“Don’t know where it came from,” she said, trying her best to sound innocent.

  He opened-handed her across the face. “Liar.”

  She wiped blood from her lip.

  “Unlock it,” he growled, and handed the phone to her.

  She did and gave it back. There was nothing to find apart from a few coded text messages. They wouldn’t mean anything to him, and they looked like regular texts.

  “Who is this?” he asked, showing her the last text conversation. “Who were you talking to?”

  “A friend.”

  “Why doesn’t the friend have a name?”

  “New phone, I didn’t get a chance to add my contacts.”

  “I bet this friend will pay something,” he said with glee. “Probably not a friend, probably your husband.”

  Definitely not a friend, she thought. The only thing that contact will bring is death.

  He put the phone in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

  He marched her out of the room and into a corridor. Lights flickered as they passed them. She counted doorways. He stopped at the fourth and swung it open. He shoved her through the doorway. A dim light bulb in the middle of the room gave enough light for her to see a bed, an old school desk, and a broken chair. Tania took another few steps. The room swayed.

  “What did you do?” Her vision blurred along with her thoughts as she staggered.

  Chapter 17

  [Ronnie: Asking spirit.]

  Crockett trailed behind me as I climbed the stairs and turned down the corridor. He followed me to the meeting room. I swung the door open and ushered him in.

  “What is that smell?” he asked, as I closed the door behind us.

  “Candles,” I replied. I pointed to a chair by the credenza. “Have a seat while I set up. Just remember, open minds solve crimes.” I remembered when I first heard that phrase and how apt it was; still is.

  He froze, turned slowly to face me, his eyes seeking mine. “Who said that?”

  “I did,” I replied with a laugh. “No one else here, yet.”

  “No, Ronnie, someone else said that. Where did you hear it?”

  “I heard it years ago. I was working with a couple of Americans and a Russian down south,” I said. Crockett paled. “You all right?”

  “Course.” He sat heavily in the chair. “Who did you work with back then, when you heard that phrase?”

  I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Ronnie, it matters. Who were they?”

  “Mac Connelly and Sean O’Hare. They’re both deceased now.”

  “And the Russian?”

  “Misha Praskovya. He was drop dead gorgeous. His accent slayed me. Heard he was killed in an explosion in Europe somewhere, a number of years ago now.”

  “Fuck me,” Crockett said, shaking his head. “Fuck me.”

  I grinned. “No thanks.” His reaction spoke volumes. “You knew them?”

  His head shook and nodded in quick succession. He looked confused, then sad. I watched him as his expression snapped to surprise. Our world isn’t as big as people think, especially down here at the bottom of the world.

  “It’s a small world. We worked joint ops, and I did a joint op with those three,” I said. “You did know them, didn’t you?”

  “I knew Connelly’s wife, a little. I knew O’Hare, a bit. Never met the Russian, but I worked with people who knew him.”

  “Feels like there’s a big story there just simmering under the surface.” I smiled as I carried on setting the room up. “Hey, be useful, take down the smoke alarm for me?”

  Crockett did as I asked. Having a tall guy around was handy for some things. He placed it inside the credenza. Crockett began to relax and sat back down.

  “How does this work?” he asked. “Do I need to do anything?”

  “Just make yourself comfortable and you’ll see how it works in a minute.”

  I opened the window, lit the candles, and picked up my pendulum. With it held over the map, I said, “Spirit, I ask you to guide this pendulum and show me the truth. Locate Lissette Markova.”

  As if to answer, the right candle flickered, then straightened. The pendulum swung in broad slow circles. I focused on Lissette. And moved my hand slowly around the map. This time right to left, starting with Silverstream. The swings changed as I got nearer to her street. Over the part of her street that was where her house would be, the pendulum stopped and hung.

  “What does that mean?” Crockett asked, he was standing across from me. I hadn’t noticed him move.

  “Her energy was there,” I said. I moved my hand, and the circles grew. As I approached the retirement village the circles became smaller and tighter, then stopped. “Retirement village,” I said. I moved again, this time east toward the hills in small progressions. Big circles, small circles, and at the pub, then the vicinity of the movie theatre. I couldn’t get anything definite, but she was there at some stage.

  I increased the distance, carrying on toward the hills and over into the rural land beyond. Moving south the pendulum spun in large circles. As I reached Whitemans Valley, the swinging slowed and came to an abrupt stop in the middle of what looked like farmland.

  Trying again, moving my hand north, the swinging began. I continued north over the farms and open spaces then moved back. As soon as I reached the earlier spot, the pendulum stopped dead. It looked like a fairly big area to search. I couldn’t see anything on the map where someone could hide. No obvious buildings. I knew the map was two years old. No reason to assume there wasn’t a building, back then, or now. It was a map, not a satellite image. The area the pendulum pointed to was at least a kilometre from the nearest road.

  I thanked spirit and place the pendulum on the map. It rolled and stopped.

  “What does it mean?” Crockett asked, his gaze fixed on the motionless pendulum.

  “Spirit thinks she is over the hill in Whitemans Valley. Here-ish,” I said, placing my finger next to the point of the purple pendulum.

  “And what’s there?”

  “I have no idea. I hope it’s a structure of some sort.”

  “If it isn’t?”

  “Most likely a grave in that instance.”

  “We should go to the picture theatre and see if anyone recognises her,” he said.

  “Yes, we should, and see if we can work out how she got from Ward Street to Whitemans Valley, and why. Also, it would be handy to know what’s in there, and what we might possibly be walking into.”

  “Yeah.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was freaked out by my skill set, or if he took it in his stride and filed it under ‘weird shit that happens in New Zealand’, and I didn’t want to ask. As long as he appeared okay with it, I could ignore the niggling in my stomach that started as soon as I decided to share my skill.

  * * *

  There was a perfect park across the road from the movie theatre on Miro Street. We piled out of the car and entered the café which was the foyer of the cinema. In my peripheral, I caught Crockett scanning the interior for cameras. There weren’t any, so I knew he wouldn’t find one, but didn’t mention it. I was pleased my dowsing had paid off, and now Crockett might be receptive to my ways of working.

  The barista smiled and greeted us.

  “Could we grab a cappuccino and a …” I nudged Crockett who was next to me.

  “Flat white, thanks,” he added.

  “No problem.” She set about making the coffee.

  I took the opportunity to look around. A couple of people sat at a small table near the door, but no one else was obvious. Past the counter were more tables and a wide doorway that led to another seating area. A woman entered while we waited. She looked at me and smiled, then greeted the barista by name.

  Okay, so she’s a regular.

  The lady moved down the café to a table at the side. As I watched her move, I felt there was something familiar about her. The barista handed us our coffees, took the payment, and moved on to making another order without a second glance. Clearly, she was busy. I took my drink and decided to join the lady at the table. Time to see if I had met her before. Being a regular could be helpful to us.

  “Hello, I’m Ronnie Tracey. Have we met?” No sense in beating about the bush.

  The lady smiled. “Not directly, Ronnie. It’s nice to put a face to the name I hear a lot.”

  “Really?” Colour me surprised.

  “I know your Nana. I’m Pat.”

  That explained it then. But how did she look familiar to me? I rummaged about memories of Nana. Ah, I had it.

  “You were on the Wairarapa wine tasting trip with Nana, I saw the photos.”

  “Yes, what a marvellous time we had.”

  “Certainly looked like a great day out. Nana showed me the photos.” I smiled. “Do you live nearby, Pat? Seems like you’re a regular here. You don’t strike me as the retirement home type.”

  “Across the road,” Pat said. “What are you doing down this way? Thought you usually got your coffee at the Mayfair in town.”

  She knew Nana all right.

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  “Both of you?” Pat said, with a nod in Crockett’s direction. “Perhaps your friend would like to join us.”

  I smiled, “He does look a bit out place, and lonely standing over there.” I beckoned to Crockett. “Dave this is Pat, a friend of my Nana’s.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Pat,” Crockett said, placing our cups on the table then sitting next to me, taking up nearly all the space on my side of the small table. Men. Crockett spoke, “Hope you don’t mind us joining you for a minute.”

  “Not at all,” Pat said. “Ronnie said you are looking for someone?”

  Crockett showed Pat the photo of Tania Bateman.

  Pat took careful stock of the woman in the photo. “Monday afternoon. She was in here ordering a coffee and a slice of cake.”

  “Did she go to a movie?”

  “I’m not sure.” Pat looked past Crockett as the barista walked toward her carrying her coffee. “Thank you, Sarah.” She took the coffee from the barista. “You might know. The new woman on Monday afternoon … did she stay for a movie?”

  “Which woman?” Sarah asked.

  “Dark hair, squirrelly, fidgety almost.”

  “Ah, yes, coffee and carrot cake. She was here for about half an hour, then went somewhere else. She did come back for the evening session.”

  “I knew you’d know,” Pat said, with a smile at Sarah.

  “Was she with anyone?” Crockett asked.

  “Not when she came for coffee, but someone came in after her and went to the movie. I don’t know if they were together and couldn’t tell you where they sat in the theatre.”

  “Can you describe the person?”

  Sarah glanced at the queue forming by the counter. The other barista signalled for help.

  “Tall, male, with short brown hair, mid-thirties perhaps, tidy clothes. Nothing out of the ordinary.” She smiled apologetically. “Sorry. Not much help.”

  Sarah hurried back to her workstation. Pat, Crockett, and I sipped our coffees.

  “Sounds like you have a mystery on your hands,” Pat said. “Your Nana mentioned a garden intruder. Is this related?”

  “Might be,” I said. “It just might be.” I sipped my coffee and thought for a moment.

  Where did Bateman go? I hadn’t picked up anything apart from the movie theatre, retirement home, and the pub. It wouldn’t take very long to check out the retirement village, a quick walk around the outside was less than ten minutes. She wasn’t seen until midnight. Movies run two hours, maybe two hours thirty at the outside. She could’ve used the time between coffee and the movie to do a reccy, she certainly didn’t enter the buildings. Margot would’ve seen her and challenged her reason for being there, and by the time the movie finished the main doors to the village reception would’ve been locked. Where was she between the movie and the midnight sighting? I thought about how long it would take her to walk back to her makeshift camp. There wouldn’t be much time left from three-quarters of an hour.

  “Enjoy your coffee, Pat, we’ve got to get going,” Crockett said, as he nudged me to stand.

  “Very nice to meet you,” Pat said. “No doubt I’ll catch up with your Nana soon, Ronnie. Take care.”

  Back in the car, I was still thinking about where Bateman was before being seen at the village. I drove back toward Ward Street. On the right-hand side at the corner was a playground. A path cut through the green space to Ward Street, from Miro Street. There was a building set back from the playground, and large trees on the corner. She could’ve hung out near the building or under the trees. It was close enough to the movie theatre that spirit might not narrow right in. I kept that in mind. Or she could’ve gone left and found somewhere to wait at Heretaunga College. That would make more sense because it was closer to the retirement village. She wouldn’t be out on the street for long if she was keeping a low profile. Which she seemed to be.

  Was the college close enough to the pub to confuse spirit? Yes, it was.

  But why stay outside lurking in college grounds with a perfectly good pub right there? Quinn’s Post was right next to the retirement village. I’d go to the pub. I believed the pendulum said she went to the pub.

  “She went to the pub?” I said, turning left and driving up Ward Street.

  “I’d go to the pub,” said Crockett. “That thing you do, showed us the pub.”

  That thing I do, did indeed show us the pub. I smiled.

  “I don’t doubt you’d go to the pub,” I replied, and turned into the Quinn’s Post car park. Wonder how busy the pub is on a Monday night? I couldn’t imagine it being a full house. “It’s handy, it’d be open then, and it’d be more comfortable than lurking in a park or school.”

  “She didn’t use her credit card,” he said. “But when you did your thing, it definitely looked like she came to the pub.”

  “Dowsing, Crockett, my thing is called dowsing.” I still had a smile on my lips. At least he wasn’t being a closed-minded dick about it.

  “When you used your dowsing talent it really looked like she was at the pub.” He looked at me for a beat. “How big a margin of error is there?”

  “That depends on the energy field. She might not have gone into the pub. She could’ve lurked near the pub and the retirement village. She could’ve holed up in the garden, because physically the pub and the village are close to each other.”

  “If she went to the pub, she didn’t use a credit card,” Crockett said, as if to jog my memory to his earlier comment.

  “She didn’t use the two we know about. And she had cash in her bag. Maybe she took some of that with her,” I said. “And yeah, I think she was here.”

  “Good point. If she had cash, why did she use that credit card at all?”

  I didn’t have a decent answer for that question or maybe I did. Words formed. “Because she didn’t think anyone would trace it to her.” And no one would’ve if she hadn’t used the bookshop as a dead drop. “Or, because her ability to get more cash is limited.” I leaned my head back on the headrest. “Whoever she was passing information to, used the bookshop as a dead drop. That means if they didn’t get the information, and we have it, they do not …”

  “Not necessarily. Playing devil’s advocate here. What if it was left for her? The thumb drive I mean. What if she was told to go to the bookshop after the last phone call she made,” Crockett said. “That piece of paper I found there was another part of the dead drop puzzle. Now we know what the words on it mean, it could’ve been left for her as instructions on where to leave the device. She left it, but not where the coordinates said.”

  I guess she could’ve been given the USB by someone and not taken the information from TechSynth, but why would TechSynth be looking for her if she hadn’t stolen intelligence from them? And why did TechSynth have that intel, or did they?

  “Good points,” I said, keeping the rest of my thoughts to myself.

  “Emily saw the person who left that note in the bookshop. She saw them, even if she doesn’t remember seeing them, or doesn’t know what they did,” Crockett sat up straight. “She writes notes about everyone who comes through those doors in her diary.”

  Then her diary contains valuable intelligence and if anyone else knew that, she could be in danger. Whoever was supposed to pick up the device that we now have, is probably not a friendly, and could look to retrace Bateman’s steps.

  “We need to protect that intel and Emily,” I said.

  “Then we need to get tooled up.”

  I nodded toward the pub. “Let’s go in there and see if anyone remembers Bateman first.” May as well, we were already here. And I really wanted someone to prove me right so Crockett would be receptive to acting on my information alone should it come to that. I grabbed my bag, removed my wallet, and looked through a selection of business cards. Who am I going to be tonight? No one. I chose a card that simply had my company name and the words ‘Private Investigator’ followed by the phone number we reserve for this particular card. We have a few cards. This one is the preference if we don’t really want to give our names and numbers.

  We walked through the doors into a more spacious area than I remembered. It’d been a long time since I’d visited Quinn’s Post. It wasn’t just a bar. It was a restaurant. I went to the nearest till with a photo of Tania Bateman on my phone screen.

  “Hi, have you seen this woman?” I held the phone up to the girl behind the till.

  “No,” she shook her head. “Charlie might have.” She turned and called out over her shoulder for Charlie.

  “She was in on Monday night,” I said.

  “I don’t work Monday nights. I knocked off about six, but Charlie was here with a couple of casuals.”

  A brawny looking bloke with tattoos of frogs up his right forearm, sauntered through a door behind the girl. He looked like a Charlie or maybe a Wally. He did not look like the description from the barista at the café. “How can I help?”

 

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