Fallout Read online

  ‘What about your son, James? Would you like to see more of him?’

  She frowned. ‘James? James comes as often as he can. He’s very busy on the farm.’

  ‘Do you remember what you and Johnny did that night?’

  ‘Please don’t ask me about Johnny,’ she said, avoiding Ihaka’s eye. ‘It upsets me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why are you asking these questions?’

  ‘Because a girl called Polly Stenson was murdered at that party. She was seventeen years old.’ Tina sat perfectly still, eyes tightly shut. ‘You must remember that.’

  She sighed, like someone giving up on an intractable crossword. ‘I wish I didn’t. I’ve forgotten lots of things — it’s like parts of my life never happened. Then there are things you wish you could forget, but you can’t.’

  ‘Polly was murdered upstairs. You were upstairs around the time it happened. Did you see anyone else up there or hear anything? Anything at all?’ Tina tried to blink back the tears, but a few fat droplets slid down her cheeks. Ihaka got tissues from a box on the bedside table and dabbed away the tear trails. ‘I’m sorry, Tina, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying to find out what happened to Polly before everyone forgets about her.’

  ‘They said we had to forget her. They said no good would come from dwelling on it.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘Tim and Roger. They said we had to put her out of our minds. I never could.’

  ‘You did the only thing you could do for Polly: you remembered her.’

  Tina slumped back in her chair.

  Ihaka stood up. ‘I’ll leave you alone now. Thanks for talking to me.’

  ‘It’s strange what your mind holds on to,’ she said to the ceiling. ‘When I was ten and my brother Brian, who’s dead now, was twelve, he made a stepladder at woodwork class. A proper stepladder, not some flimsy, rickety thing you wouldn’t dare stand on. He was very proud of himself. A couple of days after he brought it home, he came into the kitchen when Mum was getting something out of the top cupboard. We both looked at Brian expecting him to be pleased she was using the stepladder, but he went mad. He yelled at Mum, saying it wasn’t her stepladder, she had no right to use it without his permission. I could tell she was hurt, but she got straight down and said she was sorry for using it without asking, she wouldn’t do it again.’

  Tina sat up, looking steadily at Ihaka now. ‘I was furious. I said to Brian how could he be so horrible to Mum after all she’d done for him? That just made him even angrier. He grabbed the stepladder and took it outside. I had to go to the toilet. When I came back, there was this racket coming from outside and my mother was standing at the kitchen window. I went over to see what she was looking at. Brian was out on the driveway taking an axe to the stepladder. Mum wasn’t making a sound, but there were tears running down her cheeks. I’d never seen her cry. I didn’t think grown-ups ever cried; I thought only children did.’

  Tina got up and went to a bookshelf stacked with romance novels and photo albums. She opened one of the albums, took out a photo and handed it to Ihaka. It was a black-and-white print of a teenage girl in an old-fashioned dress blowing a kiss to the camera.

  ‘Weren’t you the pretty one?’ said Ihaka. ‘Not that anything’s changed.’

  Tina put her hand on his arm, tilting her head coquettishly. ‘Why thank you, kind sir.’

  ‘It’s a very nice photo; too nice to give away. You should hang on to it.’

  ‘But I want you to have it,’ she said forcefully. ‘Please.’

  Ihaka went looking for Beatrice.

  ‘How did it go?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, she gave me a photo of herself.’

  Beatrice laughed. ‘Sorry to rain on your parade, Sergeant, but you’re not the first male visitor she’s sent away with a photo.’

  ‘Should I have taken it?’

  ‘If she comes to me tomorrow morning complaining someone’s swiped her favourite photo, I’ll sing out. I’d be surprised, though. I’m not qualified in that area, but I’ve been doing this stuff for a while: I suspect Tina’s self-esteem has always been tied up with how men react to her. I hope you were nice.’

  Ihaka nodded. ‘And the story about her brother’s stepladder?’

  ‘Oh, we’ve all heard that one,’ said Beatrice. ‘Some of us more than once. I’m not even going to try to guess what’s going on there.’

  Jeanine Stern emailed back.

  OK, provisos:

  1.It was a long time ago. Longer than I care to dwell on.

  2.I only saw the guy once.

  3.I don’t want to be held to this. If asked to do so in a court of law, I’d almost certainly refuse.

  Bearing all that in mind, I’m reasonably sure the guy in the forefront doing the clenched fist thing is the post-grad student — so he said — who showed up trying to claim the diaries because Ethan had said he should feel free. As if.

  Ihaka rang Beth Greendale to see how she was getting on.

  ‘I was just about to ring you,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t straightforward.’

  ‘I had a feeling it wouldn’t be.’

  ‘I know it’s been a boon for paedophiles and terrorists but, speaking as someone who enjoys having the odd break from being a suburban housewife-mother, I say thank God for the internet.’

  ‘So do millions of masturbators. What have you got?’

  ‘First off,’ said Beth, ‘Smaile doesn’t own the property. He’s lived there since 2008 when it was purchased for $1.7 million by Kelvingrove Ltd. Kelvingrove, which is listed as a property investment company, is a wholly owned subsidiary of an outfit called Trongate Ltd. You’ll never guess who owns Trongate.’

  ‘You want to bet?’

  ‘Tito, if I’ve wasted the best part of a day, neglecting my kids in the process, to find out something you already knew, I’m going to be mightily fucked off.’

  ‘Settle down, Elizabeth. I don’t know, which is why I got you to find out. But you said I’d never guess who owns Trongate. Well, I’m prepared to take up the challenge.’

  ‘Go for it.’

  ‘The Muffin Man, Tom Murray.’

  ‘You’re a prick, you know that? Don’t ever call me again.’

  ‘You’re the second woman who’s said that to me recently. I’m pretty sure the other one actually meant it.’

  Ihaka decided dinner could wait. He drove over the Harbour Bridge to see Stu Boyle, picking up a cold six-pack on the way. It turned out that Boyle had given up beer, at least for the time being, because his doctor had told him he needed to lose weight.

  ‘Oh, is that how it works?’ said Ihaka. ‘Good to know.’ He popped the top off a bottle and half-emptied it in one go.

  ‘You might want take it easy, mate,’ said Boyle. ‘I mean, look what happened to your old man.’

  Ihaka gave him a stare. ‘You saw that coming, did you?’

  Boyle shrugged awkwardly. ‘No, shit no, it was a huge shock. Having said that, Jimmy was a big bloke with a big appetite — for food, grog, the works. And he only had one speed: flat-stick. It was a hell of a shock, but I’d be lying if I said it never crossed my mind that maybe he should take his foot off the gas every once in a while.’

  ‘Did you ever suggest that to him?’

  ‘Just the once,’ said Boyle with a rueful snort. ‘Your old man didn’t take kindly to unsolicited advice — on any subject. He told me to pull my fucking head in, or he’d do it for me.’

  Ihaka shook his head. ‘Un-fucking-believable. You just can’t help some people.’

  ‘Whereas you, on the other hand, are always open to advice?’

  ‘Exactly. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I’ve come across something a bit bloody strange and I’d like your take on it. Remember you were telling me about Smaile booting Tom Murray out of
the WVP? Well, Murray — reluctantly, I’d have to say — told me the same story in more detail. He was quite specific on the timing. The first time he blotted his copybook was when he slept through the May Day rally — that’s the first of May, right? Two weeks later he fucked up again and that was that: goneburger. Ethan Stern was killed on June the twentieth. Smaile made no bones about how he was determined to make sure no one else got hold of the diaries. He admitted ringing Stern’s widow and as good as admitted sending one of his boys around to her place pretending to be a post-grad student. Well, the widow’s pretty sure the fake post-grad student was none other than Tom Murray. So the question is: how come Murray was doing dodgy stuff for Smaile a couple of months after he’d been expelled from the party?’

  ‘I see what you mean,’ said Boyle. ‘That doesn’t make sense. Smaile didn’t muck around. In fact, he was renowned for being a vindictive bastard. If you crossed him, you were history. I never heard of anyone who got the broom from the WVP being allowed back in the fold. But, Christ, talk about never forgetting a face — I wouldn’t recognise someone I met once or twice thirty-odd years ago if I tripped over them.’

  ‘All I can tell you is she picked him out of an old group photo, without any help from me. I didn’t tell her what it was about or who she should be looking for. And there’s something else: have you been to Smaile’s place?’

  ‘That’ll be the bloody day. I heard he’s somewhere up in the Bays.’

  ‘He’s on the fucking pig’s back, that’s where. The house he’s in cost $1.7 million in 2008.’

  Boyle goggled. ‘What? How the hell could he afford that?’

  ‘He didn’t have to. The purchaser was a company owned by a company owned by that well-known counter-revolutionary snake in the grass, Tom Murray.’

  ‘You’re telling me Smaile’s living in a house that belongs to Murray?’

  ‘I am indeed. You might say, OK, water under the bridge, the MVP doesn’t exist any more, time heals all wounds — all that shit. Except to hear Murray tell it, there’s no way they’ve buried the hatchet. And given Smaile hasn’t changed his views, how likely would he be to kiss and make up now that Murray’s not just on the other side of the fence, he’s three fucking paddocks away?’

  ‘You know, for someone who was saying just yesterday he didn’t think Miriam’s research had anything to do with her being beaten up, you’re giving a pretty good impression of a bloke who actually believes otherwise.’

  Ihaka dead-batted Boyle’s probe with a bland half-smile. ‘So what do you make of all that?’

  ‘Something’s going on, that’s for sure,’ said Boyle. ‘To be honest, I don’t have a clue what it could be, but I know somebody who might, this ex-SIS guy I was going to put Miriam in touch with. He spent years keeping an eye on the WVP, probably knows more about them than anyone bar Smaile. He tried to recruit me to basically spy on the red brethren. Well, there was no way I was going to do that. I didn’t agree with the WVP on a lot of things and didn’t like their methods, but when push came to shove we were on the same side of the argument. Even though I knocked him back, we hit it off in an odd sort of way. We used to get together for a quiet one every now and again. It was a bit of a game really, each trying to pump the other for some inside information. Anyway, we’ve stayed in touch. He’s retired now, lives out at Karekare, near Piha. If you want, I could set up a meeting. He’s become a cranky bugger in his old age, so I’d have to sort of smooth the path.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Ihaka. ‘The sooner the better.’

  Nineteen

  Ihaka took what was left of his six-pack home. He boiled water in a saucepan, threw in a fistful of spaghetti and defrosted a slab of Bolognese sauce in the microwave. He made the sauce once a month, doubling the amounts in the recipe on the theory that what would make two meals for a family of four would make four meals for a large single man with a tendency to over-eat.

  After he’d eaten, he poured himself another glass of the supermarket shiraz he favoured on the more-bang-for-your-buck principle, opened his notebook and reviewed the timeline of the comings and goings around Polly Stenson’s murder.

  End of June/beginning of July: Johnny Barton & Tina Best begin affair.

  15th August: Tim & Nicky Barton’s party.

  11 pm: According to Eddie Brightside, Waitz group meets in library upstairs.

  11.30 pm: A/c her girlfriends, Polly leaves basement, goes up to ground floor.

  11.30 pm: A/c Andy Maddocks, Johnny leaves his mates outside, goes inside.

  11.35 pm approx: Johnny sees Polly, tells her to go upstairs.

  11.40 pm approx: Polly caught eavesdropping on Waitz group.

  11.45 pm approx: Waitz group goes back downstairs.

  11.50 pm approx: A/c Ann Smellie, Waitz group departs.

  11.53 pm approx: A/c Brightside, Polly leaves the library to go exploring.

  11.55 pm: A/c Roger Best, Tina goes upstairs.

  11.57 pm approx: A/c Roger, Johnny goes upstairs to join Tina in master bedroom.

  Midnight approx: A/c himself, on his way downstairs Brightside hears male & female voices/laughter, presumably JB & Tina.

  16th August between midnight & 1 am: estimated time of death.

  12.10 am approx: Johnny goes downstairs.

  12.15 am approx: Tina goes downstairs.

  10.40 am: Mrs Stenson rings Polly’s friend’s place where she was supposed to be sleeping over.

  10.45 am: Mrs Stenson rings the Bartons.

  11 am: Roger Best rings the Bartons.

  11.05 am: Tim B wakes Johnny.

  11.10 am: Tim goes apeshit at Johnny.

  11.15 am: Tim finds Polly’s body in sauna.

  One month later approx: Bests move to Sydney.

  Two months later approx: Johnny tells Maddocks about him & Tina.

  He went through it again, and a third time, not sure what he was looking for, or even if there was anything there. On the fourth read, he spotted it. It had been staring him in the face all along.

  He looked at his watch: 10.33, well before Johnny Barton’s bedtime.

  The landline wasn’t answered so he tried Barton’s mobile, getting a pissed off ‘Who is this?’ after ten rings. In the back-ground a woman was registering her dissatisfaction.

  ‘Ihaka. Is this a good time?’

  Barton strangled a snarl. ‘Christ, I should’ve known. No, it’s not a good time. Last night was bad enough, but that was perfect timing by comparison.’

  ‘I think I get the picture,’ said Ihaka with a wheeze of amusement, ‘but you know what they say about delayed gratification.’

  ‘I have no idea. What do they say?’

  ‘It’s a sign of maturity.’

  ‘How do you get away with it?’ said Barton, genuinely curious.

  ‘Think of it as Inspector O’Goober’s revenge.’

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘Work it out for yourself. The reason I’m calling: you told Maddocks about Tina because you just had to tell someone, right?’

  ‘Oh God,’ groaned Barton, ‘we’re not back on that, are we?’

  ‘How about you just answer the fucking question?’

  ‘That is correct, officer.’

  ‘Even though your old man threatened to boot you out without a penny if you blabbed about it?’

  ‘Well, he never said that in so many words —.’

  ‘Then at the party, by which stage you’d been knocking Tina off for a month or so, you decided to put on a show for Polly?’

  ‘Well, that was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Don’t go all Gestapo on me, Sergeant, but what’s your point? We’ve been through this.’

  ‘The point is, given all that, do you really expect me to believe you hadn’t told anyone about Tina before the shit hit the fan?’ Barton didn’t answer. ‘Who d
id you tell?’

  ‘Even if I did tell someone,’ said Barton sourly, ‘what’s the big deal? I don’t see the relevance of it.’

  ‘You’re a fucking slow learner, aren’t you? Still getting me mixed up with someone who gives a shit what you think. Who was it?’

  ‘My sister.’

  ‘No one else?’

  ‘No,’ said Barton. ‘And that’s the gospel truth.’

  ‘Why her?’

  ‘The simple, honest answer is I wanted to see how she’d react. Lucy had this “I’m more worldly than you” attitude. Still has for that matter. And it still bugs me.’

  ‘I’m assuming you swore her to secrecy,’ said Ihaka.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But we both know that hardly ever works.’

  ‘Lucy’s no fool. She could be dangerous in all sorts of little ways, but she understood why it couldn’t go any further.’

  ‘So where do I find Lucy?’

  ‘Ah, well, that depends,’ said Barton. ‘When she’s in the country she divides her time, as they say, between here and Queenstown. But for much of the time she’s not in the country. Her current whereabouts might depend on whether the snow is better in Japan or Colorado at this time of year, or whether there’s a cutting-edge arts festival in Adelaide or Albuquerque. Then again, maybe she’s in Portugal, because there can’t be a wine region in France, Italy or Spain she hasn’t done by now. You get the idea?’

  ‘You’re not exactly on the bones of your arse.’

  ‘I have to get up and go to work five days a week,’ said Barton. ‘She gets up and opens the curtains: if it’s raining, she rings her dog walker.’

  ‘So did the old man shaft you after all?’

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but we were treated exactly the same. Mommie Dearest was the big winner when Tim went to his reward. No, the secret of my sister’s lifestyle is she married well, so when the time came she divorced well. And to prove she isn’t a one-hit wonder, she married even better second time around.’

  ‘It’s probably harder than you make it sound.’