Hugh Kennedy buzzed every apartment at the Mt Wellington complex until someone finally opened the gate for him.
He made his way towards the ground floor apartment in the far corner, bypassing the swimming pool and paved outdoors area that the complex was built around. It was just gone 8am and he guessed most people were at work already.
Kennedy eyed his surroundings with disdain; the place was like some kind of 70’s swinger joint full of easy women and hairy chested Lotharios with gold chains and too-tight shorts. Just the sort of place he’d expect a rodent like Mike Manning to live. The man was a dinosaur.
Kennedy reached the last door and paused, feeling a flutter in his gut. Pushing it aside, he jabbed the doorbell with a bony finger. He heard it buzz inside and waited.
Hearing no sound from within, he buzzed again. Still nothing. Kennedy turned to go but saw two figures appear from the walkway to the car park. Both wore sports gear and carried gym bags. One was Mike Manning, the other a much smaller female. Kennedy knew her name was Sarah and that she was a twenty four year old flight attendant with an apartment upstairs. She had been spending a lot of time with Manning lately. Kennedy knew all this because he made it a point to know things about Manning and Crowley.
Even at this distance Kennedy could tell she was attractive. Manning certainly seemed to think so-he gave her a kiss on the mouth and a pat on the butt as they parted ways. Kennedy saw her spot him and pause to say something, then Manning looked over. His face darkened and he said something to the girl. She sauntered off across the complex, a blonde ponytail swinging from the back of her cap. She had toned legs and a lithe figure.
Kennedy watched her start up the stairs to the second floor, then turned back, flinching involuntarily.
Manning stood in front of him, a scowl on his face. His singlet was sweat stained and his arms were pumped.
‘Get a good eyeful, did ya?’ he growled.
‘I hear you can’t keep your nose clean,’ Kennedy replied. ‘Had a little car trouble have you?’
‘Huh.’ Manning grunted. ‘Nothin’ to do with you, is it?’
‘I like to make some things my business.’
Manning glowered at him and leaned forward, their faces barely an inch apart. ‘Stay outta my life, you little weasel.’
‘Just remember,’ Kennedy said, taking a step back, ‘making a false complaint is a crime. So is a false insurance report.’ He nodded as coolly as he could manage. ‘Just remember that.’
‘Yeah?’ If it was possible, Manning’s face got darker. ‘Well so’s harassment, you spineless little moron. So take a hike before I ring the real cops.’
Kennedy couldn’t help but step further away, and his Adam’s apple bobbed like a cork on the ocean. He forced a weak smirk to his lips.
‘Don’t panic,’ he said, ‘I’m just giving you some prevention advice. I’d hate to see you put your career and liberty at risk.’
Manning gave a derisive snort and turned towards his apartment. ‘You come and make slanderous suggestions like that to me again, Kennedy, and you’ll be putting your health at risk.’
He let himself in and shut the door.
Kennedy glared at the door for a moment before he felt eyes on him. He turned and saw the girl watching him from the upstairs walkway. She saw him looking and gave a smirk.
Kennedy felt his cheeks redden and the butterflies got worse. He put his head down and headed for the exit.
Chase Investigations got a slight discount for insuring their vehicles with Mutual Insurance, and Molly had been dreading reporting the Subaru crash to Julie.
The Vectra was being written off, with the chassis bent so badly it would cost more to fix than replace, and she knew Julie’s nerves would be shot with two claims from them in one week.
She paused before sending the email about Mike’s Subaru, sipping some green tea to fortify herself. Putting the cup down, she took a deep breath and hit Send.
It was as she sat contemplating Julie’s likely reaction that her eyes fell to the open folder on her desk. It contained printouts of all the info she’d found online for Callum Hepworth. It didn’t make for pretty reading, and as she scanned it again she realised she hadn’t done the corresponding checks on Callum’s wife, Karen.
Putting the tea cup down, she set to work. No doubt Julie would be on the blower shortly having kittens, so she had to work fast.
As Dan got older he noticed he got more injuries and they took longer to heal.
Sick of physio’s and chiropractors not being able to fix his growing list of aches and pains, he’d recently got onto a Chinese acupuncture clinic and was a convert to Eastern medicine. He was just leaving an intense session when his pocket began ringing.
Moving tenderly and feeling like a pin cushion, he dug the phone out. It was Molly, chattering excitedly down the line. He listened silently as he made his way back to her VW Golf. Once she paused for breath, he got a couple of questions in. Satisfied with what she told him, he disconnected and fired up the VW. Mike was right about the little black car-it wasn’t particularly masculine.
But it would be fine for a little surveillance.
Fifteen minutes later he was parked down the road from Callum and Karen Hepworth’s house, binoculars and camera concealed beneath a sweater on the passenger seat and a notebook and pen close at hand. He had a tablet open on his lap and his cover story in place.
Karen’s Porsche was in the drive and Molly had made a hoax call to work to confirm that Callum was in today. Dan settled in for a long wait, his body aching and the radio tuned to The Sound for some classic rock. Despite what he’d said to Mike over dinner, he still didn’t fully trust Stacey Burns and something was nagging at the back of his brain, refusing to let go.
Why would she lie about which gym she belonged to?
He couldn’t figure what she would gain from such a simple lie. It didn’t make sense at all. And if she was prepared to lie about that, what else would she lie about? How much of the whole case was based upon lies?
It bugged him that there was an unknown there. Dan didn’t like being played for a fool.
He brooded as he sat and watched the Hepworth house. Being Mission Bay he fully expected a nosey neighbour to rumble him, so it could be a short surveillance.
Karen surprised him though, and forty five minutes later he was following her through Kohimarama into Meadowbank. The multi-million dollar houses were soon behind them as they dropped down into working class Glen Innes. The puke-green Porsche was easy to keep tabs on and Dan sat back, trailing it into the heart of GI. The European saloons and SUVs of Mission Bay were replaced by utes and early model Jappers and V8s.
Dan’s curiosity was well and truly pricked now. Only property developers and drug dealers drove a Porsche in GI. Dan was pretty confident that Karen Hepworth was not a property developer. He dropped back and pulled to the kerb as the Porsche rolled into a residential street. He watched as she turned into the drive of a weatherboard state house on an unfenced section. She showed no hesitation and he could tell she was familiar with the address.
Karen got out and trotted round the back of the house. Dan waited. Four minutes later she was back, carrying a plastic flavoured-milk bottle. She got into the Porsche, backed out and came back towards him. She turned right and headed away. Dan grabbed the camera and quickly snapped the address before picking up the tail again.
Karen had a lead foot and he had to work for his money to keep tabs on her as she made her way from GI to neighbouring Panmure. She pulled in to the kerb outside a block of rundown flats that reminded Dan of the old Soviet Bloc. He pulled up short and watched her take her milk bottle up the stairs to a flat in the middle of the top row. She knocked and was let in. Dan snapped some quick shots of the flat. Three minutes later she was out again, trotting back to the Porsche with her hands in her pockets. No bottle in sight. Dan saw the net curtain beside the door twitch in the flat she’d just left and waited while she pulled out and accelerated away.
He gave her a ten second head start then followed, hoping it was long enough that he didn’t get burned by whoever may have been watching.
As he followed her his suspicions got stronger and stronger until they were practically screaming in his ear. She crossed the Waipuna bridge and entered Pakuranga, making her way to the shopping centre and dropping the Porsche in the car park. Dan slotted in a few rows away and paused just long enough for a quick costume change. He pulled a blue hoody on over his T-shirt and added a grey baseball cap before picking the surveillance up on foot.
Karen had already got into the plaza and was entering a sports bar when Dan spotted her. He saw the TAB advertising on the main plate glass window and his suspicions were confirmed. He positioned himself at a nearby bench seat beside an old guy who was clearly waiting for his wife to finish her shopping. Or maybe for God to call his number. Either way he was half asleep and paid no attention as Dan pretended to be texting while he sat. Through the main window he surreptitiously watched Karen take a wad of cash from her pocket and complete a transaction with a young guy at the betting counter. Their body language told him everything he needed to know; either they’d been intimate, were currently being intimate, or soon would be.
He managed to snap a few photos on his phone before she came out and walked further into the plaza.
Dan gave her a head start before starting to get up.
‘Just call it off,’ came a tired old voice.
He turned and looked quizzically at the old codger beside him. The guy had one watery blue eye half open now and was watching him, looking somewhat bemused.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I said just call it off now,’ the old boy said. ‘You’re both young, just let it go. If you’re having to try and keep a track on her already, it ain’t worth it.’
Dan felt himself starting to smile and tried to hide it. Burned by a half-blind octogenarian. ‘Thanks,’ he said, nodding sagely. ‘You’re probably right.’
‘Trust me,’ the old boy said. ‘I’ve been married five times. You gotta know when to call it a day.’
‘Wise words,’ Dan said, ‘thanks.’
‘Although,’ the old boy said, looking him up and down. ‘You’ve kinda let yourself go, haven’t you? A lotta men do when they hit forty.’
Dan physically stepped back and bit his tongue.
‘And that moustache?’ The old codger screwed up his nose. ‘Lose it. It’s not 1985 anymore, son. It makes you look like a gigolo.’
Now Dan couldn’t hide his grin. He patted the old codger on the shoulder as he started after Karen’s disappearing back.
‘Great talk, Yoda,’ he said, ‘I’ll take it on board.’
The old boy watched him hurry away and shook his head to himself. ‘Dick head,’ he muttered.