Starlight Peninsula (20 page)

‘Yes.’

He touched her arm again. ‘We could keep this conversation to
ourselves, and maybe I could think some more about it, and see if I can come up with anything else.’

She tried to compose herself. Finally she said, ‘Okay. Come back soon then. Come and visit. I’ll be here.’

He stood up. ‘I will.’ His face sagged; he looked exhausted suddenly.

‘I’m sorry I barged into your house,’ she said.

‘Please don’t apologise. It’s fine. I’m glad we’ve talked.’

She walked to the front door with him.

‘Take care,’ he said.

‘Bye. Thanks for the ride.’

He walked away, turned. ‘Eloise, I’m not entirely sure, but the person I thought I saw at the window upstairs?’

She waited.

‘Was wearing something red.’

Eloise lay on the bed, with Silvio across her legs. She had persuaded Carina to drop him off for a short visit, while the Sparkler was at a school camp. He was chewing a strip of dried raw hide.

‘Listen, Silvio,’ she said.

Silvio yawned. What beautifully white teeth he had. Note to self: ask the dentist about whitening. If she had a smile as pearly as Silvio’s, would that help her get dates? Scott and Thee, passing the phone between them, had rung her with two possibles; she had rejected one (you’ve got to be kidding) and had cautiously requested more information on the other.

And what about Nick?

She put down the Chekhov story, and drowsily addressed Klaudia. Simon Lampton? Yes, I found him. I made quite a hash of things. Intending to introduce myself in a polite and non-committal fashion, I went to pieces, told him more than I’d intended, drank a whole lot of his wine. Even got him to drive me home.

I entered his house. I got him to enter my house. But he didn’t know anything. He said, There is no connection between us. He confirmed that Ed Miles was staying at Rotokauri the summer Arthur made contact, and that David Hallwright was there. He confirmed the police had briefly spoken to him. He had no memory of the detective, Marie Da Silva. Together we established that Mereana, whoever she is, appears in her photo to have been playing golf on a beach, as there is a golf club leaning against the park bench, and golf balls at her feet.

Very useful.

I am still alone, Klaudia. I am asking, but I have no answers.

And is it possible that Simon Lampton saw someone at the upstairs window of my house?

‘He must have been mistaken,’ Eloise said.

Klaudia lightly touched the page in front of her with her fingertips. She frowned.

Eloise went on, ‘I guess he saw the blind moving, or the sun shining off the window. I rang Sean to check. I threatened to kill him as usual. He swore it definitely wasn’t him. I believe him.’

Out there on the bricks, the leaves stirred, rearranged themselves. And there was the rat! Out it came — look at that — abruptly it was right up on its hind legs, front paws curled, sniffing the air. Watching it, Eloise said, ‘But could it have been Nick?’

Klaudia swallowed and said, ‘You said you had locked the house. It seems unlikely your neighbour would enter uninvited.’

‘He came around the side of the house. He was wearing a red shirt.’

‘Eloise, I wonder, have you considered doing something about your living arrangements? Perhaps moving to a different place.’

‘Actually I’m going to be forced to move out.’

‘By your ex-husband?’

‘Yes, and I don’t want to go. I love the peninsula.’

‘Perhaps you could arrange for someone to stay with you until you leave. Other than the dog you’ve spoken of.’

‘Remember I told you about the girl in the bus stop.
The girl in the bus stop is crying
.’

‘Yes. We talked about the subconscious.’

‘I was right. She was a girl, she was crying.’

‘Yes.’

The rat was sniffing this way and that on the bricks. Move and pause, move and pause. Eloise thought of the rings of light in Simon Lampton’s pool. She said, ‘I loved Sean. Marriage to him made a protective barrier, and when it was gone, the barrier was smashed, and information rushed in. I’ve remembered the day of Arthur’s death, how the information rushed in then, too. I was raw.’

‘I think I understand.’

Eloise paused, listening to the drugged buzz of the cicadas. There was no sign of the old woman gardener. The light in the garden seemed liquid. How peaceful it would be to lie down in the grass out there, in the stripes of shade beneath the wisteria. She said, ‘A house is a metaphor for the mind.’

Klaudia steepled her fingers. ‘Sure. In a sense, what we are doing with our work here is treating your mind like a house. Together we are opening doors to old rooms, where things have lain hidden.’

‘When I was younger, if I met someone I liked I would say to myself, I’m going to enter his house.’

Klaudia’s smile was one of tolerant assent. She hadn’t yet yawned or looked at her watch, although the air was so hot and close, and they had both slowed to a dreamy pace. Eloise looked at Klaudia’s plump wrists, at her manly watch and bronze bracelet. Around her neck today she was wearing an entire small paua shell.

Done up to the nines, Eloise thought. Where was Klaudia going after this? She must be exhausted after five solid hours of nutters and bores. Personally, Eloise would make straight for the pub.

‘The man. I went looking for answers. I entered the man’s house. He entered mine. But he said, There is no connection between us.’

‘And he said he saw someone else in your house,’ Klaudia added.

‘What does it all mean?’

Klaudia minutely shrugged. The rat had vanished. Eloise went on, ‘There was someone in Arthur’s flat on the morning he died. I know it. Just like I knew that the girl in the bus stop was crying.’

‘Okay.’ Klaudia picked up her pen.

‘When I went back to Arthur’s flat and sat on the mountainside, I remembered.’

Klaudia’s tone was probing, also gently disbelieving. ‘And yet how could you know, Eloise, if you were not there?’

‘I could tell, when I walked into the flat. The closest I’ve got is to think maybe there was an item missing. And there was something else.’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe it was a trace. Or a scent.’

Klaudia smiled, and pointed her pen at the photo on her desk.

‘A scent. As if you are my dog, Linus.’

‘Yes, as if I’m a dog.’

‘I’m sorry, that was just a joke.’

‘Maybe we’re all dogs, Klaudia. We’re all animals.’

Silence.

Finally Klaudia said, ‘Well, sure. We do share a lot of DNA. With the … animal kingdom.’

‘If I was a
dog
and telling you this, if I was
Linus
, it would be completely plausible, wouldn’t it. Dogs know when someone’s been in a room. They follow scents for miles.’

‘Although, Eloise, dogs have millions more receptors for scent in their noses than we humans do. They have very big, powerful snouts.’

‘Hmmm.’

Silence. They were smiling at each other. Grinning even. Because the conversation had lurched into the absurd. How absurd, too, to be
paying
Klaudia for this. If only they could just be friends. Go up the road for a coffee.

Would you like to come to my house, Klaudia? My real house. As opposed to wandering around in my mind
.

But this would not be possible: Klaudia had explained the ‘therapeutic paradox’. She was allowed to enter Eloise’s mind, but Eloise was not allowed to enter hers, in other words to know anything about Klaudia. This was to protect Klaudia (from the nutters and bores) and to preserve the therapeutic process, which could not be clouded by the patient’s knowledge of the shrink’s personal circumstances.

Imagine the chaos if shrinks started befriending people whose minds they regularly messed with.

‘Sorry, where were we?’

‘Dogs and their noses.’

‘Klaudia, information has been hidden from me. A whole layer of the world. I let Arthur down by not asking questions.’

‘I see.’

‘But if I do keep asking, I don’t know what I’m going to find.’

She looked for the rat, but there was only a shiver in the pile of leaves.

Is this what madness is? Everyone is hidden. People are strange. One day you will walk out of your house and discover that everyone is a stranger.

Who is your neighbour? Who is your smiling blonde shrink, behind her therapeutic veil? Who is your mother? The jolly Northern matriarch with a heart of gold? Or the cold, rivalrous witch, who whispers death in your ear,
Godspeed
?

Eloise said, ‘They can’t be serious.’

Scott leaned back in his seat, linked his fingers behind his head. ‘That’s what I’ve heard. Group hysteria.’

‘It’s just not possible.’

‘There was no static.’

‘No!’

‘They’re going to say there were one or two real incidents of static shocks, and then everyone bought into it, and imagined they were getting them. The more nervous people were, the more they thought they were getting shocked.’

‘Are you sure that’s the line?’

‘That’s the rumour from my source. There is no scientific basis to say that staff have been subjected to shocks. Engineers, electricians and experts employed by the company will say the phenomenon didn’t actually occur, except in people’s minds.’

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘There are no burns, E. No scars. There’s no evidence.’

‘But if everyone testified that they kept getting shocks.’

‘Show me the evidence. Did we take a photo of Selena with her
hair standing on end? With flames coming out the end of her stapler? Sadly, no.’

‘Testimony is evidence. Witness accounts.’

‘But where’s the damage? The injury was momentary. It left no trace, except in the memory. And we have limited memory for pain. People are already wavering. The weak ones will be called on to say they were mistaken, especially if they’re offered inducements. Or subjected to threats. This morning I passed through reception and heard Hine refer to Selena as “hysterical”.’

‘Scott. You think this is funny.’

They were watching a clip of Kurt Hartmann feeding his chickens. The great fist turned, thumb up, the stream of dusty seeds falling through the shining air. Beyond, a water trough reflected the sky, and the grass was unnaturally green. On the skyline, Chad Loafer idled in the golf cart.

Scott pressed a button and said, ‘So much depends upon.’

‘How’s Thee by the way?’

‘She’s fine. She’s going to contribute some of her photos to an exhibition. A red wheelbarrow glazed with rain water.’

‘Good.’

‘Beside the white chickens. Oh and another thing, E. Management would like us to do a story on group hysteria. As a psychological phenomenon. You can get onto the research next week.’

‘No! That’s hilarious, that is.’

Scott blinked, grinned. ‘Why don’t you come over to our place for dinner. Or the three of us can go out on a date. Me and my two favourite women.’

‘Thanks. That’d be good.’

‘Thee and I will find you a new man yet.’

‘Well, that would be useful. You and Thee are pretty much my favourite people. So any ideas would be welcome.’

‘Okay. Shall we do some work now?’

Eloise checked her watch. It was nearly one o’clock, when she had arranged to leave the building for a meeting.

They both frowned at the screen.

The café down the road from Central Police was mostly empty, and the woman behind the counter was arguing with her barista, a sullen youth who kept his head down, operating his coffee machine with moody disdain. The woman took Eloise’s coffee order, raised one side of her lip, edged along the counter and resumed her low tirade. ‘This is not your final. It’s your final final …’

Detective Da Silva arrived. She moved with a jinking noise, as of concealed equipment or weaponry. Her hair stuck out like steel wool, the unruly golden strands catching the light. She was wearing khaki pants, a short jacket and girl combat boots.

She ordered a flat white and crossed the room.

‘Eloise Hay. How are you?’

Eloise laid the policewoman’s card on the table in front of her. ‘I’m a barrel of energy.’

‘Or a ball of laughs. What did you want to talk about?’

Eloise looked up at her, trying to decide how to begin.

‘Well? I assume you have something in mind.’

‘I found Simon Lampton.’

Da Silva remembered to sit down. ‘Did you, now. How was he?’

‘He was very nice.’

‘Did he mind you turning up, raising ancient history?’

‘He didn’t know anything. He didn’t remember you.’

Da Silva gave her a quick glance. ‘Really.’

‘I wanted to know if he could tell me anything about Arthur. He said he’d hung up on Arthur, that they’d barely talked. I asked him about Mereana. He didn’t know anything about her either.’

The policewoman received her coffee and sprinkled sugar on top of the foam. For a moment, Eloise could only focus on her odd-coloured eyes, one blue, one brown.

‘We’re frantic up there,’ Da Silva said. She waved her hand in the direction of Central. ‘I haven’t got time for dead files.’

Eloise said, ‘Simon Lampton explained some things to me. How Arthur rang him and how he hung up, thinking Arthur just wanted gossip. How he, Simon, didn’t want to create difficulties for the people at Rotokauri. He made me understand how tricky his life was then, sharing a daughter with the Hallwrights when there was such intense interest in them. I understand all that. And that things are still sensitive now. I can see Arthur shouldn’t have rung him. Arthur’s contacting Simon had nothing to do with the fact that he died, but it did create a potential for inconvenience.’

‘Inconvenience. So you and Simon got on pretty well.’

‘I liked him. He was nice about me turning up at his house.’

‘You went to his
house
? How did that go?’

‘It was fine. We talked, he explained things. He said, back then, he wondered why the police contacted him at all about the phone calls. He thought maybe you were curious about the Hallwrights. Which would make you not much different from Arthur.’

Da Silva laughed. ‘He said that.’

‘He made me feel sorry Arthur had caused him trouble.’

Da Silva played with a sugar sachet, tearing the edges. She had small, nimble fingers. ‘I bet he was very calm.’

‘He was.’

Da Silva tapped her fingers on the table. ‘He has a thing he does. He calms, he quells.’