The Stalking of Louise Copperfield

by Robert W Fisk

  “Are you still with Charlotte Hoar?” asked the Mediator.

  Yes,” said Frank. “Although she runs a shop, I can afford a live-in nanny. Louise can help me choose someone. Someone she thinks will be just the best. As you know, I work all hours so I need someone anyway.”

  “And I have a new love who wants to live somewhere overseas,” said Louise. Then realizing that Nigel would not want Frank to know where he had gone, she said, “He’s looking in the States at the moment.”

  ‘So much for being honest,’ she thought. Then Frank detailed their plan for Louise to have longer access, including overseas travel. The Mediator wrote it all down.

  “I think twelve,” she said. “We need an age when Alexander can travel overseas. I have written twelve. As long as he receives proper supervision on a flight or a bus he can travel in New Zealand at any time.”

  “He’ll have three months he can be with you,” said Frank. “I’d like him to see the States.”

  The whole agreement took less than an hour to type up, print and sign. They both swore to be bound by their agreement and suddenly it was all over.

  Larcombe had invited Frank to Australia to see a football game, the Bledisloe Cup, played between New Zealand and Australia, and to watch some car racing, the Bathurst 1000, held at Mount Panorama.

  “I’m thinking of buying a motor home. I’ll leave it in Oz on a piece of land Larcombe owns so I can use it when I take a break,” he said. “I may be away for a while this time. I’ll be with Stuart for the rugby and the racing. Maybe two weeks. Alec will be with Charlotte and the house keeper. Are you okay with that?”

  “I’d like to see him before I leave,” said Louise, “and I would like to buy out your share of our house.”

  Louise was surprised when Frank immediately agreed. Things had certainly changed. Louise briefly wondered why but quickly dismissed any thoughts that Frank was being devious. She had what she wanted, although longer with Alexander would have been nice. On the other hand, she would be in Britain so it had worked out for the best.

  As Louise left to go home, Frank smiled secretly. He would be out of the country when Larcombe’s men killed Louise, plus he would have a getaway vehicle so he could drive to an airport and fly away from any trouble. He had paid Larcombe twenty thousand dollars to get rid of Louise, and would probably have to spend another thirty to get a decent mobile home. This getting rid of a wife business was expensive.

  Once Louise had gone, and while he was in Australia, the problems of custody and getting his money back and Louise charging him over his stupid bet would all be resolved. What was more, his last contact with the Court had been with Louise, and had been amicable and pleasant. No suspicion would fall on him.

  CHAPTER 68.

  Mrs Hohepa knocked on Louise’s door.

  “May I come and talk to you?” she asked.

  “Of course,” said Louise. “You’re always welcome here.”

  “On our own now are we?” Mrs Hohepa asked when the friends had settled down to their tea and a gingernut biscuit each. “I’ve been on my own for ten years or more. You never get used to it you know.”

  Mrs Hohepa could tell that her comment had not pleased Louise but it led on to what she wanted to say.

  “I’m going to live in Europe with Nigel,” Louise replied. “He’s going first, and then I’ll join him.”

  “That’s really what I came over for. And to see you, of course,” said Mrs Hohepa. “Why don’t you go with him?”

  “Kezia, Youssef, the house, Calling out Monsters,” laughed Louise. “Are they reasons enough?”

  “No,” said Mrs Hohepa. “No they are not, young lady. When you find the man you can’t live without, you don’t let him go off on his own. You drop everything and go with him.”

  “I’d like to,” said Louise wistfully.

  “Louise, there’s going to be a big storm. I had a fantail in the house. That is those beyond telling me there is going to be a tragedy. Call it superstitious foolishness if you will, but the fantail keeps coming back then flying to your house. You’re not Maori but I think that bird has a message for you.”

  Mrs Hohepa was so emphatic that Louise took her at her word, despite her religious upbringing. She felt a chill and that chill involved Nigel. She knew it. She knew it with utmost certainty. She crossed herself, something she had not done in her daily life for some time.

  “Look dear, I’ve come with a proposal,” said Mrs Hohepa. “I’m in my seventies. I’ve been alone for a long time. My family, my whanau, is in Northland. I want to go there to bring my grandaughter Marama back to look after me. Her husband has just got a job with Tanner’s, the big fishing outfit in Wahanui. He’ll be at sea for six weeks or more at a time.”

  “The married girl? The one with two wee ones?” asked Louise. She knew that many Maori did not like to ask a favour directly, because it was insensitive. “Annette, are you asking me to sell them my house?”

  Mrs Hohepa raised her eyebrows but did not speak. Louise reached across the table and put her hands over those of Mrs Hohepa.

  “What a wonderful idea!” said Louise. “I can go with Nigel!”

  “Only if you don’t mind. You could get a good price for your house,” said Mrs Hohepa. “I’m not asking for favours.”

  Louise’s mind was racing. “Annette, I trust you. You have my papers here; my passport, my insurance, my legal stuff about Frank, Nigel’s papers, even my Swiss bank stuff. I wouldn’t leave them here if I didn’t trust you.”

  “Of course you can trust me,” said Mrs Hohepa. “You’re like a daughter to me. Oh, how I hated seeing that man treat you like dirt.”

  “Annette, please get my passport and my financial papers for the lawyer while I ring Nigel. Then get your daughter and son in law here. They can have any of the furniture. I won’t need it again and that would be less to store.”

  “But how much for the house?” asked Mrs Hohepa.

  “We’ll sort it out when I get back,” said Louise. “I’ll arrange for my lawyer to do everything. It would be marvellous for you to have Marama living across the road. Annette, I will give them a mortgage if they can’t get one from a bank.”

  “Louise, you really are my daughter. Now you can go and chase your man,” said Mrs Hohepa. “Nothing stopping you.”

  “I’ll get Kezia to come and sort out the storage. She should be on holiday shortly. Her exams are finished,” said Louise. “All you have to do is talk to Marama and get her to come to Wahanui to see if the house suits her. Can I have those papers now, please?”

  “I will fly up to Northland on Wednesday,” said Mrs Hohepa. “I’ll stay a few days then bring Marama back with me after Labour Weekend if that’s all right. She can stay with me while she looks at the house and sorts things out.”

  Louise looked at Mrs Hohepa. Although she must be in her early or mid-seventies, her brown skin was as smooth as a baby’s, her black hair was full and lustrous with only one or two streaks of grey. She looked as if she would live to be a hundred so Louise was glad she was helping Marama into a home nearby. The Maori way was to look after the elders but in this modern era with house prices gone crazy that was becoming very difficult.

  As she showed Mrs Hohepa the door, Louise noticed what seemed to be a metallic taste in the air. Watching to see the old lady safely to her home, Louise noticed that the black clouds were piled high over the mountains to the west. A fantail, a small bird with a fan shaped tail, flitted and fluttered its way into the house in front of her. She left the front door open for it to fly away when it had finished its hunt for spiders. Although it would have freaked Annette Hohepa out, Louise felt no premonition of the impending disaster.

  CHAPTER 69.

  In Christchurch, the main international airport for the South Island, some three hours’ drive from Wahanui, Goran Moravec was frantic with worry. He was a small man, fair haired and blue eyed, a pleasant man in his early thirties. He had been in New Zealand for ten years, havin
g entered the country as a refugee with the intention of moving to Australia once he had a New Zealand passport. He had worked for Ajax Hotels, a chain of hotels specialising in accommodation at international airports. There were three Ajax franchises in New Zealand and he had worked at them all: the Auckland Ajax Airport Hotel and the Wellington Ajax Airport Hotel and now the Christchurch Ajax Airport Hotel. He loved the freedom of New Zealand and the fresh greenness of the countryside around Christchurch. He wanted to marry and was saving for a house before asking Nadja to marry him.

  As befitted a general factotum in a large hotel complex, Goran dressed well but not expensively. To bolster his income, Goran was a thief and a drug courier. He never stole from the hotel or its guests and he never used the drugs he conveyed.

  He stole people’s suitcases when he picked up guests at the airport, which was actually within walking distance of the hotel, but few bothered to walk when there was a free shuttle van. Goran would walk away with a baggage trolley with a suitcase on it while an owner waited at the kerbside for a taxi. Goran would continue to the Arrivals Hall to wait for his own people, taking the stolen case on the trolley with him. When he had loaded the cases of his guests he would take them and the stolen suitcase to the parking area for hotel shuttles. There his guests would get aboard his minibus and Goran would load his guests’ cases plus the stolen one and then drive off. Being so close to the airport, Goran was able to drive to the Ajax, unload his people, quickly go through the stolen case and then return it to the airport near to where he had found it, minus anything of value.

  His problem came through drugs. The drugs were packed in suitcases which he picked up in one place and delivered to another. The cases could contain half a million dollars’ worth at street value. He was paid well for his work, which, just like his hotel work, was done reliably and well.

  This time Goran had mixed up the cases. Instead of delivering the case that was full of drugs to the man from The Dragon he had handed on a case from the airport by mistake. To make matters even worse, he had taken the drugs back to the airport and set them down against the wall at the taxi stand near to where he had stolen it.

  The traveller’s case contained clothes and toiletries. The main drug distributor, a Vietnamese with an evil reputation, opened the tourist’s case and found not drugs but clothing. He immediately called Goran and gave him twenty four hours to replace or pay for the missing cocaine.

  The taxi stand supervisor had seen the case sitting on its own. He tried to open the case in order to find a clue to the owner but the lock kept him out. A drug dog handler was going off duty when her dog alerted her. Her beagle stood and pointed at the man in uniform who was bending over a case. The handler alerted the police who firstly arrested the taxi stand supervisor and then planted the case to see who came for it.

  Goran rushed back to the airport in fear for his life. He parked the hotel van in the space reserved for hotel pickups and walked along the pavement to where he had left the case. As he approached the taxi stand he saw his case still sitting where he had left it. New Zealand was an honest community. He heaved a sigh of relief.

  Goran’s previous life in Central Europe had given him a nose for an ambush. As he approached the taxi stand he realised that there was nobody within twenty feet of his case

  “Hi Jerry,” he said to a nearby baggage handler. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s a sting,” said Jerry. “Cops have found a case of coke and are waiting to see who claims it.”

  Goran did not understand ‘sting’ but he worked it out. Because he was unable to swap the cases, he left the stolen suit case containing somebody’s clothing against the wall but a long way from the suitcase with the drugs. He returned to the hotel’s van and slowly drove back to the hotel. The Dragon would kill him, nothing surer. He decided that his only course of action was to disappear. He did not know how ironic the fulfilment of his wish was going to be.

  CHAPTER 70.

  Nigel Jones always looked neat and tidy. As he stood at the Reception Desk at the Ajax Airport Hotel he was wearing sports trousers and an open neck polo shirt, both in a pastel blue colour that matched his eyes. His muscular body belied his small stature. The man serving him was of a similar height and had equally fair skin and hair but beside Nigel he looked puny.

  Nigel Jones smiled at Goran as he picked up his room key then turned to get his bag. In New Zealand, it is not the custom to tip or give a gratuity for something that a person is paid to do. There is a basic rate of pay below which nobody can be employed, removing the necessity for tips to supplement the employer’s rate of pay. To Goran, the smile was no substitute for good hard cash, but he smiled back politely nonetheless.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr Jones?” asked the receptionist. He appeared to be distressed, leading Nigel to wonder if he was delaying the man from something important. Still, he had asked, so Nigel responded.

  “Yes, there is, actually,” said Nigel. “I would like tickets to a show tonight. Maybe Priscilla, Queen of the Desert?”

  “I can order some for you, sir. It’s Thursday so there will be plenty of seats. You can pay when you pick the tickets up at the theatre,” said Goran.

  Nigel peered at Goran’s name label.

  “Goran. Is that name from Serbia?” Nigel asked. “Just the one ticket, I’m afraid.”

  “No Mr Jones, I am from the Czech Republic. Now I am a New Zealander from another country, like you. If you don’t mind my asking, how many nights are you staying with us?”

  “Unless I miss my flight to Sydney and then on to the States, I’ll be staying for just the one night. I booked for two nights because I wasn’t sure of my onward plans but I managed to get a business class seat all the way to Los Angeles,” said Nigel. “I am on the late morning flight, not the seven a.m.”

  Do you need a late check out, sir?” asked Goran. “We ask people to leave their rooms by ten.”

  “No, I will be leaving here soon after eight,” Nigel replied.

  “Do you want someone to comfort you after the show?” Goran asked quietly. For being a pimp, he would expect a tip but there was something about his guest that told him Mr Jones would say no. Nigel did not reply; he simply ignored the question and turned away to go to his room.

  His room was large, with a king sized bed that made him, as a small man, feel dwarfed. He debated whether to use the single bed against the wall but decided that was too narrow.

  “Come on Goldilocks,” he said to himself. “Make up your mind.”

  He changed his clothes, putting what he had been wearing on the single bed to tell Goran to turn down the coverlet on the king bed. He did not feel like dressing up for the theatre as he would have done in Wales with his mother checking that her children, no matter what age, were properly dressed for the occasion. Instead he wore a grey merino wool and opossum fur pullover on top of an open neck checked shirt. He might be a little warm but at least he would not feel cold.

  On his laptop a message from Louise told him that she had sold her house to Mrs Hohepa, the lady across the road. He was thrilled because that meant she could join him sooner rather than later although it also meant a huge amount of work for her on her own.

  Nigel closed his laptop and on an impulse, put it in his shoulder bag to take with him for safety. Airport hotels were notorious for petty theft.

  He left his room quickly and walked to a restaurant for a meal before seeing his show. His mind was full of concern for Louise. Was he being selfish? Should he leave Louise at a time when his help was needed? His thoughts distracted him from the theatre performance, which otherwise was excellent, as his mind kept drifting off to Louise in Wahanui.

  CHAPTER 71.

  With Nigel Jones’s booking made and no other demands from guests, Goran was free to solve his problem. Goran needed a passport to flee the country. He could go to Australia, a three to four hour flight, and once there try to buy a passport that did not use a bio chip from undergroun
d contacts who were known to steal passports to order. Or he could fly to India where a new passport could be made using a bio chip made especially for him.

  Goran realised that he could steal a passport too. That would be his way out of New Zealand to Australia. He and Mr Jones had similar appearance. Both were short and fair, both were small framed and had similar shaped faces. But one spoke native English, the other would always sound like a Central European. Keep his mouth shut and he would get by.

  Mr Jones had told him he was travelling to the States via Sydney. Goran had access to a master key to the safes in the rooms. He had to use it now and then when guests forgot their pin number.

  Goran opened the safe. The travel tickets were there, plus five thousand dollars and the New Zealand passport. Nigel Jones was a little older, but the resemblance should see Goran through. With any luck, and assuming the stolen passport allowed him in, Goran would be in Australia before his theft was discovered. There he would have time to organise a more effective false passport.

  Using the telephone in Nigel’s room, Goran rang the airport and explained that a guest’s mother in the States was dying, and as the motel concierge he had been asked to find an earlier flight, was there a seat on an earlier plane?

  There was a seat leaving at one in the morning and going via Melbourne but Mr Jones would have to downgrade from business class to economy with no refund. Goran took the offer.

  As Goran closed the door of the safe there was a light knocking on the door. Goran opened it. Two very large men stood there.

  “Mr Jones?” one asked.

  Goran thought he had been caught. He decided to bluff his way out of a difficult situation, pleading misunderstanding if he had to revert to being Mr Moravec. The decision was to prove fatal.