The door of the office slammed shut, startling her. Benson turned to Jeanie.
‘Fulton’s gone.’ He walked towards the door, peering out. ‘You don’t need him. I was a witness to the whole thing.’
The police and ambulance arrived within minutes of the call. Jeanie and Benson were ushered out of the room where Pete’s body lay. Jeanie took one last glance. She felt the tidal wave of emotions starting to recede. The events of the past half hour had contributed only a portion, the part that forms the visible icy peak that shows over the ocean waves; the iceberg beneath is what it’s all about. In amongst the horror, something akin to pity arose within her. Pete had been a flawed individual. Talented in the ways of business and generally intelligent, but defective as a human being.
While great activity swirled around her, she pulled the welcome blanket of numbness about herself and retreated within. It was as if she were studying the scene unfolding from a position once removed, as if she were watching a movie. Detectives arrived as well as the police surgeon. The original police officers were on their radios about Neil. A constable asked Jeanie for a description of Neil’s car.
‘Grey. Big. Some sort of insignia on the front?’ she said slowly, knowing her description was inadequate.
Benson filled in. ‘Late model Mercedes C-200, I think. Grey, as the lady said. Tinted back windows. License plate is P, C, 4, R, E.’ He spelled it out.
‘Thanks, Sarge,’ the constable who was writing it all down said to Benson. ‘Long time no-see. What’s your involvement with all this?’
‘Part of my private work.’
‘Who’s the vic?’
‘Australian. Name of Peter Connor. He was my client. I was tracking down his wife. This lady here is Mrs Connor.’
‘So it was a domestic?’
‘That went badly wrong, as you can see,’ Benson said, his voice cool.
Jeanie stared vacantly at the detective, fingering the raw skin on her neck. ‘We’d separated. I’d left him. Some time ago. I thought I had removed myself far enough away that he couldn’t find me.’
The two men glanced at each other.
‘No one can’t be tracked down,’ Benson said. ‘Connor did the right thing in contacting me. I have a good record in turning up missing wives, or husbands for that matter.’
Jeanie just shook her head. Tears were not far away. One of her hands picked at the dried blood on the other hand. She was so very tired. Exhausted.
His voice softened. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Connor. Just doing my job.’
‘Can you put it all in the report?’ the constable asked Benson.
Jeanie was also asked to make a statement, verbal at first. She rallied whatever strength she could and told the policeman that Peter Connor was her estranged husband and she was in hiding from him, using the pseudonym of Beth Rhodes. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year until this incident. He had attacked her and her hand had used the rock paperweight defensively.
She had not meant to kill him. She was being truthful. He was choking her and that was a scene revisited that could only lead to her death, only this time it was happening to Jeanie and not Jeanette. Her hand had reacted automatically.
She intended signing it “Jean Browne” once it was typed up, which reminded her that it would be wise to ring Bert for some lawyerly advice.
He came immediately. ‘Your statement is fine. Truthful but not going into details they are not asking for. Just answer their questions and always tell the truth. Economically. No one is going to fault you for clobbering him.’ He took a long look at her neck. She knew what he would be seeing. She’d been there before, after all. She wanted to bury her face in his shoulder and hide from the world at that moment. ‘Besides, there shouldn’t be any question it was self-defence.’
She nodded, her eyes still fixed on her blood-stained hands.
‘Have they tracked Neil down yet?’
Bert’s question surprised her. ‘Why?’ she asked. She’d ceased thinking about Neil.
‘It’s interesting he’s scarpered, that’s all. Most likely nothing to do with you.’
She shook her head at what he was saying; it was trivial in comparison to what had just occurred. The tears that had threatened finally spilled over.
‘Sorry’, she said, wiping her eyes. ‘I’m not crying over Pete. Never. Just the whole thing. Such a waste.’ She didn’t explain the word “waste” covered the last twenty-five years. All to come to this. Except for Beau. Dear Beau. She pulled herself away from Bert and straightened her spine. ‘When can I go home? I must ring my son. His son.’
‘After you’ve been processed by the police. I’ll stay with you, okay?’
Jeanie came off the phone and turned to the two men sitting in Kitty’s living room.
‘Beau. My son. He’s coming over. He says he’ll catch the first plane he can. He’s a bit shocked, of course, but not surprised. He said he was afraid this would happen. Violence and someone killed. His worst nightmare was that it could have been me.’ She was actually astounded. He was unquestionably relieved it was his father not her.
‘Connor was a volatile man,’ Benson said. ‘My fault. I didn’t quite realize how out of control he could become or I would never have taken on the job. Certainly not brought him with me when we confronted you. And you say he was always explosive?’
‘Always,’ Jeanie said firmly. ‘But much worse lately, so my son says.’
Bert leaned forward in his chair towards Benson. ‘How did you trace Jeanie here?’
‘Not too difficult,’ the other man said. ‘We had her assumed name because she had written a letter to her son. She gave a post office box number in Auckland as her return address. One of the common reasons for people using a PO box is when they have a business. I searched the business registry data base and found a Rhodes in a new entry with the same post office box number. Business registration requires a physical address and that led me to a unit in Northcote near the post office. The new tenants there had been given a forwarding address if any mail came for either Rhodes or Dunford. That brought me here to Hamilton.’ Jeanie picked a slight sense of triumph in his voice.
‘I knew someone was watching me.’ She felt fragile. Violated in some way. ‘Little things just added up. From the dog barking to a sense someone had been in the house.’
‘Inside the house?’ Bert’s voice was sharp.
‘Why, I would never do anything illegal, sir.’ Benson said and raised an eyebrow eloquently.
Jeanie nodded. ‘I caught sight of you that night I dropped into the supermarket and I watched you drive past the house later.’
‘Bad surveillance. Should never have turned down this street.’ He was vindicating her worries.
‘What was that guy Fulton yelling about when I came in? Him grabbing you, all that?’ Benson asked Jeanie.
‘Misinterpreting. He thought you were there about the business. About PeopleCare,’ she said tonelessly.
‘I’m in the process of getting the auditors in,’ Bert said. It stopped the conversation. Jeanie and Benson turned to him. ‘I’m the executor of his late partner’s will and trust fund, and the temporary administrator of PeopleCare. Things need sorting out and Neil Fulton has kept me out of the loop. My guess is he knew the situation was getting pretty shaky on the legal front.’
‘Fraud?’ Benson asked. In reply, Bert grimaced and Benson nodded. ‘So that’s why he didn’t want me to call the police.’
‘And this mess. Not murder. But manslaughter? What do you think?’ Bert asked Benson.
‘Not murder, not manslaughter either if I have any influence,’ he said. ‘It’s a clear case of justifiable homicide if I ever saw one.’
Jeanie wasn’t listening. It was all over. This time she’d really killed Pete; he was dead. And she’d pay whatever penalty willingly. There was much needed doing in her future, wherever it took her. Her relationship with Beau in particular. Bert too.
In her mind’s eye, she watched the slow darkening of the landscape. Yellows to oranges, pinks to reds, the muting of that soft rural land where horses graze and time stands still. Darkness was coming but with it, the promise of a new morning.