Jo
McGahey : Stalker
Jo McGahey was a country kid, running wild, barefoot and almost unschooled until, aged eight, she was captured, shod, and sent to boarding school in Brisbane. Later she trained as a nurse (for that read low-paid slave) then she was an army wife, which at times necessitated moving almost annually.
An omnivorous, even voracious reader, usually having up to four books on the go at once, Jo has no favourite author and will read, or try to read, almost anything. She is partial to stories with a twist (even a sting) in the tail. Jo loves to travel... as often and as far as time and money will allow. In 1996 Jo gave up nursing to concentrate on writing and has worked solidly completing one novel and writing another (sadly so far both unpublished).
She has written many short stories and poetry (some published) Jo has also written plays for radio and TV. In the last year four of her play(ette)s have been broadcast on ABC Radio. Over the years Jo has had some small successes in various competitions. Last year she received first prize from Oxford University Press (Australian Division, located at the Dictionary Centre ANU) for an alternative National Anthem. Jo's short stories were commended in the Henry Lawson Awards in 2000 and again in 2001. The Fellowship of Australian Writers also commended her for a short story this year. Jo is a member of Sisters in Crime in St Kilda Victoria and The NSW Writers' Centre at Rozelle NSW. She is also a member of two writers' workshops and is currently researching a work of 'non-fiction,' "Ghosts of the Australian Armed Services ."
Merrin Shannon kept the chain on as she opened the door. She looked
nervous - frightened.
"Yes?"
"I'm Clark O'Byrne - from O'Byrne and Gordon." I waved my ID.
"You wanted to talk about a stalker?"
"You're a woman?"
My eyes dropped to my crotch. "When last I checked."
It was my standard quip. I've been using it for a long time.
She looked suitably embarrassed.
When I was about twelve I gave up cursing Mum for naming me after some
ancient movie star with a moustache - gave up on the embarrassment - on
the explanations and went on the offensive. I started making smart
remarks. I had a whole repertoire. Some were pretty rude. Most were
guaranteed to disconcert. My teachers always said my mouth would get me
into trouble one day. They weren't wrong. But it wasn't one day - it was
most days.
"I expected a man. A detective."
"So you didn't get man but you did get a detective."
"Yes. But....."
"Look anything a bloke can do I can do better."
"Oh I didn't mean..."
She was really starting to irritate me. I can't stand dithery women.
"Detective work is not gender-specific."
"I'm sure it isn't...."
"Are we going to stand here all day?" I asked. One more dither and I was
off.
"I guess you'd better come in."
Merrin unlatched the chain. She was obviously disappointed. I was
again reminded of the truism, that for a woman to succeed in a man's job,
she'd better be twice as good at it. And then I smiled as I further
reflected that I'd never found that too difficult. But what could often be
difficult was convincing the client - so I launched into my 'convince the
client' routine.
"Remember the Marchfield murders last October?"
"Yes. They were in all the papers."
"Our firm cracked that and I handled the case."
"I thought the police..."
"The police had almost given up. The first victim's family called us in."
"I see."
"And the New Beach shark business - with the woman's leg in its stomach."
Merrin shuddered, but she looked at me with new respect.
I took out my notebook. I had the job.
"Now tell me about this stalker."
"It's more of a feeling really. I can sense a presence -
someone watching me."
I kept an interested professional look on my face but I was
thinking, single woman, late thirties, lives alone, wants attention.
Perfect recipe for a make-believe stalker.
"You said on the answer-phone that you'd been to the police."
"Yes. But I don't think they believed me." She was all dithery
again. "They said they'd need some real evidence - that feelings weren't
enough."
"Quite frankly I'd like a bit more evidence too. "
"It was about six weeks ago. It was a Saturday morning. I was in
the newsagent's. I could feel these eyes boring into the back of my neck."
"Did you turn around?"
"No.
"Why?"
"I was embarrassed."
I wasn't feeling too good about this case because I didn't think
there was one, but I swallowed my impatience and persisted. O'Byrne and
Gordon needed every client they could snaffle. We'd only been in business
three years and the firm had a hefty mortgage.
"Okay. When did you sense someone following you again?"
"Later in the drycleaners."
"Same feeling?"
"Yes."
"Eyes boring into the back of the neck?"
"Yes. And in the butcher's too."
"You didn't see anyone staring?"
"No."
"Did you see anyone at all? Someone who was in all three places?"
"No. Except I was so frightened."
"Is there anything else? Letters? phone calls? someone who hates
you?" I was getting desperate. We really needed this case but I was going
to have to let it go. There was nothing to support this ditsy bird and her
'boring through the back of the neck' stuff. She was washing her hands
again. I was sure she'd done that only a minute earlier. She dried them on
a paper towel and I noticed they were red and raw looking.
"Alison Robb, next door, she believes me."
"Let's go and see her." I jumped up.
"She works until ten. She's a nurse."
"Give me her phone number." I was running out of patience.
She fussed around and finally wrote the number on a scrap of paper
towel. Then she washed her hands again.
"I'll ring her later. I'd better be off now." I made for the
door.
"You must want a deposit or something? A retainer isn't it
called?" Now she was writing in a cheque book. "I insist you take
something for your trouble. Will a thousand do?"
That stopped me.
"A thousand dollars?"
"Isn't that enough?"
I swallowed hard. "Enough for what."
"To retain your firm to investigate."
"Look I'm really sorry but I can't see there's anything to
investigate yet." I was cursing my streak of basic honesty. We needed that
money.
"Please please you must," she pleaded.
"Well...Perhaps." I wavered.
"Just keep it for now. Cash it later."
"All right then." I pocketed the cheque. "You should lay off
all that handwashing. It can't be doing any good."
She looked embarrassed. "I used to have eczema and psoriasis.
The dermatologists were no use at all. Dr Dwyer... Malcolm... says it's a
nervous compulsion thing. He's treating it."
"Good."
"And I have irritable bowel syndrome too."
"Really?" This was getting just a bit too personal for me.
"I get terrible pains and," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "awful
diarrhoea."
"Well. I'd better be going." I didn't want to hear any more but she
pressed on.
"Malcolm...Dr Dwyer. He says I've been rejected so often I
feel dirty.. I have some special hand cream. Malcolm made it just for me.
I use it six times a day." She unscrewed a red top from a glass jar and
pushed the stuff under my nose.
I jumped up. I wanted out and quick. I didn't want her stupid
cream and the last thing I needed was to be involved in any more
discussion about her bowel habits. This bird was making me itch. She was a
complete victim. No wonder she was imagining stares in the back of her
silly neck.
"I'll ring you tomorrow."
She saw me to the door and I took note of the array of bolts and
chains. I could hear her scrabbling with them as I walked to my car. I
shook my head as I imagined her rushing back to wash those red, cracked
hands again.
I deposited the cheque on my way home. That would make Frank happy
for a while. I just hoped we wouldn't have to refund it..
I rang Merrin's neighbour at nine next morning. A sleepy voice answered.
I identified myself and said, "I've been retained by your
neighbour Merrin Shannon. She's suggested you can help - it's regarding a
stalker she believes has been following her. Could I come and see you
today?"
"You can. But I'm afraid you're too late."
"What do you mean?" A prickle of apprehension ran up my spine.
"I found Merrin dead in the driveway last night - bleeding from
the mouth. Head injury I'd say.. The police think she may have been
murdered. They're coming back to search for the weapon."
I felt really bad then. The poor, silly bitch had been telling
the truth all the time and I'd pre-judged her. I'd leapt to conclusions
again. Now I'd have to earn that thousand dollars.
When I drove into the carpark I could see the police line, bums up,
searching the garden. I recognised Harry Doyle's neat little butt at once
and I whistled. He scowled at first, but when he saw it was me whistling
he smiled. Harry has a friendly crooked smile as well as a nice tight bum.
We get along really well - see quite a bit of each other - literally.
"Well if it isn't little Miss Private Detective O'Byrne." He
leaned on my car. "What are you doing here?"
"My case Sergeant Doyle sir." I grinned.
"No. My case. Your client's cactus."
"But.. but..."
"No buts. How about dinner tonight? and you can tell me what you
know about your ex- client?"
"Do you a deal. Let me hang about for a bit now - do a bit of
delicate detecting and you can stay for breakfast tomorrow."
"Geez Clark," he replied, almost blushing. "You're nothing if
you're not right to the point. "How can I refuse such an elegant offer?"
"Deal?"
"Deal... but don't get underfoot." He pushed his fair hair
back from his forehead. "Let me think about this. We've talked with the
neighbour in number three. She found the body. Her name's Alison Robb. You
could do the same, while we finish off the search and then I'll piss the
boys off and fill you in."
'Thanks Harry." I blew him a big kiss.
"Don't do that Clark. Someone might see. Let's try and be
professional."
He was blushing now. I love it when I make Harry blush.
Alison Robb was not a lot of help. A brisk, brusque woman with thick black
hair and muscular arms, she invited me in and started talking at once.
Rattling out the sentences like gun-fire and smoking a cigarette, she
prowled around the small unit. I took in the room at a glance. The
telephone was on the table beside me. Inside the raised hinged lid there
was a place where you could put frequently dialled numbers - I read them -
Merrin, Thomas, Homehaven and St Ambrose - It looked like Alison was
pretty short on friends. When she saw me eyeing the list she pushed the
phone away and kept on talking.
"I almost tripped over her body. Gave me an awful fright. Silly
woman. All the time jumping at shadows. Sit down." Without warning she
pushed a chair in behind my knees. I buckled and sat down heavily.
"Did you have to do that?" I said angrily.
"Sorry. Comes with working in a nursing home."
"You do that to your patients?"
"It works."
"Where do you stand on kerosene baths?"
"What?"
"Never mind." I took out my notebook. "Tell me what Merrin told
you? She said you knew about the stalking business."
"Lot of nonsense. She imagined the stalker thing. Last night she
just fell and struck her head. I've told the police that already. It was a
simple accident. She hit her head on a rock."
"You seem very sure about this. Tell me about it again. She was my
client. I want to earn the money she paid me. Can't you tell me anything
else? Or know of anyone who can?"
"No. Now I must ask you to leave. I've things to do."
Obviously I wasn't getting anywhere. In two seconds she'd pushed
me out and shut the door. I peered through the window and saw her pick up
the phone and push a single button.
She must be calling one of those numbers on that list, I thought
and wondered who. There'd certainly be no point in calling Merrin.
I wandered to the garden and peeked around the bushes. All I found
was a pile of cigarette butts by a garden bench. The butts looked fairly
fresh - like someone had sat there chain- smoking. Harry and his men were
still hard at it.
Skirting around the chalk outline of the body on the driveway, I had
a good look at the scene. The outline showed the body was all curled up,
in the foetal position. Legs drawn up like a baby with a pain in its gut.
It seemed a funny position for someone to fall after being hit on the
head.
Perhaps she'd experienced some involuntary spasms after she fell, I
thought. I'd quiz Harry later about the post mortem results.
I walked around the chalk outline still puzzling about the way the
body had been curled up. There was a gap in the rocks that lined the
driveway.
The police must have removed the rock she hit her head on, I
thought.
I was bending down to examine the spot when...
"Pssst."
I jumped in fright as a head popped up over a bush at the side of the
driveway.
"Shit! You scared me!" I shouted.
"Shhhhh." He put his finger to his lips. "Are you part of
this investigation?"
"I am." Well I was... but not as he probably thought. "Who are
you? Has anyone interviewed you yet?" I asked.
"I'm Max Uherson - Merrin Shannon's lawyer. And no, I've not talked to
anyone yet."
Bingo! I could hardly keep the grin from my face. "Where can we go
to talk Max?" I stepped forward and took him by the arm. He looked so
scared I half-expected him to bolt at any second.
"My unit. Round the front. This way."
Matt Uherson was a mousy little man with a toothbrush moustache and bad
breath. His hands shook too.
Last person I'd choose for my lawyer, I thought as he ushered
me into his unit.
I'd already decided he was a drunk. Once inside the grubby room,
an almost empty whisky bottle on the table confirmed my diagnosis.
"I don't know what I can tell you." He licked his dry lips.
"Try. Start with Merrin. " I tapped my pen against my notebook.
He sat down and played with the bottle.
"Merrin was a very wealthy woman. Inherited a bundle from her
father. He was a developer. Built this building actually. She owned it.
She was nervous - anxious. Went to doctors all the time.. Took pills by
the bucketful. Washed her hands fifty times a day. Did you see them? Her
hands?"
"I did. How is it you're her lawyer?" I asked.
"Last of a long line. Merrin collected all sorts of people and
then she used them up. I live here so I was convenient. She wanted to
re-write her will." He paused for effect. "For the sixth time in as many
years. And it's not peanuts. We're talking a few million here."
That was a surprise. I let it sink in for a minute..
"And who was the beneficiary?"
"Alison Robb."
I paused again. "Hmmmnnn. The nurse? Does she know?"
"I expect so, though sometimes Merrin kept things to herself. She
played games you see. But you mustn't let Alison know I told you. She's a
scary woman that.
"Did Alison bully Merrin into changing the will?"
"Oh no. They've been friends for a while. I wouldn't be a party
to anything like that." He looked longingly at the bottle. "You want
coffee?"
"Black please."
He fussed around making the coffee, talking to me from the open kitchen
door.
"Merrin actually wanted to leave everything to Malcolm Dwyer, her
psychiatrist, but I explained that it's never a good idea to leave a
fortune to your doctor. So she did the next best thing. Left everything
to Alison. Insisted on it. You see, Alison and Malcolm are... " He paused.
"An.... item."
"That one. All butch and bully?You're kidding?"
"But you've not met Malcolm. Have you?" Max Uherson smiled wryly
and splashed scotch into his coffee. "Want some?"
"No thanks. It's a bit early for me. Why haven't you spoken with
the police before this?" I asked.
"I was going to ring later but I'm glad I bumped into you. Saves
me going to the station. I mean you are the police aren't you?"
"Not exactly... " I paused and fished out my ID. "Merrin engaged
me only last night and I'm trying to earn the retainer she paid me."
"Well now. That's interesting." He poured more whisky into the coffee
cup.
From where we sat in Max's flat I could see the street and the beginning
of the driveway.
"From here you'd have a good view of anyone coming or going. Did
Merrin have any visitors last night? "
"I saw you come and go around eight thirty and about half an hour
later Malcolm Dwyer showed up."
"Wasn't that a bit unusual."
"Oh no. He often made house calls to Merrin. She'd click her
fingers and he'd come running. He even made up some special goo for her
hands. Couldn't do enough for his prize patient." Max's voice was bitter."
I'd no trouble working out he didn't care much for the doctor. "He didn't
stay long." Max paused for a second. "Of course he could've been calling
on Alison. Remember they're engaged."
"But she was still at work then, wasn't she?"
"Yes, of course. I'd have been asleep by the time she got home."
"You do realise you'll have to repeat all this to the police?"
"I know." He looked thoroughly miserable and poured another cup of
whisky.
"A word of advice." I said.
"Yes. " He looked up at me, a pathetic specimen of manhood if ever I'd
seen one.
"Lay off the booze until after the interview."
Harry was sitting in his car writing in his note book. He didn't see me. I
crept up behind him.
"Your place or mine," I whispered in his ear.
"Jesus!" The notebook and pen went flying. "Bloody hell
Clark! Don't do that."
I opened the passenger side door and leaned over.
"I know something you don't."
"What?"
"Do you a deal."
"Another one?"
"Let me have a quick shufty through Merrin's place and I'll
introduce you to her lawyer who, if you catch him before he drinks any
more whisky, may shed a bit of light on this business." And I repeated
what Max Uherson had told me.
"Somehow I don't think it's murder Clark. It's all pretty straight
forward. We found no weapon and I'm more inclined now to believe the nurse
- Merrin Shannon fell and hit her head on a rock. We even have that very
rock. The Coroner may have more to say of course. They're doing the post
mortem as we speak."
"Aw Harry. Go on" I pleaded. "Be a darling man. Just let me have a
quick look around her unit and you won't be sorry."
Harry blushed again.
"Deal?
"All right then. Five minutes. But I'll have to come with
you."
"I just want to check something?"
"What?"
"You'll see. If it's still there."
It wasn't on the table and it didn't take us long to hunt through all the
likely places where Merrin might have put her precious hand cream. The
stuff she'd showed me last night - the stuff specially made by her
psychiatrist, who was engaged to marry her neighbour - the neighbour who
was going to inherit squillions. Harry's opinion of me as a detective went
up a few thousand points when I explained my theory.
"Just make sure they check for some sort of poison, that can be
administered through the skin, in home-made hand cream," I said as I
kissed him goodbye. "See you tonight."
Harry rang the bell at eight. He was grinning.
"You're one smart cookie Clark."
"I know," I replied smugly. "But why do you say that?"
"Because when Merrin Shannon died she had an almost gangrenous
intestine."
"She died of gangrene? A burst gut? That would explain the way
the body was all curled up." I was so pleased with myself. "And?"
"Almost gangrenous I said. But she also had a system full of
mercury, which would have caused the gut thing. It was mercuric chloride
to be exact - probably administered over some time."
"Bingo! I've earned that money."
"What money?"
"My retainer to find the stalker."
"What stalker? You didn't find a stalker? Did you?"
"Don't split hairs Harry. I found a murderer instead. That's
got to be better. When did you arrest Dwyer?"
"I didn't."
I could see Harry was enjoying this.
"Why ever not?"
"Because Ms Smarty-pants, it was still an accident. Merrin
Shannon died of a head injury. Like I said she fell and hit her head on a
rock in the driveway.
"'What about Dwyer?"
"Haven't found him yet - seems to have vanished into thin
air."
"Then my money's still on him."
"Given another day or so yes. Then she'd probably have died of
gangrene - but she didn't." Harry waved the report at me. "What's for
dinner? Humble pie?"
Harry had showered and left by eight next morning. Harry is always on time
for work.
I lay in the rumpled bed and thought about Merrin. Something
wasn't right. There was no doubt she'd been poisoned, even if that hadn't
actually killed her - and I was pretty sure the mysterious Dr Dwyer was
the guilty party. Otherwise why would he have taken the evidence? Besides,
Max Uherson had been very clear about who made the hand cream and who
would benefit from the will. But somehow it just didn't sit right and it
bothered me. The state of Merrin's gut bothered me. The non-existent
stalker bothered me. Even that convenient rock in the driveway bothered
me. Lots of things bothered me.
I decided to go back to the scene again but I couldn't call it the
'scene of the crime' because Harry and the Coroner said there'd been no
crime. I wasn't so sure.
Half an hour later I was poking around in the driveway when I noticed
something odd. In the gap where the offending rock had been removed by
forensics, several flies were having breakfast. I shooed them away and had
a good look. They'd been feasting on a small drop of brown stuff. It
looked like blood. Then it clicked! If Merrin fell and hit her head while
the rock was in situ, there was no way that drop of blood would be there,
beneath where the rock had been. For that to happen the rock must have
been removed prior to Merrin striking it.
I had it!! Merrin didn't hit her head on the rock... The rock had
hit Merrin on the head! - and unless the laws of gravity had changed
drastically, someone had given that rock a little assistance! And then put
it neatly back in place.
I rang Harry. "Get over here quick and bring someone from forensics."
"Sorry Clark, I'm busy right now. And where's here anyhow?"
"The murder scene."
"It's not a murder."
"I say it is." And I went on to explain what I had found. I
finished with, "And see if there's a trace of blood under that rock you've
got. Better still, bring the bloody thing with you."
"I'll be a while. Just keep watch. Do nothing until I get there."
"Yeah. Yeah." I was already heading for Alison's unit.
Alison wasn't home, or else she wasn't answering the door. I could
smell something burning and followed my nose to a small fire in the
service area behind the building. The smell was horrible - like burning
material - and hair. I poked around in the ashes and found what looked
like the remains of a man's suit. Then I noticed Max Uherson skulking in
the shadows. He pretended not to see me and scuttled away.
Like a cockroach, I thought. Funny little man. Funny name
too.
That gave me an idea. I rang information for Max's number. There
was only one Uherson in the Sydney area. I asked to be connected. An old
woman's voice answered.
"Could I speak with Max Uherson please?" I asked.
"This is Mrs Uherson speaking. I'm sorry but my husband has been
dead for almost twelve months."
"Perhaps it's your son I want then. Smallish man, toothbrush moustache,
about forty five."
"We had no children and as far as I know there is no one else of
that name in Sydney. I believe it's of Swedish origin."
"What was your husband's profession?" I was really puzzled
now.
"He was a solicitor. Why are you asking all these questions?"
"I'm investigating a murder Mrs Uherson. May I have your
address? We need to talk."
I reached my car just as Max and Alison rounded the corner. I
crouched down and they didn't see me. They headed towards the service
area. He was talking - earnestly - and she had her arm around him -
protectively. They looked like a couple - weird, but a couple. Then I
remembered what Max had said earlier. He certainly didn't look too scared
of her now.
I called Harry again and told him about the burned suit and
Mrs Uherson.
"Can you meet me there?" I asked.
"I can't be in two places at once. What is it to be? the supposed
blood spot? or the old lady?"
"Blood spot. Before the flies eat it all. I'll do the old lady."
Mrs Uherson was very old, but she still had all her marbles.
"You know my dear," she said as she poured tea from a china
pot." I've been thinking about that description you gave me. 'Small man,
toothbrush moustache'."
"Yes." I leaned forward.
"Well there was a nurse who looked like that. He looked after my
husband at St Ambroses's. It was a private nursing home. Not just for old
people." She leaned forward confidentially. "There were patients of all
ages... with mental problems mostly. Poor Max was delusional. He believed
he was still practising law. So we humoured him...put a desk, filing
cabinet, papers in his room. Of course he never left that room. Agrophobia
they called it. Yes, my darling Max went a bit funny in his last years, so
I engaged a private nurse to keep an eye on him. His name was Thomas
Dallow. He pretended to be Max's secretary, stayed with him and Max was
happy. It was only after Max died that I found Thomas had been stealing
from him. Later I heard he drank. I felt so bad. I'd let Max down."
"Would you be able to identify Thomas Dallow for me."
"If I must. I was a bit afraid of him towards the end."
"Anything else you can tell me about Thomas?"
"Not really, except he was very friendly with another nurse.
She'd worked there for a long time. She was most capable but rather
bossy."
I knew what she was going to say before she said it.
"Her name was Alison Robb."
"Can you tell me anything else about her?"
"She was a capable woman - very good in the Christmas pageant. It
was a sort of spoof about hospital life. Very clever. Alison played the
lead. A doctor, a male doctor. She had this deep voice."
I almost chortled with glee. "Was there a patient called
Merrin Shannon."
"Oh yes. I knew Merrin well - always washing her hands. Poor
girl, she was away with the pixies much of the time. Too many pills if
you want my opinion. Quite delusional." She sipped her tea. "I remember at
the pageant Merrin was absolutely sure that Alison was a real man and a
real doctor. Alison led her on a bit. So did some of the other staff. It
was most embarrassing. Poor Merrin. She never worked it out. She
discharged herself soon after. She was a voluntary patient of course.
Alison and Thomas left about that time too. I often wondered what happened
to them all?"
I rang Harry from my car. He was actually in the process of collecting the
blood spot, so it was no trouble at all to bring Alison Robb and Thomas
Dallow in for questioning. He also found the burned suit stuffed in a
wheely bin.
After interviewing, and finally charging, Alison with Merrin's murder, and
Dallow, aka Max Uherson, with being an accessory before and after the
fact, Harry insisted on taking me to Romeo's for dinner. I knew he was
dying to tell me all about it but I waited until after coffee before I
asked.
"Now. Tell me all." I breathed.
"You know it all Smarty-pants. So why should I?" Harry was grumpy now.
"Aw Harry. Fill in all the bits. I must have missed something."
"Not much... but I must say creating a non-existant doctor to
half-poison her was a great way of deflecting us away from the real murder
- and the real murderer. If we'd gone down the poisoned hand cream path
we'd have been chasing shadows forever."
"Except you'd already decided it wasn't murder at all." I couldn't resist
rubbing that in.
"Okay. I admit but for your bloody-minded persistence and the
flies..."
"And finding Mrs Uherson."
"Yeah. Why did you check up on her?"
"It was such an unusual name. I was just fishing. Thought there
might even be another Uherson around. Mate I hit the jackpot with that old
lady. Everything just snapped into place."
"And of course there was never a stalker," added Harry. "That was
all in Merrin's scrambled brain."
Talk about smoke and mirrors, I thought and sipped my coffee.
That was one and only truth Alison had told. There was no stalker. One
single truth, twisted in a tangle of lies. Ironic that a non-existant
stalker, the only reason for my involvement, had brought a murderer to
justice.
"I'm waiting for you to ask the obvious," said Harry.
"What?"
"Why did Alison kill Merrin with a rock? Why not let the mercury
do the job? It was almost done."
"I know why."
"How? You weren't even at the interview."
"It's simple really. Alison got careless. Here's the scenario.
Merrin's in agony. She phones for Dwyer. She'd have had to go through
Alison to get to 'him'. Her gut's about to burst, so she struggles to the
driveway and bumps into Alison, who's leaving her unit, wearing the grey
suit and probably adjusting the wig and moustache. The light finally dawns
for poor, silly Merrin. So Alison up and brains her with a handy rock."
"How did you know about the wig?"
"I smelled burning hair this morning. Can we go back to my place
now?" I blew him a big noisy kiss.
Harry did it again and I just loved it. So few men can blush
these days.
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