by J. P. Pomare
I watch him now from the kitchen window, the new hammock swinging beneath the blooming pohutukawa. The red haze of the flowers. The hot ceramic sky, mirrored in the lake. The saddle of the mountain with its deep, rich greens and those two out there lazing in the mid-afternoon heat. Cain bends to the shape of the hammock’s net, looking out at the water with Esther nestled in against his chest.
Sometimes I have thoughts about Daniel, and the odd nightmare. Collateral damage, that’s what Cain would say if we ever talked about it. But we don’t talk about it. We will never talk about it. I try my best not to think about it and I find it works: I think about it less and less with each day. Some shrapnel the body must press out, some stays in there sealed in scar tissue.
I’m somehow a hero, but Daniel’s friends and family still want answers, even now. Where did he get the gun, why did he do it, why was there so much ketamine in his body as detailed in the coroner’s report? There’s more evidence still out there, on that video that has continued to circulate. Of course, the terror in my eyes was real. Daniel stepping into the hall was real. But I’ve watched it a few times and now I can see moments when ‘Daniel’ exhibits signs of weakness in his right leg. Anyone who points any of this out is labelled a conspiracy theorist, something I’m grateful for.
•
Scotty’s new partner reported him when he almost sideswiped a cyclist, and he tested positive for fentanyl. It’s justice, but I didn’t need to take my job back. Without the high Auckland rent we can survive just fine. My paid leave carried through until my due date and then I had maternity leave. Cain’s new gym in Rotorua is providing more than enough income for us now.
Cain carries Esther along the lake’s edge. Her pigtails bounce and her lilac cotton dress presses against his side as he points out the ducks floating by.
‘That’s the mummy and those are the babies,’ he says.
She turns to me as I stride across the lawn with her sunhat in my hand.
‘She’ll get burnt,’ I say. I see that grin, the two white nibs beginning to punch through her bottom gums, and those eyes and I feel the stirring inside. The feeling only a mother knows. These are my people, this is my family and my home.
It feels good to build something new, build it from scratch. We start again and leave old bones in the ground, never to surface again. We move on. Silent but knowing. That’s the key, I think now, to a long and happy marriage. That’s the grease that keeps family life turning smoothly. Our secrets are as quiet and as deep as Esther’s beautiful green eyes.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’M BEGINNING TO realise that the author does not decide how long a story will take to write. If you’re lucky and pay close attention, if you stick with a story long enough, it might one day reveal itself to you. The Last Guests took about eighteen months longer than I anticipated to complete. I worked harder and spent more time with it than any other project I’ve commenced but I never lost faith in the premise of the story, and the incredible people I’ve managed to surround myself with never lost faith in me.
The first thanks, as always, goes to my incredible literary agent Pippa Masson. I have no idea what I would be doing if you hadn’t always shown faith in me and my work but I’m certain I wouldn’t be up to book number four. Thank you also to the other agents helping to get my work out into the hands of publishers and creators in other territories, including Gordon Brown, Dan Lazar, Kate Cooper-Adams and Jerry Kalajian.
Thanks to my publisher Rebecca Saunders and my editor Emma Rafferty along with the rest of the team at Hachette who have all helped to whip this book into shape and get it out into the world. Thanks also to Mel Winder, Tania Mackenzie-Cooke and the Hachette Aotearoa team. Thanks to the many others who have had eyes on this story at various stages, including Deonie Fiford, Ali Lavau, Lyn Yeowart, Tiffany Plummer and my number-one-fan/ mother-in-law, Jackie Tracy.
Robert Watkins, Brigid Mullane, Tessa Connelly and Lydia Tasker have each played significant roles in helping to establish my career for which I will always be grateful.
Thanks to Lily Cooper and the team at Hodder Books for finding me a readership in the UK. Thanks also to Helen O’Hare and everyone at Mulholland for getting my work out in the US.
This book took a lot of research and my odd method/writing habits saw me develop a mild gambling habit, get more fit than I would ever care to be again and led me to shave my head (again). I also spent time around the stunning Rotorua Lakes area and made a number of trips to New Zealand as research before COVID-19 stopped further travel plans. Right before the lockdowns and the chaos that was 2020, I completed a fellowship at the Michael King Writers Centre in Takapuna. I cannot overstate the importance of this unbroken writing time in such a historic house for the completion of this novel.
Along with researching the setting, I sought to understand the life of a paramedic. I spent countless hours on the phone with Kierin Oppatt, quizzing him on both the most pedestrian aspects of his job along with the most interesting. Kierin, in the extremely unlikely event you’ve made it this far into the book, thank you for everything.
I spoke with former members of the New Zealand SAS and Army Corp who served in Afghanistan to gain a greater understanding of life both before and after deployment in ‘the unit’ and how such an environment affects one’s psychological landscape. Many thanks to Barrie Rice and Carol Kitsen. Thanks to Nathan Blackwell who also helped with police procedural matters.
To understand the inner workings of the ‘dark web’ criminal networks, I relied heavily on the insight of James Waters to add plausibility to the story. Thanks, Jimmy, for showing me how Peephole might function in the real world and explaining why it’s almost inevitable an equivalent service does or will exist.
And to the usual suspects: the Tracys, the Pomares. Thanks for everything.
Finally, thank you, Paige, for your belief and patience.
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Copyright
Published in Australia and New Zealand in 2021
by Hachette Australia
(an imprint of Hachette Australia Pty Limited)
Level 17, 207 Kent Street, Sydney NSW 2000
www.hachette.com.au
Copyright © J.P. Pomare 2021
This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be stored or reproduced by any process without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.
978 1 8697 1818 3
978 0 7336 4407 8 (ebook edition)
Cover design by Christabella Designs
Cover photograph courtesy of Getty
Author photograph by Leah Jing McIntosh
Peephole image design by Dan Valenzuela
Table of Contents
Title Page
Contents
Praise for Tell Me Lies
Praise for In the Clearing
Praise for Call Me Evie
Dedication
Prologue
Part One: The Voyeur Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Part Two: Aftermath Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Copyright
