Starlight Peninsula

by Grimshaw, Charlotte

  She was standing with fists clenched and pressed against the sides of her head when she saw, beyond the ranch slider, a torch beam crossing the bottom of the garden. The beam played on her lawn, then disappeared as it reached the spill of light from the deck. She’d fallen asleep with the living room lamps on. Beyond the deck, all was black.

  Eloise crossed the room and turned off the lights. There was another scream followed by a man’s shout. The torch beam crossed the lawn again, falling briefly on the creek, the water glittering. Eloise dug among the sofa cushions for her phone. She found it, looked up, and saw the shape of a man against the glass.

  She heard him knock. He waved. As she was grappling with her phone he found the handle, slid open the unlocked glass door and stepped into the room. Eloise backed away, putting furniture between them.

  There was another loud bang outside, a dog barking. She said, ‘What is it? Oh, what is it?’

  He felt around on the wall and turned on the lights.

  ‘It’s okay. Sorry,’ he said, and then, ‘I hope you’re not going to hit me with that.’

  She was holding a heavy book at shoulder height.

  He walked to the window and looked out. ‘I knocked on your front door but you didn’t answer, and then I came around on the deck and saw you. I thought I’d better explain.’

  ‘What’s going on? The noise.’

  ‘Come and see. It’s the police. They’re doing some kind of raid over there. They actually broke the door down, I saw them, and then the girl, the one with the tattoos, was in the upstairs window screaming her head off, going nuts. I ran into the police about half an hour ago, they were sneaking around outside my place. I thought they were prowlers so I went out, and they grabbed me and told me to keep quiet. Then they went in. Dogs and all. I’ve been watching from the edge of your property.’

  He beckoned her forward and she looked out at the big stucco rental next door. There were figures moving in the windows upstairs and the garden was lit up with spotlights, a man in a white boiler suit bending to look at something in the grass.

  ‘I feel … slightly sick.’

  ‘Oh look, sit down. You got a fright.’

  He steered her over to a chair and she sank down.

  ‘I could make us a cup of tea?’

  She nodded, watched him moving around in the kitchen, opening drawers, finding things, filling the kettle and switching it on. She rode out another wave of nausea and said, ‘I’m sorry but I can’t remember your name?’

  ‘It’s Nick Oppenheimer. I remember yours. Eloise. I had no idea this was such an exciting neighbourhood.’

  ‘Is it just you at 27?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve just moved in. Love the peninsula, the dog park.’

  ‘Do you have a dog?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought of getting one.’ She added stupidly, ‘I’m trying out living by myself at the moment.’

  ‘Dogs are good company,’ Nick said.

  The shouting had stopped; there was the sound of voices, the slam of car doors and the crunch of boots on gravel. A dog let out a series of deep barks.

  They listened. Eloise said to fill the silence, ‘Dogs. Um, there’s a man who parks his Jeep outside the supermarket up the road, and twice when I’ve passed it I’ve heard the most eerie sound. Howling. I looked in, into the Jeep, and what he’s got in there is a wolf. It’s huge, twice the size of an Alsatian. I went home and Googled pictures of wolves — and it’s a wolf. It doesn’t bark, it howls.’

  He was studying her face.

  ‘It must be illegal,’ she said.

  ‘To own a wolf, I’m sure.’

  ‘It really is a wolf. It can’t be anything else.’

  ‘Yes, I believe you.’

  ‘It’s a mystery. How did he bring it into the country? How does he keep it without people complaining?’

  ‘I’ll look out for it.’

  ‘God …’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Nerves a bit shot, that’s all. The woman screaming.’

  ‘It was unnerving. And me creeping about on your lawn. Sorry.’

  He waited, then said, ‘This is an interesting house. So much glass. It must have incredible views.’

  ‘We had an architect. I don’t know how long I’ve got here. I’ll be moving out soon.’

  She pressed her fingers to her temples. ‘Can you actually see my head throbbing?’

  He laughed.

  Eloise said, ‘I’ve always thought of myself as observant. I thought I was the one who noticed what was going on, while everyone else was in a fog.’

  ‘Oh. Right …?’

  ‘And it was a complete delusion. I didn’t notice anything going on over there. Drug dealing or whatever.’

  ‘I doubt anyone knew.’

  She went on, ‘I didn’t notice my husband was about to leave me. Never saw it coming. Yesterday at work I saw something happen between two people I thought hated each other. And I had it completely wrong. Instead of hating each other they’re probably having an affair. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’

  Nick handed her a cup of tea. He was tall, thin and athletic, with even features, almost handsome although skin slightly rough. Blue eyes.

  ‘Oh thanks. You’ve put sugar in it. What I need to do,’ she said, ‘is get some fresh air. I think I’ll just walk around to the dog park.’ Her voice quavered. She sounded mad and proud and unwell.

  ‘By yourself? In the dark?’

  ‘It’s fine. I do it all the time,’ she lied.

  ‘How about I come with you, Eloise,’ he said.

  The lawn next door was harshly lit, with a group of police conferring on the porch. The scene, figures in white boiler suits moving in white light, stirred a memory in Eloise, a feeling of dread that passed and was replaced by a kind of doomed brightness, as if all was lost and any feeling futile. They followed the path along the edge of the creek, where Starlight Peninsula broadened and joined the land, and a bridge led across to the dog park. There was a dull orange glow in the sky over the city, the warm air smelled of dried grass, and tiny sounds came from the estuary, little clickings and rustlings, small creatures maybe, crabs or water rats, scuttling through the mangroves.

  ‘Looks like a spaceship’s landed.’

  Two figures in white shower caps moved silently across the grass. The darkness curved over the bubble of light.

  ‘I saw them arresting the girl, the one who was screaming. She made such a fuss they actually picked her up and carried her.’

  Eloise saw it: the struggling girl, a dynamic, furious thing amid the black-and-white strangeness of the spotlit garden. She remembered her dream, the shadow of a dog crossing her vision.

  Looking back at her own house she saw that the lighted interior was visible from the park. During the day the glass was opaque, but at night she would be seen clearly as she moved around the sitting room.

  ‘I’ll have to start closing the curtains.’

  ‘But there’s no one in the dog park at night.’

  She said, ‘This area used to be much rougher. It was a bit of a slum apparently. Up the top was the worst pub in Auckland — the Starlight Hotel. There was a murder there. The peninsula only started getting respectable after they demolished the Starlight.’

  They walked to the edge, where the land ended in the estuary and the water lay still and calm, giving off stray flashes of light. Something rose and disturbed the surface, a splash, bubbles. A car alarm started up far away.

  He said, ‘Do you really come out here often? At night?’

  ‘Oh sure. Why not?’

  They headed back across the park, walking slowly.

  Nick said, ‘So, tell me about your job. It must be interesting working for Roysmith.’

  ‘Did I tell you my job? When?’

  ‘At the gate when we first met.’

  ‘Oh? We’ve just done a piece on Andrew Newgate. About Ed Miles turning down his compensation claim.’
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  ‘Do you think Newgate’s innocent?’

  ‘Roysmith thinks he is.’

  ‘So you don’t think so?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Most people think he’s guilty as sin. That he’s only got off because of Carstone’s campaign.’

  ‘Not most. Fifty per cent.’

  ‘Anyway. What are you working on now?’

  ‘Well, just between us, we might do the internet mogul, Kurt Hartmann.’

  ‘Isn’t he about to be shipped off to the US?’

  ‘He’s fighting extradition.’

  Nick said, ‘It all seems rather complicated.’

  Eloise stopped and pointed. ‘Did you see that flash? A fish jumping. Quite a big one.’

  They looked out at the estuary, brimming at high tide. A line zigzagged across the water, then the surface went calm, a dull silver, like mercury.

  She said, ‘Kurt Hartmann owned websites where people could store data. He says he was — effectively — operating a big electronic warehouse and it wasn’t his business if people were storing material in it that breached copyright. He didn’t know what was in there and he didn’t care. But the Hollywood studios and the US Government say he knew he was storing copyrighted material, that he’s a pirate and that he’s ripped off the movie and music industries five hundred million US dollars.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And then it was discovered — actually it was leaked by someone — that he’d been spied on here illegally, also at the behest of the US. Illegally because he’s a New Zealand citizen and the GCSB can only spy on foreign nationals. Although Ed Miles is working to change that rule. Scott wants to find out who leaked it that Hartmann was spied on illegally. The word is there’s a faction in the PM’s own party who are leaking against him. An Ed Miles faction, probably backed by the old guard, by people loyal to Sir David Hallwright.’

  ‘Hallwright’s in the South of France. I read an article about his house,’ Nick said.

  ‘That’s right. Lounging around the Med. In St Tropez or whatever. On his millions.’

  ‘Are you going to the Hartmann mansion?’

  ‘I hope so. It’s meant to be unbelievable. Anyway, what do you do, Nick?’

  ‘I used to be a teacher. Then I started working for NGOs. Aid work. Save the Children.’

  ‘That sounds very worthy.’

  ‘I grew up in Cape Town. My father’s South African, he’s a newspaper editor, and my mother was a Kiwi. They split up and she came back here. I’d been working in Africa, various countries, and my expartner and I decided to try Auckland. My ex is a New Zealander. I like Auckland, less crime. You don’t have to live in a fortress.’

  ‘Carjackings,’ Eloise said vaguely.

  ‘Places over there, you need to own a gun. Although, I’m a black belt in karate.’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘It’s a discipline. It’s a way.’

  Eloise looked sideways.

  ‘I inherited the house from my mother when she died, some other property, too, so now I’m a landlord. At this point I’m not sure whether to sell up and go back to Cape Town, or stay here.’

  They crossed the bridge and followed the path back to the sections. A man in white overalls was kneeling on the lawn in front of the stucco house, photographing something.

  She watched Nick leap neatly over a low fence. A ‘way’. He was good-looking. Was he slightly weird?

  He said, ‘I do volunteer work, for search and rescue. I used to do it in Cape Town, so I signed up here. We look for demented old people, kids gone missing, trampers lost in the bush. Also corpses. Last week they rang me — did you hear about the woman’s body found in a drain in West Auckland?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Actually they only found half of her in the drain. It had washed in there from a stream. I got the call, they wanted us to come out and help find the other half.’

  She stopped walking. ‘Did you find it?’

  ‘No. We were looking for bones. Clothes. Got nothing.’

  ‘Had she been sawn up?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Why do you do it?’

  ‘Look for people? I enjoy it. I love tramping, going up in the helicopter, scouring coastlines. Slogging through the bush. And to give back, obviously.’

  They walked on. Eloise hesitated at her gate.

  He said, ‘I’ve got some brandy at my place.’

  She followed him round the side of his house and in through the back door. They entered a hall smelling of floor polish and then a spacious room with glass doors opening onto a deck, a view of the estuary and the city beyond. There was a sofa, one armchair, a glass coffee table, a flat-screen TV and a couple of prints on the walls.

  ‘All my books are in boxes still. I need shelves.’

  Eloise sat on the sofa and looked at the city buildings against the night sky. He handed her a glass and she drank, the alcohol hit her, waves travelling down her body.

  ‘Want to know something funny?’ she said. ‘On the subject of looking for people.’

  He sat down beside her.

  ‘Ever since my husband left, there’s something I can’t stop doing. I go looking for him. It’s some primitive impulse, like a panic — he’s gone so I have to find him. I walk for hours. I’m not sure where he’s living; I haven’t found out and he won’t tell me. I just walk and walk, looking in places where he might be.’

  ‘What would you do if you found him?’

  ‘I don’t know. Yell at him. Punch him. It’s not rational. None of it’s rational.’ She tipped back the glass, drank. Strange, it was nearly empty. ‘I’m not looking for him in order to punch him,’ she added.

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘What do you understand?’

  ‘The impulse. To go looking.’

  She stared. ‘Really?’

  ‘Sure. I split up with someone not long ago.’

  ‘You’ve got me drunk again.’

  ‘You’re fine.’

  Eloise felt a slackening, she wasn’t able to shut up. ‘My marriage was a cure. A barrier. A remedy.’

  ‘For what?’

  She whispered, ‘Grief.’

  ‘I see. For a previous relationship?’

  ‘He died.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. Did he have an illness?’

  She looked sadly at her glass. He filled it.

  ‘I shouldn’t drink this.’

  ‘Yolo.’

  She snorted. ‘Did you just say “yolo”?’

  ‘Go on, tell me about it.’

  ‘My partner, before Sean, he was found dead outside his flat with his neck broken. The police found he’d been taking pills for insomnia, and they thought he might have sleepwalked. There was a flimsy wire fence; he fell against it and it gave way. He went over the retaining wall.’

  Silence. The sudden deep barking of a dog along the peninsula.

  ‘It was strange.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He never sleepwalked. He might have taken the odd pill, but they told me he took a huge dose. The police told me he had a bruise on his thigh. They never found out how he got it.’

  ‘So what do you think happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. Arthur was a journalist. We both worked in TV, that’s how I met him, just after I’d done my communications degree at AUT. He was older than me.’

  ‘Was he an investigative journalist?’

  ‘He did all sorts of things, TV One current affairs, wrote for Metro and North & South. Worked on screenplays. We were living between his flat and mine. I was about to leave mine permanently and move into his. That morning I’d been in Sydney, I went straight to his flat from the airport.’

  She paused, sipped her drink. It was the crime scene at the house next door that had brought it back. Summer. A hot morning on the side of Mt Eden. Towing her suitcase up the hill to Arthur’s, she’d passed a man wearing a white boiler suit and a shower cap, his shoes encased in bags. When she stopped outside Arthur’s g
ate a group of people with notebooks looked towards her. They’d been clustered at the top of the retaining wall, looking down.

  Opening the flat she went in, called out, walked around. The rooms were full of sunlight. The doorbell rang.

  On Arthur’s front steps a blonde woman, a detective, asked for her name and spoke strange words. ‘A man has been found dead. We haven’t identified him. We’ve had a suggestion from a resident he might live here.’

  They took her to him. He’d fallen against the rickety wire fence and gone over when it gave way. He was lying on the hot asphalt terrace below the retaining wall. She saw his thin ankles, one dusty shoe come off. She wasn’t allowed to touch him, but she saw that his eyes were closed, his mouth was pursed as if in shock or surprise, and a part of his skull was broken and sticking up out of his matted, bloody hair in a triangular shard.

  After that, the morning had turned unreal, toy-coloured. There were seams of evil pulsing behind the sky. Eloise stood on Arthur’s back deck looking at the grassy mountainside, the walking track winding to the summit. There were police up there, searching through the waving grass, pacing along the path, inspecting the wire fence and the stile. She turned to the detective and said, ‘Why are they up there? You must think it wasn’t an accident.’

  ‘We don’t know anything at this stage.’

  She remembered arguing, ‘But they’re looking for clues. Why go searching up the mountain if it was an accident? Do you think someone hurt Arthur then ran up there?’

  ‘We don’t know.’

  The blonde woman detective and her partner drove Eloise away from Arthur’s flat and into Central Police Station. She was distracted by the woman detective’s odd-coloured eyes: one blue, one brown.

  ‘After he died everything was terrifying. I was afraid all the time. I went back to living in a flat my father owned. I got burgled. Or someone broke in, anyway. They didn’t take anything.’

  ‘That’s bad luck.’

  ‘It was bad luck. I knew that’s all it was, but it made me even more scared. I met Sean and he seemed so solid. That’s what attracted me, he was all wholesomeness and muscles and honesty, like a big strong bodyguard. Honesty, so I thought. I didn’t know at first that he was rich, that he had family money. That’s how we got the house so quickly. Which we now have to sell. We got married quite quickly. I blotted Arthur out. We were close, happy. And now my marriage, all that I built up between me and ruin — it’s gone.’