Show Me a Huia!

by Chris Barfoot

  He swore again and relocked the door.

  He needed to keep calm. He emptied and cleaned the glass, drained and washed his syringe and cleaned up the sleeping pills off the floor. But, unusually, he did not notify the staff of the disappearance. Instead he sat alone in Tane’s empty room doing something which he had not done for some time – making desperate requests for God’s help.

  “Doctor, there’s a call on your phone.” He went out, locked the door and went to his study.

  “Randall, I’m ringing you because you are his warden, and I don’t know who else I can turn to. I’m so concerned about Harry. In all the years of our marriage, he’s never been like this. It’s almost as if he’s another person. He is so secretive. Tonight he just rushed out to the service and didn’t say anything or even look at me. He’s got something on his mind and he won’t tell me what it is.”

  “It’s Evensong with healing tonight, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, we sometimes discuss some of the people who will be there.”

  “When did you first notice this?”

  “He had an interview yesterday afternoon and he was with some people for hours. He wouldn’t even come to dinner.”

  “Do you know who the people were that he saw?”

  “As I came in from the garden just before five, I heard Harry’s voice raised. One of the other voices sounded familiar, and I thought it belonged to a man who was here last Sunday. He was a university lecturer, a very strange young man if I may say so.”

  “Yes, I think I met the man myself at the service last Sunday.”

  “Have you noticed anything yourself about Harry?”

  He paused. “Strangely enough, I have.”

  “Do you think you could have a word with him, man to man, I mean?”

  “Of course, Lavinia,” he said, trying to conceal his excitement in the most soothing church warden-like tone that he could assume.

  He could not wait for the conversation to end.

  Returning to the patient’s room, he overturned the bed, the table and the chairs. Then he went back to his office, closed the door and made some calls.

  The third phone call he made was 111.

  CHAPTER 30

  It was not often that the police were called out to a church service.

  Detective Sergeant Matthew Piriaka of the CIB together with an eight-man squad of the uniformed staff had been called out at 18:45 hours on Sunday 23rd January to collect a mental patient and his kidnapper or kidnappers who were believed to be sheltering in St. Peter’s Church, Epsom. The 111 call had come from the Glenfern Private Psychiatric Hospital. The report from the incident car had given the details. The doctor in charge had stated that the patient had been violently abducted and that he could be dangerous without his drugs. He had also given the name of one of the suspected kidnappers and the name of the church as a possible destination. The situation report from the church confirmed that the kidnappers and patient were in that location.

  Matthew, who had been appointed Incident Controller, observed a thin, balding, bespectacled man in a long, white robe standing at the door of the church and shaking people’s hands as they entered.

  Uncertain of the protocol, he approached and took off his cap. “Sergeant Piriaka, C.I.B. May I have a word with you?”

  “Certainly Sergeant. I’m the vicar of this parish; my name is Harry Mountjoy.”

  “I have reason to believe that inside the church there may be a mental patient who is alleged to have been forcibly abducted from a local hospital. The patient is said to be violent. Under Section 317 of the Crimes Act we are entitled to enter a property when we have reasonable grounds to believe that people are in danger.”

  “Sergeant, you must do your duty. But as the service is just beginning and there are elderly people in the congregation, any police intrusion or questioning would cause distress. We have no reason to anticipate trouble as all the members of the congregation have come willingly to attend divine service. If there is a problem, may we talk about it quietly afterwards?”

  There was a conflict between the story of a violent abduction and the account given by the vicar. He had also been warned by his superior about the legal limits of Section 317 in the case of churches used as sanctuaries. He needed more information about the background of the abduction and decided to keep a surveillance role in the meantime.

  He would need to talk to the doctor himself later.

  He knew the deranged man and his kidnapper couldn’t go far, so he asked the uniformed men to set a squad at both front and side exits. At the same time he watched and listened for any sound of disturbance within the church which would give him reason to intervene to protect lives and property. He checked with his situation report about the description of the wanted people and confirmed that the uniformed staff had the same description:

  The suspected kidnapper: Dr David Corbishley: Caucasian, thirtyish, male, blonde, tall, slight build. Patient: name not given, Maori, thirtyish, short, dark, curly-haired.

  The report said that Dr Corbishley was an Auckland University senior lecturer in the Department of Geology. He was on the police record as wanted for enquiries about a break-in in the eastern Bay of Plenty on the evening of Thursday 20th January. “Not on departmental business,” the University had stated. His car had gone over the cliff on the Opotiki-Te Araroa Road early on Friday 21st January and the Opotiki police had reported him missing.

  As to the patient, new information had just come through about his identity. The name was Dr Tane Ngata, former lecturer at the same Geology Department and a former colleague of the kidnapper. The report said he had been in psychiatric care since a total mental breakdown three years before.

  The report from the Opotiki police and the owner of the property where the break-in had taken place indicated that Corbishley believed Ngata had made an important mineral discovery in the Raukumara Ranges and that the break-in was to obtain further information about this.

  He wondered whether this might have been the motivation for the kidnapping.

  But what was the point of taking him to a church service?

  There had been mention of more than one kidnapper. He checked with an elderly, white-haired woman who had been part of a group standing outside and was about to go in when the organ started to play.

  “A tall, fair young man. Yes, he came to church last Sunday. Such a polite man. He must have liked our service. Tonight he’s brought two friends. It’s so good to see the young people. We don’t see many of them at this church.”

  “What did the others look like?”

  “The other man was Maori, short with dark curly hair. I didn’t think he looked very happy. But the girl looked a very nice person. She was tall with short brown hair and glasses and she was driving that car.” She pointed to the black Ford Cortina parked on the road outside. She looked anxiously at the police cordon. “We’ve never had one of those here before. I hope everything’s all right.”

  Matthew managed a half-truth. “The police are pursuing enquiries about a certain person, and there’s a report that he may be coming here. The cordon is just to protect you in case he arrives.”

  “Thank you so much, Sergeant,” she said gratefully, and disappeared into the church.

  At 7 p.m. the organ stopped, then began again shortly accompanied by the sound of thin but energetic singing. It appeared that the service had started.

  Matthew had realised that the formation of a cordon would cause problems with the public. A too-obvious police presence often drew attention to a situation, raised tension and made negotiations more difficult. But the vicar’s uncooperative attitude gave him little choice.

  His fears were soon realised. Passing motorists, curious about what the police were doing outside an Anglican Church during a service, were stopping outside and a sizeable group of people was gathering. As people approached him, he tried to keep the situation relaxed and low-key.

  “We are acting on information received…. We are stil
l receiving reports … In the meantime we are just ensuring that the public and the church members are not inconvenienced.”

  He kept in touch on his car radio as the situation developed. “The media must have got a story out of the hospital,” said the inspector at base. “They’ve got the idea that the patient is violent and are asking about the Armed Offenders’ Squad. I’ve threatened to cut them out if they publish anything before we get the full picture. But they’re very pushy. They sense a juicy story with the church involvement. Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

  “No, the cordon is already creating too much interest.”

  He whistled when the base gave him the name of the owner of the Ford Cortina. “Any criminal record?”

  “Clean.”

  “Any licensed gun, pistol or rifle?”

  “No.”

  “Any spouse?”

  “Not advised.”

  “What’s the connection with Corbishley?”

  “None as far as we can ascertain.”

  “She’s an accountant, I believe.”

  “We’ve checked with her firm. They say she’s on holiday and believed to be doing advocacy work for the huia sanctuary.”

  “Her Ford Cortina is right here. I’ll keep one of my men posted by it just in case they try to make a getaway.”

  A red MGB and a black Triumph TR2 came to a stop just outside the church. The doors flew open and the occupants leapt down. They were young, strong-looking men in jeans and football jerseys.

  Matthew instinctively looked for the registration numbers, but found that two of the group were standing in front of the plates. I wonder what they’re up to.

  The men, six in number, were approaching the police cordon and heading purposefully for the front door of the church. Leading them was a tall, well-built, bronzed young man with fair curly hair.

  “Just a moment, sir!” Matthew moved quickly and placed himself in front of the leader. “Are you attending the service? If not, would you kindly remain outside the police cordon.”

  The curly-haired man squared up to the policeman and grasped the lapel of his uniform with his right arm. In doing so his sleeve fell down, and a muscular forearm was exposed. His followers stood around belligerently with their fists clenched. “We know what’s happening. What the hell are the police doing! There are terrorists in there and the church is supporting them. If you’re not going to do anything, we will!”

  Matthew motioned to the police who moved forward. “Thank you, sir, for your offer of assistance, but we are not permitted to enter the church.”

  The other suddenly changed his tune. “Right, men, we can’t go to church today.”

  There were guffaws and a low snigger, “bloody hori”, which Matthew pretended not to hear. The group fell back into the watching crowd, but he saw that they were talking to people, several of whom were shaking their hands. He had been trained to assess the mood of a crowd. He did not like what he saw.

  20:00 hours. The singing had stopped, the front door of the church opened, and the vicar appeared on the porch in his long white robe. Some worshippers also appeared and looked nervously at the police cordon and the crowd beyond.

  “Terrorists! Kidnappers! Lock them all up!” came voices from the crowd.

  The vicar nodded pleasantly at Matthew. “Excuse me, Sergeant. Would you mind allowing my parishioners to leave safely?”

  Matthew realised that he was going to be involved in protecting the congregation as well. “Archdeacon Mountjoy, I ask you to hand over immediately the patient from Glenfern Hospital and to identify the people who have removed him so that I can take them to the station for questioning.”

  “Of course, Sergeant. Just coming.”

  Now there was a stir in the crowd. A man who appeared to be around thirty emerged from inside the church. He was short, slightly stooped, had unkempt curly dark hair and looked pale and distraught. He appeared to be of Maori blood. The vicar seized his hand and pumped it enthusiastically.

  Matthew nodded quietly to the police squad.

  “Archdeacon, we are taking custody of this man to return him to the hospital.”

  The vicar continued to shake the hand of the young man. “I hope you enjoyed the service, Tane, and thank you very much for coming.”

  “Take it gently,” said Matthew to the police cordon as it drew closer to the porch.

  The young man appeared to be embarrassed and tongue-tied at the police and crowd attention. He kept shifting from one foot to another and putting his free hand up to brush the hair from his eyes. At last he could stand it no longer. He wrested his hand from the vicar’s, and bolted like a rabbit down the church steps.

  From this moment, things happened with considerable speed. The young Maori man was immediately encircled by the police. Yet quick as the police were, they were forestalled. The group in football jerseys suddenly reappeared and charged forward through the cordon in a kind of rugby scrum formation. In a flash, the nervous young man was whisked from the midst of the blue uniforms and born like a feather swiftly through the crowd towards the road.

  The uniformed squad moved immediately in pursuit, but the crowd appeared slow to move aside. When they got to the police van, the onlookers had jammed their cars so close to it that they were unable to move out without much manoeuvring. Matthew got on the radio, but then he realised he hadn’t got the registration numbers of the cars belonging to the young men.

  Back in front of the church porch, Matthew and the police squad had to be involved in protecting the departing worshippers from possible physical abuse by the crowd. At the same time they kept a careful lookout for the people answering the description of the kidnappers. But no young people came out. Most appeared to be middle-aged or elderly, and some wore clothes which had long gone out of fashion. A group of elderly women even wore wide brimmed hats, and were so frail that they had to be assisted down the steps.

  Some of the onlookers were inclined to be witty.

  “They’ll all be dead in a few years – no wonder they’re desperate.”

  “The only way they can get a congregation is to kidnap them.”

  But what hurt Matthew most were the remarks directed to him personally.

  “Useless Maori cop!”

  CHAPTER 31

  “That padre is as cunning as a cartload of monkeys!”

  At 21:00 hours a very pale, wet, frightened young man had been brought into the station. Matthew had just interviewed this man, the one who had been kidnapped by the group in football jerseys outside St. Peter’s Church.

  He was not Tane Ngata, but Harry Mountjoy’s head server, Tane Peters.

  The interview with the server had been interesting but inconclusive. The time with the kidnappers had been the horror story of his life. They had physically threatened him and blindfolded him, but when they discovered his identity, they had thrown him into a drain off Wairau Road behind Milford. He was fully convinced that if he had been the other Tane, he would have been the victim of something very much worse. In fact, he overheard them talking about other episodes of violence in which they had been involved.

  “Maybe it was just to frighten me, but it sounded terrible.”

  “Were they acting on their own?” asked Matthew.

  “I don’t think so because they kept using a car phone, and talking to someone else.”

  “Was tonight your regular serving night?”

  “No, the vicar asked me specially.”

  “And did you think that was unusual?”

  “Oh no, I like serving, and Father Mountjoy is really neat.”

  Before the interview with the server Matthew had been to Glenfern Hospital. He had been shown the room, and was able to take photos of the overturned chairs and tables which gave evidence of a struggle as the patient was apparently dragged out through the window to the waiting car. He also saw the skid marks on the grass where the car had been driven off at speed.

  Dr Randall Richardson, the psychiatrist for the p
atient and the owner of the hospital, was able to tell him about the nature of the patient’s illness.

  “Can he be violent?”

  “I cannot guarantee his behaviour if he doesn’t take his drugs.”

  “Were you aware of the possibility of the abduction?”

  “Absolutely no idea. I trusted Archdeacon Mountjoy; I’d worked with him for twenty years as parishioner and churchwarden.”

  “Your patient was a geologist. The abductor, I understand, was a colleague?”

  “And a close friend who was aware of his previous research.”

  “There is a suggestion that the abductor was interested in exploiting this research.”

  “The financial aspect is the most likely explanation. I find it very sad, especially when I recall that at the time of outset of his illness Corbishley showed no interest in helping his friend.”

  Warped academic, thought Matthew. The worst because they were the most cunning. But he was thoughtful. “Then why has the vicar got involved?”

  “I should have suspected something when last Wednesday he obtained access to my hospital without permission. It was then that he managed to discover my patient. He deliberately concealed this discovery from me, and all the time was apparently working with Corbishley to abduct him.”

  “I still don’t understand your vicar’s motivation.”

  “He’s extremely naïve. The moment he feels sorry for anyone, he wants to help them. People in this parish take advantage of him all the time. I’m sure an unscrupulous person like Corbishley would have no problem in manipulating him by making him feel sorry for Tane.”

  Matthew was still puzzled. “Dr Richardson, you don’t need to answer this, but surely this sympathy would not lead a person to be an accomplice to an abduction?”

  “I was not going to mention it, particularly as I am his churchwarden. Confidentially, Sergeant, as a psychiatrist I have been concerned about his recent mental state, especially about his belief that he has only to touch people and they are healed.”