The Whole Business with Kiffo and the Pitbull (25 page)

I guess you weren't expecting a happy ending, not after everything that happened. A good job, too. Here I am, alienated from school with a mother who's barking mad and not even one good friend to share things with. So a not unhappy ending is perhaps the best we can hope for. So here it is.

While I was writing everything down, I came to a few conclusions about what went on between me, Kiffo and the Pitbull. Isn't it strange? You can be there, living a life, but not fully aware of what it all means. Writing has given me a different perspective on events. Homophones, for example. I never realised how important homophones could be. Or the power of the Internet. Or the power of perseverance. I explained all of these things to that police officer, the one with the shifted face. Remember her? I went to see her at the police station just before I wrote this chapter. Turns out her name is Alyce Watson. Constable Alyce Watson. And do you know something? She's really nice. And smart.

So, are you totally confused now? Don't be. It makes perfect sense. You just need to look at it from a different angle.

Harrison paced the carpet, puffing away on her
meerschaum pipe. I knew the signs of old. My friend
was onto something and the game was afoot. I knew
better than to interrupt her train of thought,
however. If I knew one thing about Harrison it was
that she would reveal the products of her singular
mind when the time suited her, when all the pieces
had fallen into place. I pretended to read a report that
lay on my desk. Not five minutes went past before
Harrison stopped pacing and seated herself in the old
horsehair chair in the corner.

‘Homophones, Constable Watson,' she said.
‘A much underrated linguistic phenomenon, don't
you think?'

I glanced up at Harrison. There was a bright
gleam in her eye and I knew that whatever she had
been considering, in that remarkable brain everything
had fallen into place.

‘Homophones, old girl?' I replied. ‘I'm not sure I
understand.'

Harrison took the pipe from her lips.

‘Indeed, Watson! You should really broaden your
mind. I am, of course, referring to words that have
identical phonological characteristics but widely
differing semantic qualities.'

Harrison could see that I was no wiser, so she put
it into layperson's language.

‘Words that sound the same, but have different
meanings! Like “bough”, the branch of a tree, and
“bow”, the act of bending at the waist. Or “waist”, the
expanding flesh between your ribs and your hips,
Watson, and “waste'', what time is going to, while I
am engaged in explaining the obvious! Homophones.'

‘Steady on, old girl,' I remonstrated. ‘I know what
you mean, but I'm afraid I don't see what it has to do
with the case.'

Harrison sprang to her feet and resumed pacing.

‘It has everything to do with the case, my dear
Watson. Everything. Let me explain. You remember
my meeting with Jonno, the tattooed scallywag
employed by Kiffo to trace the movements of my arch
enemy, the Pitbull?'

‘Indeed I do, Harrison.'

‘Then you may remember that at one point in the
conversation, Jonno said, “And the address of this
pain?'' '

Once again I was amazed at Harrison's
prodigious memory.

‘Words to that effect, Harrison.'

‘No, Watson. Not “to that effect”. They were the
exact words. But my point Watson, is that one might
reasonably assume that “pain” was being used in that
colloquial manner that some chaps employ when they
are referring to people who are an inconvenience.
A “pain in the arse”, I believe. But what if Jonno
was actually saying, “And the address of this Payne?”
P-A-Y-N-E.'

‘Good Lord, Harrison,' I exclaimed. ‘The real
name of the Pitbull! But hold on a moment, old girl.
So what if he was saying “Payne”? I can't see how that
would be significant.'

‘My dear fellow, Jonno should not have known her
name. He expressed an ignorance of her very
existence. Neither Kiffo nor myself revealed any such
information, yet Jonno, it seems, knew her name.'

My head was swimming, but I felt that something
was not quite right. Finally, I spotted the flaw.

‘Perhaps Jonno did say “pain”. P-A-I-N. Maybe
you're looking for a homophone where one doesn't
exist, my dear Harrison!'

‘Indeed,Watson. The thought had occurred to me.
Yet as I was writing the sentence, from my
recollections of our meeting, it struck me as wrong
somehow. It jarred. I have, as you know, an
encyclopedic knowledge of contemporary slang and I
feel certain that this particular phrase is not one that
would have occurred to someone like Jonno. It is too
middle-class, hardly “colourful” enough for someone
of his social background. No, the more I thought about
it, the more I was convinced that Jonno did indeed
know the Pitbull and that he was keen to keep this
information from us. I was then forced to think about
his motivation. What if Jonno was working for the
Pitbull? He is, as we know, a small-time figure in the
criminal underworld. What if he alerted the Pitbull to
the fact that Kiffo and I were on her trail? What if, as
a result of this information, the Pitbull decided to
arrange the untimely death of Kiffo? And myself?'

‘Good Lord, Harrison!' I exclaimed, leaping to my
feet. ‘It fits. But proof, my dear girl. Where is the
proof?'

Harrison puffed on the pipe, and a foul cloud of
acrid smoke curled up to the ceiling.

‘I needed to clarify the links between the Pitbull,
Jonno and the Kiffings. The Pitbull asserted that she
had had dealings with a member of Kiffo's family,
presumably in her capacity as a drug counsellor. And
I do recall seeing that family member in the company
of the aforesaid Jonno some years ago. Kiffo confirmed
that the Pitbull had had contact with his
family in the past, contact that he did not like or
trust. However, he was very protective and may have
resented the kind of professional help that she was
offering. So, as I said, the connections were there, but
something didn't ring true. Consequently, I did some
more checking. It transpires that the Pitbull did not
receive her counsellor qualification until three years
ago, a full year after the tragic demise of the Kiffing
family member. Why would she have had dealings
with that person, if she was not a qualified
counsellor? This leaves us with the intriguing notion
that, rather than counselling him on his addiction,
she was possibly encouraging it!'

‘Dash it all, Harrison,' I said. ‘I'm sure you are
right. When have you not been right? But we still
don't have proof of a link between Jonno and the
Pitbull!'

Harrison took the pipe from her mouth and
reached down into the pocket of her tweed jacket. She
produced two photographs and handed them to me.

‘There is a local casuarina tree with which I am
familiar,Watson. I spent many hours under its gentle
boughs recently. Fortunately, I took with me my
trusty Canon compact camera. The two photographs
you have in your hand are evidence that our tattooed
scallywag has made visits to the Pitbull's house. Long
visits, Watson. Now I know that this could be
explained away. Jonno is, after all, the kind of person
who might want to avail himself of the Pitbull's
professional expertise, if he indeed suffers from an
addiction to narcotics. But why go to her house? That
would, I feel, be unlikely. It does not seem consistent
with professional practice.'

As always, I was amazed by Harrison's ability to
make connections. I could only gaze in awe as she
continued, unperturbed by my thunderstruck
expression.

‘And, finally, my dear Watson, there is the strange
business with the naltrexone. If you remember, Kiffo
and I saw her receive a bag of white powder from the
Ferret, a bag that she asserted contained naltrexone,
a drug used in the treatment of heroin addiction.
Yet it is a matter of public record, Watson, and one
that can be verified easily through the World Wide
Web, that naltrexone is generally prescribed in fifty
milligram tablets to be taken orally. There would be
no reason to grind those tablets down to a powder. In
fact, it would make the administering of the drug
much more difficult. Which leads me to conclude that
it wasn't naltrexone at all.'

I considered everything Harrison had said. It
made sense. There was no hard evidence, of course,
but I knew that it was only a matter of time before she
produced it. There was only one thing I could say.

‘Brilliant, Harrison.'

‘Elementary, Constable Watson.'

Actually, she didn't say ‘brilliant'. But she was interested. She took the photographs from me. And she took loads of notes. She said that she would have a word with a couple of her colleagues and that she'd keep me informed. I think she will, too. I can generally tell when I'm being fed bullshit, and she didn't give me that impression.

Oh, she also warned me to leave it with her now. Not to go back to the Pitbull's house, or anything. Maybe she was worried about my safety. Then again, perhaps she was conscious of the whole stalking issue. I can't tell. It seemed like excellent advice to me, whichever way you looked at it.

Trouble is, I never have been good at following advice. It's one of the many things that me and Kiffo had in common.

Chapter 26
Connected

‘Hello. You have reached the home of Calma and the Fridge. We can't come to the phone right now because, frankly, we suspect that you want to sell us Life Insurance, an investment opportunity on the Gold Coast or solar heating for a pool we don't own. If that isn't your intention, please leave your name and number after the beep and we'll get back to you. Or not, as the case may be . . .'

‘. . . Calma Harrison? Alyce Watson. Hi. Listen, there have been a number of developments regarding the matter you brought to our attention and I think you'll find them . . . interesting. We will need a formal statement from you. Could you please call to arrange a time to come in? Speak to you soon, Calma. Bye.'

Dear Calma,

A charming and sophisticated gentleman at the pub last night kindly attempted to re-adjust my underwear for me. Not realising that he had only my personal comfort in mind, I punched him in the face and catapulted his false teeth into another customer's steak and chips. As a result, my employment has, by mutual agreement, been terminated.

I can't say I'm disappointed. Reluctantly, I am starting to think that, despite your many and obvious faults, you might have a point about my work ethic. Fancy discussing this, and other issues, over a toothless steak and chips tonight? My treat.

Love,

The Fridge

Dear Fridge,

It's amazing what a change of rubber seals and a quick defrost will do to your efficient running. I think I can fit you in to my busy schedule, particularly since I am keen to hear all the sordid details of your last day at work.

Love,

Calma

P. S. Incidentally, do you think there might be a market for steak fillets that chew themselves?

A
SSIGNMENT
:

Write a description of a place, person or thing in such a way that
you demonstrate an understanding of the use of similes.

Calma is like a girl that I know. She's like, you know, smart and everything but she's also like the best mate that anyone could have. She's never talked to me like I'm dumb. I like her, like loads. I trust her like I don't trust no one else.

E
ND OF SEMESTER REPORT
: