Show Me a Huia!

by Chris Barfoot

  David was in the front seat with Kate. Tears came to his eyes as the healing words flowed over him.

  “So what advice did you get?” asked Kate.

  “Before my discovery I’d been approached by a member of the University Council, who was also a prominent lawyer, about the relationship between geological discovery and Maoritanga. He’d picked up a paper that I’d written about it, and he was very sympathetic to my approach. After my discovery I went to him and talked with him in general about geological discovery. He understood completely my desire to benefit the iwi. He said he’d acted for the Whanau Apanui in land matters already and also had access to development interests and sources of finance. I saw that his services would be extremely useful. Then I talked to him about Hone and what he would have wished. He had heard about him from the elders and he totally supported me in my desire to clear his name.

  He stopped and buried his head in his hands. “I should never have talked to him.”

  David looked at Kate. “We understand,” he said.

  He looked up quizzically. “Do you – really understand?” But he did not wait for an answer. “There was one matter which troubled me. I wanted the Whanau Apanui to be involved both because they were the owners and because I had to be sure that their wairua and kaitakitanga would lead them to the same decision about the discovery.”

  David thought back to the letter he had found. “So did you write to them about the discovery?”

  “I started to, but after I’d discussed it with Sir Charles I agreed to leave it to him, because he said he’d be delighted to approach the Whanau Apanui. He also assured me of his complete respect for Maoritanga and the necessity to respect the wairua and the kaitakitanga. But I still had an anxiety about the uranium. He asked if I would still have the same objection if the mineral could be used for peaceful purposes. He told me that he was in touch with other scientists who had similar dilemmas and that he was working with them and a group of prominent citizens to promote the concept of scientific research for the good of humanity as a whole. He said this was a way the iwi could benefit.”

  “I was blind not to understand what he was doing. He made me a member of the Scientists for Peace group he had established. He said there was no need for me to attend meetings as he would consult with me fully. He also told me shortly after this that he’d bought the property at Pataratara. It seemed an unusual step, but he explained it would preserve the confidentiality of my discovery and promised to consult me as well as the Whanau Apanui about any developments.”

  “When I didn’t hear from him, especially about the Whanau Apanui, I asked him, but he told me I should trust him. I started getting anxious and secretly approached two of the scientists who Sir Charles had told me were members of his group. But I was in for a shock. When I talked to them, I realised that the Scientists for Peace was really a front for a much bigger international group, some of whom appeared to be white supremacists.”

  “What sort of people were they?” asked Kate.

  “On the surface they were intelligent, polite, cultured Pakeha people, deeply concerned at the direction of society, but if you questioned them closely, we had nothing in common.

  “I asked Sir Charles again about the Whanau Apanui and he said he had a good relationship with them and repeated his assurances, but I couldn’t believe him anymore. I had terrible fears about the way they’d use my discovery. I began to have hallucinations. I saw myself dropping the bomb which I feared they would manufacture from my discovery. I couldn’t face people any more.

  “I tried to hide myself away on a sheep station up from Gisborne on the slopes of the Raukumara. I thought I could work things out better there. But something was terribly wrong. I’d thought to restore Hone’s name but I’d done the same thing he’d done – only far worse. I’d betrayed the ancient teaching, I’d broken the tapu, I’d acted against the spirit of the mountains.”

  David thought of Waitehaia. It was all coming together.

  “And it was’t just my feeling. The first tutumaiao confirmed it. “

  “I don’t understand,” said David.

  “It is a Maori omen, a warning of disaster. I saw it over the Raukumara from Waitehaia. It made me desperate. I had to get my discovery back. I knew it was hopeless but I had to try. I went back to Auckland and got in to one of their meetings. He was there, but I only recall screaming at them. They thought I was having a nervous breakdown. But I knew the tutumaiao was right. After that all I remember is nightmares, horrible, horrible nightmares. They put me in that hospital and kept on giving me drugs but they only made me worse. I couldn’t have held on much longer.”

  The sunken, lined face broke and his shoulders shook. “Thank you for not giving up on me, David,” he sobbed.

  Strange time, thought Kate, for tears of joy. Among a kidnap party being pursued by the police and by who knows how many others. Yet she felt it too. The exacting life of an accountant, the weekends of bird watching with middle-aged ornithologists – both seemed shallow and artificial now. She was being carried along by something that caused her heart to beat more quickly, something that she had not previously experienced. She glanced sideways at David. She saw something in him which she had not seen before. He had been so self-centred, opinionated and insensitive. Now he was more relaxed, listened more and was gentler. Look at the way he had searched for Tane. That was the part of a true friend.

  “Now Kate,” she said sternly to herself, “don’t get carried away.”

  She was reminded that she had forgotten to pass something on. “Incidentally, David, your father doesn’t believe what the newspapers say.” He looked at her in surprise. “He’s so glad you’re alive.”

  “I’m lucky to have a father like him.”

  Kate smiled to herself. She wondered whether she would ever meet Mr Corbishley Senior.

  “Isn’t it about time for the news?” David turned on the radio.

  This is the New Zealand Broadcasting Service, Station 1YA. Here is the eleven o’clock news on Sunday 23rd January.

  So far no trace has been found of the missing patient from the Glenfern Psychiatric Hospital who was kidnapped allegedly in conjunction with the Epsom church of St. Peter-on-the-Hill in Auckland earlier this evening. A controversial evening service was performed by the fifty-five year old vicar of the church, Archdeacon Harry Mountjoy. Police are seeking information about Dr David Corbishley, senior lecturer at the Geology Department of Auckland University, a former colleague of the patient. They have stated that he is the missing owner of a red Honda Accord which was found crashed near Opotiki yesterday morning following a previous incident at a local property. The police are also pursuing enquiries about the owner of a black Ford Cortina which was found abandoned at the church after the kidnap.

  He looked wryly at Kate. “That’s my cover gone and my career. I’m sorry, but they may get you as well.”

  “It’s all right. I was thinking of doing something else anyhow.”

  The report continued:

  Dr Randall Richardson, the prominent psychiatrist who is in charge of the Glenfern hospital and who is also the warden of St Peter’s Church, has disassociated himself from his vicar’s action and called for his dismissal. He has also requested an immediate enquiry into some of the services held by the Anglican Church, and has expressed serious misgivings as to the future safety of psychiatric hospital patients in non-secure institutions. The Bishop of Auckland has expressed grave concern about some aspects of the St Peter’s service and is expected to issue a public statement shortly clarifying the official Anglican position. He has in the meantime suspended Archdeacon Mountjoy from parish duties and arranged for him to take psychiatric tests.

  Detective Inspector Molloy of the C.I.B., who is in charge of the case, has said that a search is being organised for the missing patient. It is believed that the 29-year-old missing man, Tane Ngata, is without his normal medication and could be dangerous. The public are warned not to approach him. He is
Maori with dark curly hair, short in stature, and about 30 years old.

  “Where are we heading?” Tane asked suddenly.

  “Haven’t you guessed?” said Kate cheerfully. “We’re going to the Raukumara to look for Stan and Bill.”

  Tane did not respond. Instead he turned pale and gave them a look which David could not fathom.

  Too late David realised that he had not told Tane of their destination.

  CHAPTER 33

  It was five hours since they had left Auckland and they were not yet at Rotorua. They had had to follow little-used country roads to avoid possible roadblocks, and the car was painfully slow. To David fell one of the most dangerous stretches of the journey where they had no alternative but to follow the main highway to get over the ranges to Rotorua. The long straights and barberry hedges of the plains had given way to the sweeping curves and the rewarewa forests of the Mamaku ascent. The little Morris Minor whined and groaned as the gradient made itself felt.

  Two lights approached swiftly from the rear. A large, powerful car was gliding effortlessly up the long hill. In less than a minute the other car was fifty yards behind them. A window wound down, and a hand was thrust out with something in it that glinted.

  “Get down!” Tane yelled from the back seat.

  The rear window shattered. Glass was everywhere. The shots continued. The Morris Minor veered wildly.

  They must have hit one of our tyres, thought David.

  The other car drew abreast of them and swung towards them, forcing them to the edge of the road where the seal disappeared into a black gulf. He glimpsed two occupants.

  “They’re trying to push us over,” cried Tane.

  There was nothing between them and the edge.

  “Hold tight!” David yelled, and braked.

  The big black car missed their front mudguard by inches. The Morris Minor skidded helplessly towards the brink. At the last moment the tyres gripped, and he spun the wheel. The car swung away and screeched to a stop, straddling the road.

  The big car – a Mercedes – had stopped. The doors opened. The two occupants advanced on them with revolvers pointed. One was the tall, distinguished-looking man with a long, cadaverous face whom David had last seen in the hallway of St Peter’s Vicarage.

  “Tane,” came the suave and cultivated voice of Randall Richardson. “I’ve come to bring you the drugs you need and to rescue you from your kidnappers.” He indicated his companion. “My orderly is here to assist me.”

  “You tried to kill us,” David said angrily, but he realised that he was wasting his breath. The tall, bronzed, muscular curly-haired orderly had the physique of a street-fighting rugby forward and eyes which conveyed cold and mocking hatred. Never had he met a man who in his looks and bearing conveyed such an impression of physical menace.

  The two men walked to the edge of the seal, Randall Richardson pointing to the Morris Minor and talking in quiet tones to the orderly. The orderly got into the Mercedes. “Please remain in your car,” said the psychiatrist. “We’re just going to move it out of the way of traffic.”

  The Mercedes reversed then approached them from behind. Suddenly it accelerated.

  “Jump!” David yelled.

  Three bodies jetted from the Morris Minor. A split second later there was a crunching sound as the two cars met. The great weight of the Mercedes pushed the other towards the edge of the road. But the Mercedes did not stop, and they saw with horror the little old car disappearing over the edge. They heard a series of sickening metallic crashing sounds as the car hit trees and rocks on its way down. Then silence.

  Oh Miss Milliken, how can I explain this? thought Kate.

  As David lay stunned and sore on the asphalt, he saw the curly-haired man get out with his revolver and walk towards them. As he did so, he looked towards the psychiatrist who nodded. When he got to David, he raised the revolver. In sickening helplessness, David saw the man’s eyes looking at him over the barrel. The orderly was actually grinning.

  The shot did not come.

  Instead, lights lit up the road, an engine roared, tyres screamed, a door slammed and footsteps came pounding.

  “Accident? Can I help?” A weather-beaten, stocky, ginger-haired man in a green ranger’s shirt was shining a torch down on them.

  “Oh, Mr Burton, how nice to see you!” shrilled Kate.

  The ranger made as if to examine the bodies lying on the road. But these bodies immediately showed remarkable signs of life. Tane, under cover of the ranger, launched himself at the psychiatrist. David at the same time set his sight on the orderly’s ankles and brought him down with a flying tackle while Kate wrenched his gun from his hand.

  “I thought you were sick,” David said to Tane admiringly.

  “I don’t need my doctor now,” Tane replied.

  The ranger moved to gain control of the situation. Swiftly, he placed his foot on the revolver which had flown from Randall Richardson’s hand. “Now then, what’s really going on here?” he demanded.

  Randall Richardson rose slowly to his full distinguished height and brushed down his immaculate suit. The other man did the same. They looked loftily at the bloodstained and dust-covered figures of Tane, David and Kate. The contrast could hardly have been more pointed.

  “Mr Burton,” the doctor began, “I think I recognise you from the TV programme as the ranger in charge of the Waitoa Huia Sanctuary.”

  The ranger nodded.

  “I am Randall Richardson, psychiatrist and owner of the Glenfern Hospital. This is my orderly, Donald Borrow. This young man,” he pointed to Tane, “is my patient, Tane Ngata. These two young thugs here are his kidnappers. You would have heard the regular police warnings.’’

  The ranger nodded, but looked puzzled. “I know one of them.” He eyed the revolver Kate was holding. “Miss Fairweather, can’t I hold that for you?”

  Kate shook her head determinedly.

  The psychiatrist continued. “You will be aware from the warnings that the kidnapped patient is violent. You have just seen evidence of this in his unprovoked attack on me, his doctor. You will also have seen the violent character of his kidnappers by their attack on my orderly. Being aware of the personal problems of my patient and his need for daily drug sedation to prevent possible violent attacks, I have considered it my duty to assist the police, taking as you see adequate precautions.”

  “It is very rare, you must admit,” added the orderly, “that a doctor will risk his life to help his patient.”

  “As the condition of my patient is rapidly deteriorating, and as I have travelled down from Auckland with the drugs which he needs urgently, may I suggest, Mr Burton, that you assist us. First of all, will you return my gun to me. Secondly, will you assist me to disarm this young lady? Lastly, will you use your radio to contact the police and advise them that we have apprehended the kidnappers. I need hardly remind you of your public duty.”

  Everything had gone very quiet. The night was still, moonless. The ranges enfolded them like a blanket. They could smell the sweet scent of the rewarewa forest. A morepork sounded quite near. Far away down, a little stream tinkled.

  David’s mind raced. Any moment, he knew the ranger would stoop down and pick up the gun. The only reason he had not picked it up before was because he felt a necessity to be impartial. Now he looked impressed by Randall Richardson’s story which David had to admit was convincing. Was it worth making explanations? With such a weight of evidence against them, it would be uphill work. And it would mean delay. And every moment lost favoured their pursuers.

  “Mr Burton, your Land Rover’s moving,” he yelled.

  At the same instant he swooped for the gun under the ranger’s foot. It was enough. For just that fraction the ranger had glanced round.

  “Tie them into the Land Rover, Tane. Into the Mercedes, please, Mr Burton!”

  The ranger hesitated, but not for long. He got into the Mercedes. Tane followed, after making good use of the rope from the ranger’s Land Rov
er and extracting the key from the ignition. Last of all came Kate, retreating coolly in the style of a female Arab hijacker.

  David fumbled with the controls, then heaved a sigh of relief as the great car purred into life

  A moment later he looked at the speedometer. 100 miles an hour. They needed the pace. His hands shook on the wheel as in his mind he saw again the cold eyes of the doctor and his “orderly”.

  It was not a good experience to meet people whose object was to kill you.

  CHAPTER 34

  “Let him go back to his bloody asylum!”

  Ginger-haired people are commonly believed to have short wicks. Dick Burton lived up to the stereotype, particularly when the humiliation of his kidnapping was followed by the story about a geologist who had interfered with his sanctuary and of whose mental stability there was some doubt.

  “Bloody mental geologist! Discovering uranium! In a huia sanctuary! I never heard such a lot of crap. The only place he discovered uranium was in the asylum. Well, let him just keep right out of my sanctuary! If you ask me, all geologists should all be in that bloody mental hospital.”

  Kate, who was sitting in the back seat with Dick, came in quickly before any tempers were ignited in the front seat. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Dick. Geologists are certainly a real menace. Look at the job we had getting them out of Coppermine Island and the Poor Knights. Now they’re trying to get their hands on Coromandel and the Kaimais, even though they’re Forest Parks.”

  With such appeasing words from Kate, the ranger gradually calmed down. It was then that she swung the conversation away from uranium to the huia, which was Dick’s favourite topic.

  “That was great what you said in the TV documentary,” she said. “You must be a bit of a poet.”

  She was surprised to hear that Dick had actually written a poem about the huia. They talked about its eating habits and physiology and the last reports of unconfirmed sightings. Kate then got onto Kevin and his interest in semi-extinct birds.