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On the same day that Kezia challenged Bannister, Louise was casually checking her Facebook page, which she had not done for some time. Suddenly she stopped, appalled. She could not believe what she was seeing. There was a side-on photograph of her and Youssef as he entered the house. Louise was smiling, inviting him in. Leaning forward, she was unaware that her blouse had opened and was exposing a complete cup of her bra.
The caption read, “Can’t wait!”
The second post showed Youssef with Kezia. They were walking hand in hand, along a tree-lined street. Louise had seen Kezia’s fondness for Youssef. She was pleased for her daughter as Youssef was a nice young man, good looking and well-mannered. Louise felt that Kezia was safe with him.
Just behind the couple was a sign reading ‘MOTEL’. It was an unfortunate juxtaposition of the young couple and the sign. It made it look as if Kezia and Youssef were leaving the motel. Had they been there for sex? The looks on their faces could be read that way. Louise would have to ask Kezia about sex. She was still too young but old enough.
Underneath the picture the caption read “First the mother, then the daughter. Arabs go home!” The implication was clear: Youssef was being maligned in a racist way. Come to think of it, She and Kezia were also being maligned.
Louise read the comments.
“Send the bastards home!” “Arabs not welcome here!” “Leave our women alone!” “Old or young, doesn’t matter to them.” “Shoot the buggers!” were some of the milder comments. Although a long time ago, the cruel deaths of so many through the destruction of the Twin Towers in the USA still brought forward a hatred of the terrorists which transferred to all of the same race or appearance.
Louise thought she would wait for Kezia. She would know how to get offensive material removed. Louise scrolled down a little further. There was a picture of Youssef working in the garden. On the clothesline behind him was Kezia’s underwear, hung out to dry: a week’s load of panties, three bras, a filmy nightie (where did that come from?) some blouses and Tee shirts and three pairs of jeans.
Underneath was the caption, ‘Did you know your gardener goes through your undies?”.
Louise was at once ashamed and angry. Kezia should not leave her laundry a full week. Louise washed every second day, usually by hand, and hung her personal items on the heated towel rail in her en suite. Kezia didn’t seem to care who saw what.
When Kezia came home, Louise was in a state of agitation. Although she had rehearsed in her mind the conversation she wanted to have, starting with ‘A funny thing happened when I read my Facebook posts’ she lost the plot when the time came.
“Are you and Youssef having sex?” asked Louis without preamble.
Kezia was taken aback but was quick to respond. “Not yet,” she said. “But I might if he wants to.”
Louise was taken aback. With her upbringing in a Catholic primary school, she held many things as personal and not to be shared, even with a husband. It had taken all her courage to blurt out the matter of sexual activity with Kezia.
“Have you seen a doctor? About contraception?”
“No,” Kezia rejoined. “That would be begging the question. What’s wrong Mum?”
Kezia held her arms wide to give her mother a hug.
‘God, she’s so skinny,’ thought Kezia. ‘How does she keep going?’ Out loud she asked, “Mum, what are you so upset about?”
Louise explained about the Facebook postings.
“Mum, you shouldn’t worry. The police will trace them. What was the name of the person posting?” Kezia still held her mother in her arms. Louise began to relax, pleased to be able to share with her daughter.
“They might still be traceable,” said Kezia. “Hang on. I’ll check with my laptop.”
The posts were still there, on Kezia’s screen.
“That’s nothing compared with what the kids at school do,” said Kezia. “Ultor. It’s ben posted by someone called Ultor. What does that mean? Is it Latin? Why don’t you call Father Larkin?”
Raymond Larkin was not dressed as a priest when Louise’s call came through. He was in what he would have called his gardening clothes. Again, Louise gabbled her story until Father Larkin interrupted her.
“Louise, slow down,” said Father Larkin. “What has upset you so much?”
Louise took a deep breath and began again. She told him about the posts on Facebook, and asked what Ultor meant.
“I’ll be round immediately,” said Father Larkin. “Louise, you have people around who love and respect you. Please stay calm.”
He was as good as his word. Within five minutes his car drew up outside Louise’s house. He was wearing shorts and an open neck shirt. He looked like any other fit young man. He actually looked more handsome dressed casually.
“Good morning Father,” said Louise. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Good morning Louise. How are you today? Firstly, tell me what has distressed you, my dear,” said Father Larkin, who was younger than Louise but called all women ‘my dear’.
Kezia opened her laptop to show Father Larkin the Facebook posts.
“May the Good Lord forgive them their trespasses,” said Father Larkin. “Louise, they have trespassed, not you. Someone wishes to hurt you, to upset you. ‘Ultor’ means avenger. Who wants revenge for something they think you have done?”
Louise had no idea. She thought she was well-regarded and had offended no-one. She thought silently, her mouth open and her eyes screwed shut. Finally she said, “I can’t think of anyone.”
Kezia had left her mother and the priest alone so that they could talk. She had sent a text message to PC Smith. While Father Larkin and Louise were talking, PC Smith’s car pulled up.
“Kezia, what’s happened?” he asked.
“Come inside,” said Kezia. “You know I said about racism and Youssef Al Tuma, well, you said call me if there are repercussions. Look.”
She pointed at the laptop on the table.
“Good God, it didn’t take them long, did it,” said PC Smith, “What does ‘Ultor’ mean?”
Kezia had checked by Googling the term. She held up her phone. “Avenger.”
“Doesn’t really fit, does it?” asked PC Smith. “Not the Wilsons, anyway.”
“I asked Mum to call Father Larkin,” she said. “She is so fragile at the moment I thought he might help. Mum and my Step Dad have problems.”
Bernard Smith knew about the incidents that had been dogging Louise’s life. Off the record, he also knew that Louise had been a victim of a sex attack. He wondered for a moment if Kezia knew also but came to the conclusion that she did not. The priest seemed protective and supportive. He had arrived so quickly that he must have been concerned for Louise, ready to answer her call if she needed him.
“I should ask her when the priest has gone,” said PC Smith. “My job is to track the source. His is to give compassionate support.”
“He does that, he really does,” said Kezia. “Sometimes I wonder what Mum would be like if she didn’t have Father Larkin. Mr Smith, I think this is about Youssef. What about the Wilsons? Are they trying to get revenge for my report to the Race Relations Board?”
“Are you going to be a cop when you leave school?” asked PC Smith.
“Maybe,” said Kezia. “Youssef wants to be a vet, so I might train with him. But I’ve always wanted to be a forensic scientist.”
“Go to university first,” said PC Smith softly. “Instant pathway to promotion. I’ll get some info for you if you like.”
Kezia’s eyes filled with tears at his kindness, at the same time hating herself for what she perceived as her weakness, dissolving into tears. PC Smith reached for her hand. Kezia thought it strange for a policeman to hold a girl’s hand but she found it comforting.
“It’s alright, Kezia,” he said. “You’ve been very brave; you’ve fought dragons today, and won. I saw you and now this is a reaction to the stress. I’ll get hold of Facebook and then see the Wilsons. I’ll check David Bannister as well, after today’s effort. Maybe one day you’ll tell me what really happened between him and you?”
“I made a promise,” said Kezia. “I can’t say anything. Not yet, anyway.”
“As long as you are not hurt or compromised I’ll let you keep your promise,” said PC Smith. “Hang on a minute. These posts were made on your laptop, Kezia. Who has had access to your computer?”
“It stays in my bedroom. I guess Frank, Alexander but he can’t take photos. Mum. Or anyone who knows Mum hides the house key in plain sight.”
“I’ll go across the road and talk to the Maori lady there,” said Bernard. “She might have seen someone.”
PC Bernard Smith took the laptop with him and went across to Mrs Hohepa’s.
As PC Smith left, Father Larkin came into the lounge with Louise.
“Who was that who just left?” asked Louise.
“PC Smith,” said Kezia. “I called the police about Facebook.”
“How on Earth did you get help so quickly?” asked Father Larkin.
“You have your hotline, Father, I have mine,” Kezia joked.
“Kezia!” said Louise. “Manners!”
“It’s all right, Louise,” said Father Larkin. “Remember, what I told you, sticks and stones and all that.”
Alexander rushed up the path as Father Larkin was leaving.
“Hello Father,” said Alexander, stopping his mad rush just before crashing into the priest. Father Larkin rubbed Alexander’s hair and said, “Blessings, my boy.” He got into his car and drove off.
“Don’t tell Frank,” said Louise after Alexander had eaten his sandwich and left. “Oh, Kezia. What would I do without you?”
Kezia wondered that, too. Since the party Louise had been very depressed, crying at times when she thought she was alone, snapping and growling at them all. Kezia put the pieces together. First Louise was upset over something at the party, she went to church even though she had been up all night, the priest was calling in regularly, and men were calling on her in the afternoons, according to Mrs Hohepa. Louise was upset and distant from Frank. She was absent minded, unwell, feeling sick. My God, was she pregnant? From the party?
No, Kezia had seen that Louise had her regular monthly periods. It wasn’t that. But she was very hard to live with, and Kezia had to help- her along and buddy up to her all the time. What would Louise do without her?
Just up the street a little, Stuart Larcombe was watching Louise’s house from the comfort of his Mercedes, while in the garden next door, Charlotte was studying the photographs she had taken of Louise’s distressed state. Across the road, Bernard was asking Mrs Hohepa if she had seen anyone enter Louise’s property.
“Yes, the tall skinny man, young, like the Syrian boy but with long blond hair,” said Mrs Hohepa. “He got the key out of the front garden. He always wears black, one of those hood things pulled up over his head. See him quite a lot. Like bees round a honey pot, boys are for Kezia now she’s losing her puppy fat. She’s quite pretty now, isn’t she Officer? Don’t you think so?”
Mrs Hohepa’s description was not helpful. PC Bernard Smith could ask colleagues to keep an eye out for a tall young man dressed in a black hoodie, in black trousers. He suspected his colleagues would fall about laughing, or turn up with two hundred suspects.
As far as Mrs Hohepa’s comment was concerned, Bernard liked Kezia for what she was, an honest young woman with a determined character. He also thought she was becoming an attractive woman. He thanked Mrs Hohepa for her neighbourly concern and drove back to the office. Perhaps the Sergeant would send a car around occasionally as this stalking thing seemed to be heating up.