“”How horrible,” said the reporter. “How did you feel?”
The woman stared into space. Ignoring the question she said, “The noise in the roof got louder, a drumming-booming noise and then there was a crack and a huge crash and it all fell down. I was next to a pole holding the roof up and sheets of iron sort fell down over me, held up by the upright so I wasn’t hit by anything.” The woman paused. “Then I saw I could get out of there through the fallen wall. I joined arms with three other people, like crossing a river, and we got out.”
“That was lucky,” said the reporter. “How did you feel when you escaped and so many died?”
The young woman turned away so the camera could not see her tears.
“And now we leave Melanie Bright to talk to the Mayor. Mr Cameron, how do you feel?”
“How do you expect me to bloody well feel?” he replied, pushing past her to get to a small group of elderly people huddled together like sheep in a storm.
“Well, it seems that the Mayor is too busy to talk to us right now,” said the reporter. “Let’s ask that policeman.”
CHAPTER 79.
Frank Copperfield and Stuart Larcombe were in Australia, completely unaware of the drama unfolding in Wahanui. It was five o’clock on Saturday morning where they were, and seven o’clock in New Zealand. They had been in Brisbane for the second game of the Bledisloe Rugby Cup, which had been won by New Zealand. With the score at one game all, the third game in a week’s time would decide the outcome. In the meantime the pair would go to Mount Panorama for the car racing then travel to Melbourne for the deciding rugby game on Sunday.
The Mount Panorama car racing circuit was located in the town of Bathurst. It was essentially a street racing circuit with exciting curves and a steep climb up the hill called Mount Panorama. Brisbane is 1000km or around 670 miles from Bathurst, a journey that normally takes about eleven to twelve hours. Allowing for three breaks for food and drink Stuart and Frank planned for a fourteen hour journey, starting at four in the morning. They would arrive at their accommodation some time in the early evening. Neither man had realised the volumes of traffic that would be on the road as thousands of Australians made their way to the event. They were much later than they had thought so Stuart rang their motel to confirm that their booking was still available.
Stuart waited anxiously for news from two men he had engaged for a particularly nasty job involving Jones. He should have heard by now. The Mollison Brothers should have called and hung up twice to show a successful completion of the job. No word came, although time in Australia was two hours behind New Zealand.
“It could be my mobile phone,” he thought. “There are often delays when you roam in another country.”
When they took a break from driving, in a crowded restaurant with a flat screen television but no sound, Frank drew Stuart’s attention to the picture on the screen.
“That’s Wahanui, isn’t it?” asked Frank.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Stuart answered. “There’s water everywhere. Wahanui is in drought.”
The screen switched to show other flooded towns, the captions clearly labelling each in turn. A rainstorm ‘bomb’ had hit, creating havoc in a country that normally handled natural phenomena as part of its everyday life. Captions labelled a tangled mass of twisted iron and fallen glass, ‘Half built Shopping Mall collapses’.
“Poor buggers,” said Frank, showing no recognition until the caption read ‘Huatere Shopping Mall last night’.
“Oh My God, that’s us!” he shouted out loud.
People who were nearby stopped talking. As silence rippled through the whole restaurant everyone looked at the carnage on the screen.
“Anyone from New Zealand?” called the manager.
“Yes, here!” called several voices.
“Everyone shut up and listen,” yelled the manager as he switched on the sound.
“The death toll is fifteen and expected to rise,” said the calm voice of the woman reporter. “The Town Planner, Nigel Jones, said at the last Wahanui Council meeting that this mall should be closed pending verification that the steel beams were of the strength specified. Mr Jones is currently travelling and can’t be contacted for comment. The Labour Department and Health and Safety will conduct separate investigations. Here is the Mayor, Charles Cameron. Mr Cameron, what do you make of this tragedy?”
The Mayor thought the journalist was begging the question.
“That is an awful question to ask me at this point in time,” he said. “The collapse of the mall is a major disaster but our efforts have to be to rescue those trapped and our thoughts have to be with those injured and the families of those who have died. It is a miracle that people in the houses on the hill above the mall were led to safety before their houses slipped down the hill. Our thoughts will turn to those who have suffered loss but at the moment our efforts must be focused on saving the lives of those still trapped in the mall. I'm sorry, but I have to help them first.”
Charles Cameron turned away from the camera and began walking back to the ruins behind him. His shoulders were hunched over and he looked like a tired Winston Churchill whose courage could not be denied. Letters and emails and Facebook posts immediately began to criticise the reporter for her insensitivity and to praise Mayor Cameron for his humanity.
Frank thought of the papers Nigel might have with him.
“Have they got it sorted?” Frank asked. “Your men. Has the rain stopped them looking for Nigel's papers?”
“Shh!” said someone nearby. “This is serious. Shut up and listen.”
“Many escaped from the building. Some stopped to take pictures of the mall.”
The reporter paused while the video replay started. It showed the tangled mass of metal and concrete from which the initial still photograph had been taken. There were bangs and crashes as more and more of the struts holding up what remained of the roof collapsed.
“Police efforts have been hampered by the torrential rain that has brought devastating flooding to the Wahanui area,” said the reporter. “It is impossible for cars or four wheel drives to use the main roads into the town and many local roads are closed. Some of the injured have been taken by boat to the hospital.”
A video showed a boat loaded with people leaving the mall area, with water so rough that it had white caps on the waves.
“Mobile phones tell of people trapped, as if in an earthquake,” said the reporter. “Police are asking for relatives and friends who receive such calls to try to find exactly where the victim is within the building and to report to the authorities immediately.”
She turned to a young man who had a mobile phone in his hand. “Mr Briggs, have you heard from your wife?”
“Yes,” said the young man, his voice catching in his throat. “She says she has a long piece of metal across her legs so she can’t move. The water is still rising and is up to her chest. I’ve told the Fire and Rescue people and they’re going to try to get her out before she drowns.”
Briggs spoke on the phone then turned back to the reporter.
“She says she’s all right. She can’t feel any pain in her legs now, but she is very tired. She is worried about our baby.”
“How old is your baby?” asked the reporter.
“About seven months. My wife is about seven months pregnant.” Briggs sounded as if he wanted to cry. “The worst thing is, they won’t let me go in to the wreckage. She’s there all on her own.”
Briggs was getting more Twitter and Facebook posts than Mayor Cameron before him but he gave no thought to such matters as he turned away. The television station began to recycle the video clips that had already been shown. The manager turned the sound off. There was a clatter of cutlery and a clashing of plates but nobody spoke.
“Let’s go Frank,” said Stuart. “There's nothing we can do here.”
The two men had paid for their food already, so they stood and moved towards the exit. As they did so others began to move and p
eople began to talk animatedly. Stuart and Frank just wanted to get away as quickly and as unobtrusively as they could. Suddenly there were cheers, and clapping and many people stood up as the television showed pictures of a crane lifting a steel beam to release a young woman, followed by a close up of Briggs brushing people aside as he broke through the cordon to get to her.
Just then Larcombe’s phone vibrated in his pocket. The call stopped but was repeated a few seconds later. Again it stopped vibrating. Two calls that ended abruptly before they could be answered meant that the mission had succeeded. Larcombe heaved a sigh of relief. One down. Frank’s wife was next.
Out in the car park Frank said, “Christ! What are we going to do?”
Stuart replied, “Scarper. Disappear, as we always planned.”
“You might have planned something but I certainly didn't,” Frank replied heatedly.
“Stay here then and face it on your own,” said Stuart. He started the car. “By the way, the first part of the clean-up was successful. Now get out Frank. The party's over.”
Frank sat for a moment thinking. Then he got out of the car and watched as Larcombe drove off.
'What would Louise do?' he asked himself.
'Front up,' she answered in his mind.
Aware that the first part of the clean-up mission had succeeded, his mind turned to the next step. Louise. Did he really want Louise to die? To protect Larcombe and him from going to gaol? Frank remembered Larcombe saying he would look after the issue of the original drawings suddenly re-appearing. Well, if they did, they did.
More important than the papers were the landslide and the loss of life. That was awful.
'I'm sure that steel was safe,' he thought. 'Has Mr Xi swapped the strong Chinese steel for weak Chinese steel?'
Only one way to find out. With his mind filled with thoughts of Louise dying and of the Huatere disaster, Frank went looking for a travel agency that could change his flight home.
CHAPTER 80.
Nigel was not lying in a toilet somewhere. He had slept late and surprisingly deeply. Louise’s support and his subsequent decision to book two seats to the States seemed to have quelled the demons that had troubled him since he challenged the Council and resigned.
He had not heard from Louise and presumed she was trying to catch up with Kezia. Although he kept asking at the Reception Desk, there were no messages for him. He noticed that the nervous young man from Serbia had been replaced by a young woman from Thailand. Getting hold of Louise would be a good idea anyway. He was still waiting for a text message from her with her passport number so that he could finish booking the two tickets to the States. He would try later, he decided. She would be out and about now and the evening would be a much better time to tell her he was still in New Zealand.
Nigel had breakfast then took a taxi into the city. He enjoyed wandering around Christchurch, seeing how well the reconstruction of that city following an earthquake was proceeding. As a professional town planner he could see just how much good work had been done and also how much remained. Cathedral Square still looked forlorn, with heavy barriers to stop people entering sites where there was on-going demolition or rebuilding. He did not like the flat empty spaces where he could remember buildings had once stood. His branch of the bank had disappeared entirely with a For Sale sign marking where the grand old building had once stood.
The air was heavy with a brassy smell and the sky was threatening a storm but on the River Avon the men poling punts loaded with passengers were operating as normal. It was mid-morning, all the shops were open. Some had workers putting up plywood shutters across their windows. With the gigantic storm about to hit Christchurch, the police were issuing warnings about not travelling and about securing property. Nigel walked back to the motel. He thought that he must get hold of Louise as his top priority. As he opened the door the phone began to ring. He thought that it was Air New Zealand again.
“Good morning Mr Jones. Tomkins. Christchurch Police here. Reception put me through to your room. Have I got the right person?”
Nigel had an awful feeling that something had happened to Louise. Being out of touch and not watching the television nor listening to the radio, he had not heard anything about the storm and its effects on Wahanui. He was asked for his date of birth and his home address.
Tomkins got straight to the point. “There has been a murder that we think is linked to the robbery you reported on Thursday night. A hotel worker, Goran Moravec was killed and his body dumped by a lake off the State Highway going over to the West Coast. I would like you to see if you know the man.”
“I met him,” replied Nigel. “He is the Receptionist or Night Manager.”
“Was,” said Tomkins. “We are trying to trace his family in Europe. Mr Jones, Moravec looked quite like you, or so I am told. I have rung to warn you that there might have been case of mistaken identity, and that you might be in danger as a result of the disaster at Wahanui.”
“Wahanui?” asked Nigel. “What’s happened there?”
“The new building site and the shopping mall, both approved by you, have collapsed. There has been a mudslide and several people have died. Can you understand why I am concerned for your safety?”
Nigel was appalled. “What can I do? Should I go back to Wahanui?” he asked.
“Sir, there is going to be a storm in Christchurch, the same storm that lashed Wahanui. Although the storm has lessened its intensity, I would advise you not to go back until the storm has passed and order has been restored in Wahanui. Please remain in your hotel where we can get hold of you.”
Tomkins saw no point in telling Nigel that a police officer from Wahanui had identified the body and had returned to Wahanui. As he went to prepare a press release, Tomkins gave no thought to the issue that Nigel’s life could still be in danger if the name of the murder victim was released through the media. For that matter, so could his partner’s.
CHAPTER 81.
Frank knew he was in trouble over the Huatere Project and the new Mall. He sat miserably in a coffee shop nursing a coffee waiting for a text message to tell him that he had a seat on a plane going back to New Zealand. He was reviewing his options. The first was good riddance to Larcombe.
Trust Larcombe to take off when everything turned to custard. Although Frank had cut corners, he had built to the modified plans and specifications. The modified ones. As long as the ‘friends in low places’ of Larcombe had done their job well, Frank should be safe. On the other hand, he could deny any knowledge of papers having been modified because Larcombe had looked after that side of things.
It would be more credible to be the honest and upfront builder, to get on the media as soon as possible and bluff his way through rather than to hide or delay. The sooner this was done the better. Frank used his mobile phone to contact the Australian media and the Wahanui Police.
The television company jumped at the chance for an exclusive interview.
“In about thirty minutes,” the liaison officer said. “Stand outside the travel agency and I’ll get a crew to you in thirty minutes.”
Frank rang Wahanui.
“The Mr Francis Copperfield?” repeated the desk officer on watch.
“Yes. That’s me.”
“May I please have your date of birth?”
Frank’s heart sank. This was to be a very formal conversation.
“I’ll put you through to Inspector Chadwick. I know he wants to speak to you about the Huatere disaster.”
‘Here it comes,’ thought Frank.
“Mr Copperfield? Chadwick here. I have a serious matter to deal with and it appears insensitive to talk to you about it on the telephone. I want you to hear what I have to say as soon as possible. There has been a disaster in Huatere. The hillside collapsed under the new houses and the Mall further down the valley was hit by the subsequent mudslide. Please return to Wahanui as soon as possible. I need to speak to you.”
“I was just making bookings,” said Frank. “I
bought an open ticket. It’s just a matter of finding a seat. I heard about the tragedy on tv. In fact, the reporters are about to interview me.”
“Please know nothing,” said Chadwick. “Tell them you are coming home to find out what happened.”
“Good advice,” said Frank. “Thank you.”
The travel agent sent Frank’s ticket and details to his cell phone. There had been had no trouble finding a flight back to Christchurch because the Australian car racing had not yet finished and the rugby game was not until seven thirty that night, nine thirty in New Zealand so fans would fly home on the following day, Sunday.
On arrival at Christchurch International Airport his passport was glanced at but he was not asked any questions. Although it was raining heavily when he arrived in Christchurch planes were still flying. While he waited for his onward flight Frank saw on television reports of slippages and road closures on the road to Wahanui, and warnings that severe weather was expected to hit Christchurch. The plane had spare seats because people had cancelled their trips due to some doubt about whether planes would be able to land in Wahanui.
In mid-flight the pilot apologised for the turbulent trip and advised that the airport at Wahanui was still closed. More flooding had occurred and high tide was expected in the following two hours. The plane was diverted to an Air Force Base an hour’s drive over mountains. A police car was waiting to take Frank to Wahanui.
When Wahanui came into sight, Frank could hardly believe the view from the car window. Black clouds still obscured most of the hillsides surrounding the town but below where his shopping mall should have been was a dirty yellow streak, as if some kid had vandalised a three dimensional model of the town by smearing ochre clay over part of it, the part where there should have been ten houses. Frank’s driver took him to the main police station, where he asked to speak to the inspector in charge.
The Stalking of Louise Copperfield Page 28
