son. And to lie for him if there had been wrongdoing? She’d broken the law before, Lauren remembered: the abortion prosecution. But that was to help women in need.

  Lauren was going to Auckland the next weekend, the first time since her return from Naxos. She decided she would visit Kevin Driscoll’s mother. She phoned and a woman answered, identifying herself as Gwen Driscoll. Her voice was a little quavery but she sounded alert.

  ‘Mrs Driscoll, it’s Lauren Fraser here.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You won’t remember me, but when you lived in Wellington briefly, you were friends with my parents.’

  There was silence and Lauren thought she’d better give some prompts. ‘Carmen and Jim Fraser. They lived in Seatoun.’

  ‘Oh yes, I do know who you are now. They’ve passed on, haven’t they, quite some time back?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lauren wanted to get straight onto the topic. ‘Mother said you knew all about herbs and I wondered if I could come and talk to you. I’m looking to advise a friend who is interested in taking a naturopathy course.’ It was a lame excuse, but Mrs Driscoll agreed, though it sounded grudging. Ten thirty, Monday morning.

  She and Kirsten had papered over the cracks in their relationship, still called each other most nights, and seemed set for Lauren to continue visiting for the occasional weekend. But she was nervous asking if she could stay over on Sunday night as well. ‘There’s someone in Mangere I need to see on Monday morning.’

  ‘I didn’t think you knew anyone out that way?’ Kirsten queried. Lauren hesitated. Then she decided she needed to let Kirsten know what she and Ro were up to. After all, Kirsten was her partner and the investigation had become a big part of her life. So she relayed the whole story as succinctly as she could. Kirsten was a good listener. At the end of Lauren’s tale, she said, ‘I had no idea what you’d got yourself into. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. But Ro put such an emphasis on keeping it all a secret. And it still is very important that you don’t say anything about this to anyone else.’

  It was hard to read Kirsten’s reactions over the phone. She didn’t sound thrilled. Perhaps she was offended about being kept out of the picture till now? But she agreed readily enough to Lauren staying longer.

  ‘It will be good to see you, darling, but I’m not sure what I think about what you and Ro are up to. It certainly does explain a few things. You’ve seemed quite distracted lately.’

  Lauren put down the phone and picked up her drink. Disappointment swirled through her, a lump in her throat making it difficult to swallow. She had so wanted Kirsten to understand her passion for getting to the truth of the attempt on Lange’s life. No, even more, she had wanted Kirsten to encourage her, barrack for her, cheer her on. She sighed, pulled her laptop towards her and opened up a game.

  11

  ‘He loves me well’

  Lauren enjoyed the flights to Auckland. She had it down to a fine art. Check in on-line the day before, arrive at the gate twenty minutes before take-off with just an overnight bag and then spend the hour in the air reading her emails and drafting replies. Today she also wanted thinking time before her visit with Kevin’s mother on Monday. She mentally rehearsed a few opening remarks and mulled over how to extract any useful information.

  At the terminal she looked about expectantly for Kirsten who had said she would meet her, surely a mark of affection. Her phone pinged. The text read ‘Sorry, Lauren, held up at work. Get a cab? See you at my place. Kx.’ Was she really held up, Lauren wondered. Or was this another sign of things falling apart? Certainly she was in two minds about whether the relationship had run its course, and probably Kirsten was too. That argument in Greece. Her own fault, really. But surely Kirsten had changed. She sighed, they would certainly have to address it over the next few days. She went outside and bought a bus ticket to the city. She cou
ldn’t bring herself to pay four or five times as much for a taxi.

  A bus came almost at once. It dropped her in Mt Eden. From the stop it was only half a block to Kirsten’s rental and by the time she got there Kirsten was home. The front door of the old villa was wide open and Lauren called out. Jane, one of the flatmates, popped her head out of her bedroom door. ‘Oh, hello Lauren, Kirsten’s in the back garden picking spinach. Go through.’

  Lauren walked through to Kirsten’s room at the back of the house, an annex that was long ago built on behind the kitchen. It made the space very private, which Lauren liked. She dropped her bag on a chair and went down the back steps towards the garden. ‘Hello, darling,’ she called as she walked. ‘Are they working you to the bone?’

  ‘What?’ Kirsten looked puzzled, briefly. ‘Oh no, just had to finish something. Sorry about not meeting you.’ She stood up from the spinach patch, clutching a bunch of leaves and walked over to Lauren, kissing her briefly on the cheek.

  ‘Not good enough,’ Lauren gave Kirsten a big hug. She felt a burst of affection as Kirsten responded and her doubts melted away. They walked together up to the house. Kirsten was cooking for Lauren and two flatmates, a spinach and bacon salad and poached salmon. She poured Lauren a glass of wine and sipped one herself.

  They settled down after dinner in the comfortable living room. The others were going out. Once it was a point of pride for Lauren to be busy on a Friday night. Now she wanted an early night with Kirsten. They were sitting together on the sofa, fingers interlaced, glasses in their free hands, chatting about the Greek holiday–the best parts of it–when the phone rang.

  ‘Oh bother,’ said Kirsten. She pulled her hand away, put her glass down and retrieved the phone from the coffee table. She checked the name of the caller and answered, ‘Hi, how are you?’ There was a warm lilt in her voice. Lauren looked up. Surely that tone was just for her? Kirsten was saying, ‘Sorry, I’m busy tonight and over the weekend.’ A pause, then ‘Sunday night? I’ll see.’ She turned to Lauren. ‘What time does your flight leave on Sunday?’