Starlight Peninsula (21 page)

‘I suppose.’

‘I remember,’ Da Silva said. ‘He doesn’t waver. He’s a flat-line. You ask him something and he blocks. He winds you up then he soothes
you down. And every now and then there’s a little hint of steel. Like he’s your dad.’

Eloise frowned. She said primly, ‘It sounds as if you’ve thought about him quite a lot. Did you develop a crush on him?’

Infinite scorn in Da Silva’s eyes. ‘A crush. I’m a professional, Eloise. Not a schoolgirl.’

‘He must have to stay calm in his job.’

‘Sure. I imagine he’s a good doctor. Very competent. Also, he’s not above deploying the odd name-drop. Tactically. As in, I reminded him I was a detective; he reminded me he was on holiday with my boss.’

Eloise said, ‘He seems a sincere person. He said he could tell I was more sensitive than Arthur was.’

‘Right.’ Da Silva’s expression was tolerant, just slightly derisive.

‘His whole concern, he said, was for his family. The Hallwrights, his wife, four kids.’

‘Three kids.’

‘He was kind. He made me see it’s not always a good idea to go barging in.’

‘Fair enough,’ Da Silva said, amused. ‘Although, that’s what I do every day, Eloise. Barge in places where people don’t want me. Barging in on him was a laugh, I can tell you.’

‘He said as much. That you were doing it for the hell of it.’

Da Silva rolled her eyes. ‘The nerve.’

‘I understood … it’s hard to explain.’

‘Go on.’

Eloise frowned. ‘Arthur was a lovely, kind person. But he used material from people’s lives. Sometimes he might have been a bit insensitive or, I don’t know, ruthless about it. He
did
barge in. He used everything.’

‘I imagine that’s what writers do.’

‘But now I can see it from Simon’s point of view. He didn’t want
Arthur just picking up bits of his life and using them. Or the Hallwrights’ lives. He told me Arthur asked about Roza Hallwright and the adopted daughter. Which seems pretty … Anyway, the point of this is that Simon hung up on Arthur, and that was the end of it. He doesn’t know who Mereana Kostas is, so I guess the forward slash note was just Arthur reminding himself about two unconnected people.’

‘Yes, we established that.’

‘He doesn’t want me to go around talking about it. But since you know about it already, it seems okay to talk to you.’

Da Silva’s tone was faintly incredulous. ‘Oh, good. Glad to hear it. It’s funny, I’m usually the one who decides when it’s okay to talk about an investigation. Into a death.’

Eloise paused to gather her thoughts. Da Silva was making her nervous.

She went on, ‘I wanted to tell you something else. I think there was someone in Arthur’s flat on the morning he died.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I can sense it.’

‘You can sense it? What does that mean?’

‘I sensed it back then but I didn’t know I had. And now I’ve
realised
that I sensed it back then.’

Silence. Detective Da Silva’s nose was sprinkled with tiny freckles. Her expression altered as she listened; her small face had now sharpened into a mocking smile.

‘Are you a psychic?’

‘I’m serious.’

‘I’m serious, too. I’m also overworked and short-staffed.’

‘I’ve remembered sensing that someone had been in the flat. Either something was missing, or there was a smell. A scent. I’ve been back to the flat recently. I sat on the hill behind the flat. By the mountain track.’

‘A scent.’ Da Silva sat back, smoothed the top of her coffee with a
teaspoon. She looked thoughtful. ‘I remember that morning. It was a beautiful day. Summer. The hillside was all parched. Dry grass — that’s the smell I remember.’

‘You said there’d been an accident. But then I saw the police on the mountainside, looking through the grass. I realised they were looking for clues.’

Da Silva said, ‘Is there anything else you remember or know about Arthur’s death? Anything you haven’t told me?’

‘No.’

‘So, that’s it? You’ve remembered sensing something, but you don’t know what.’

‘Yes.’

‘You remember sensing someone other than Arthur had been in the flat. But surely the forensic team had been in the flat.’

‘No, it was locked, I was the first in. He’d only just been found. You came to the door and told me.’

Da Silva looked at her reflection in the back of a teaspoon. She thought for a while.

‘Maybe you
have
remembered something. But it’s not enough for me to do anything about it. You know what I’m saying?’

‘Yes.’

Da Silva frowned, deepening the crease between her brows. ‘Sometimes you have to move on. Let it go.’

Eloise sighed. ‘I let Arthur down.’

‘You said that, but it’s a fantasy. He’s dead, right. So you should look after yourself. Get some counselling.’

‘I’ve been seeing this shrink.’

‘Good. There you go. Stick with that.’

Da Silva drank the last of her coffee. ‘Listen, Eloise, I told you I’m overworked. That was a major understatement. Me and my friend Detective O’Kelly, remember him? We’ve got years of files. Normally I
wouldn’t have made the time to meet you. But I’ll tell you a couple of things, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘The first is, Simon Lampton remembers me. There is no way he doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything that he denies it. He’s presumably got better things to do than talk about the past with you. But he remembers me.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘No question. Also, he says we were investigating him for the thrill of it. That is outrageous. Police do not investigate people for the “thrill” of it.’

‘Okay. Sure. Although cops are human.’

‘He really got you eating out of his hand, didn’t he.’

‘Pardon?’ Eloise said.

‘The prime minister and the police minister, Ed Miles — my boss no less — were at Rotokauri with Lampton when Arthur called him. We couldn’t go barging into Rotokauri like it was some dump in South Auckland. Storm on in there and get the bros up against the wall and see who said something stupid.’

‘And Ed Miles is now justice minister. I know that.’

Silence.

Eloise said slowly, ‘Were you told not to pursue it?’

Da Silva looked at her watch. ‘Put it this way. I didn’t know it back then, but I
sensed
we were being told we’d asked enough questions. And now I
remember
that sense. But I have no evidence to show that sense ever
existed
.’

Eloise felt pressure behind her eyes, warning of a possible headache. ‘What does it all mean?’

‘It means we should leave it alone. Leave Lampton alone.’

‘But he’s nice. I have a good feeling about him, as if he and I could be friends.’

Da Silva’s smile was ironic. ‘Really. I’ll tell you one more thing, even though I shouldn’t. Someone inquired off the record about Arthur’s death.’

‘How do you know? When?’

‘It might have come from somewhere up the chain.’

‘Up the chain?’

‘Of command. From up high.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I was told. I haven’t seen any evidence myself. It might have been an inquiry relating to Arthur’s post-mortem.’

‘Who would have done that?’

‘I don’t know. There’s no proper record. Someone has covered their tracks.’

‘What about Mereana Kostas?’

‘The missing Mereana Kostas had one significant conviction, for a drug offence. She was jailed. She had an ex, a guy she’d had a child with, who told me she might have left the country and gone to the UK or Canada or Australia. But he was probably lying.’

‘She left with a child?’

‘No. The child had died years before. I didn’t believe the ex. I said to him there’s no record of her leaving, and no way she could have got hold of a false passport. And he said …’

Da Silva paused, as if considering whether to go on.

‘He said what?’

‘That Kostas, the name her criminal conviction was recorded under, wasn’t the surname on her birth certificate. That she had a passport in her birth name before her conviction, and she renewed it, and left.’

‘Did you find out more?’

‘No. Because the death was an accident.’

‘Who was Mereana?’

‘No one. Maori mother, Australian Greek father. Five foot nine.
Black hair, green eyes. Scar on index finger. She got the drug conviction here, was in prison, got out, didn’t get into any more trouble, probably worked under-the-table jobs in Auckland, vanished. No contact with family. No one reported her missing. This was years ago. She had nothing to do with Lampton or his Rotokauri friends. Completely different worlds.’

Eloise said, ‘Arthur and I used to argue. I said he was taking on too many things at once. I thought there was a risk he’d turn into a jack of all trades master of none. So he stopped telling me what he was up to. As if he thought I would nag. He never mentioned any Mereana to me.’

‘I’d say she’s irrelevant to Lampton.’

Eloise looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go and buy a birthday present. For a kid. What do eight-year-olds like?’

‘I dunno. Lego.’

‘She’s a girl. A friend’s daughter.’

‘Girls like Lego. I did.’

‘Have you got kids?’

Da Silva checked her phone, sent a text. ‘No. No time.’

Eloise thought for a moment. ‘Do you believe Andrew Newgate is innocent?’

‘No.’

‘Who do you think’s the father of Anita O’Keefe’s baby?’

Da Silva smiled. ‘Good question.’

‘Do you believe in ESP?’

‘No.’

‘Is it easy to disappear?’

‘It was easier years ago. It’s not now, unless you have help, resources. I’ll tell you what I think — Mereana’s dead. Most missing people are. Either she died here, or she somehow got to another country and died. She was probably a drug user, moved in nasty circles. Anyway, she’s irrelevant.’

Eloise sighed. ‘At least I’ve asked some questions.’

‘Yeah. Hope you feel better.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve got a gang stabbing to investigate. Just for the “thrill” of it. You go and buy your Lego. Oh, and the father of Baby O’Keefe? It’s the leader of the Opposition. Bradley Kirk.’

‘No! A cross-party baby. A bipartisan baby. He’s married. What d’you base it on?’

‘Months ago, me and O’Kelly watched Kirk and O’Keefe together at the Hero Parade. On Ponsonby Road. He was in his sneakers, you know, trying to look like a youth. We were in the car.’

‘Really.’

‘There was chemistry. You heard it here first.’

‘I think it’s Jack Dance.’

‘No. No chemistry. Wait until it’s born. When it’s a year old, you’ll know. One-year-olds look like their father. It’s a biological thing. In the animal kingdom. So the father doesn’t kill the kid.’

Eloise winced, put a hand up to her forehead.

Da Silva paused. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Headache. I get migraines.’

‘Oh. Are you driving?’

‘No, walking back to work. I’ll be fine.’

They parted on the corner, Da Silva walking away towards Central Police. Eloise saw a jagged silver flare just above the policewoman’s head, as if her blonde hair had burst into flames. Around her body were small, vivid black holes edged with light, the air fraying like a moth-eaten curtain.

The light effects stayed mild enough for her to reach the toy shop, where she wandered through the bright shelves. There was
Soon and
Starfish
merchandising everywhere, from Lego sets to lunch boxes to T-shirts. Blindly, she chose a large and expensive box of Lego.

‘Do you do gifting?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Do you do stuff wrapping up?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘God. Sorry.’ It affected her like this sometimes. ‘Do you do gift wrapping?’

She burst out of the shop carrying a box wrapped in festive blue paper decorated with a bow: some giant droid or Bionicle for little Iris Roysmith. It would probably take her weeks to assemble.

They had the air-conditioning turned up high in the stationery shop. Eloise lingered. The birthday cards were either sugary or frankly obscene; there were few for children. She picked the least awful, came out of the shelves. A tall man with black hair and a hawkish face turned away and headed for the door.

She went after him. ‘You’re following me.’

His face was tanned, his eyes small and very dark. His black hair was exceptionally thick and slicked back at the sides. Silver holes opened up and bloomed in the air around him. She rode out a wave of nausea.

His expression was open, confused. He shrugged. He had no idea what she was talking about.

She said loudly, ‘You were on the bus. A woman fell over on you, dropped her shopping.’

An assistant came out from behind the counter.

‘You were in Nick’s house, on the peninsula. I saw you.’

‘Excuse me. Wrong person.’

‘You’ve got a tattoo. It’s you. I’ve seen you. Show me your hand. Your
hand
.’

But his hands were in his pockets.

A voice behind her said, ‘Is there a problem?’

‘Wait,’ Eloise said.

But he had edged away from them and was gone.

She followed him outside without paying for the birthday card. No sign of him in the street. The assistant confronted her on the pavement, and she had to trudge back in to hand over the money.

Outside in the heat, the nausea rose. Around the back of the store, in the car park, she stood on tip-toe but the fountain came up higher and was unstoppable, a great gout of hot poison rose and rose …

She wiped her mouth, looking around the sun-struck car park. No one to see. No witnesses except the CCTV: the grainy figure slinking away from the shameful splat on the asphalt. Crossing screens, vanishing into the space between one line of sight and another. She was there, she was not. She was recorded, she was not. She could see, but she was also blind; the silver edges around the black holes were so intensely bright. Her vision breaking up, she managed two things: to text Scott (the word ‘migraine’ was enough — he would understand, he would be incredibly nice about it) and to get in a cab.

The taxi drove her to the peninsula. Standing outside the house was Nick. Upstairs, from the window, Silvio silently watched the dog park.