by Alan Carter
‘Perish the thought.’
Rain arrives in the evening and it’ll be good for the river, the land, and the water tanks. Particularly those which have been recently holed. Hopefully Thomas has managed to fix his so he can reap full benefit.
Paulie is full of himself, it’s a long while since he got invited over to anybody’s house. ‘Mim’s got a horse called Bella. And a TV in her room,’ he adds pointedly.
‘Better than the other way round.’
He frowns at me. ‘That’s stupid, Dad.’
‘Been at the school a while?’
‘Started this year I think. Yeah.’
‘Where was she before she came here?’
‘That a cop question, Dad?’
‘No, it’s a dad question, son.’ I turn my reading lamp on him and go mock serious. ‘Answer. Now.’
‘Nelson, I think. Yeah, Nelson.’
‘Parents fancied a country change, eh?’
‘It’s just her and her mum, and grandad.’
‘Nice people?’
Vanessa looks up from her marking. ‘Mum seems nice enough. Mim’s a livewire.’
‘Grandad?’
‘He was out.’
Back to Paulie. ‘So is Mim coming over here anytime?’
‘Can she?’
Vanessa and I check with each other. ‘Sure. Of course.’
‘Great, I’ll ask tomorrow.’
I nod. ‘What about that earthquake today. Feel it?’
‘Yeah.’ He wobbles a bit and crosses his eyes. ‘Whoaw.’
‘Time for bed, Paulie,’ says Vanessa.
I’m not far from turning in myself. ‘You going late with the books again?’
‘’Fraid so,’ says Vanessa. ‘Besides, I’ve already had my evil way with you.’
‘Mum!’ says Paulie from the bathroom through a mouthful of toothpaste. ‘Yuck!’
She glances up from her books and catches my eye. ‘Should be done with this in an hour. Any chance of dessert?’
Friday morning – another week rolls around to its end. The rain has washed through and the sun is back out. The wind got up in the night and there’s debris on the valley road: branches, gravel and stuff. Waterfalls have sprung up in roadside gullies. Window down, the place smells fresh and clean and everywhere is a deeper shade of green. The Lodge gates are shut and all is quiet. That suits me.
Havelock is just coming awake, putting on its best tourist village display. Locals greeting each other, children skipping to school, dogs being walked, honest down-to-earth folk going about their business. But Latifa is in a foul mood when I arrive at the cop shop.
‘Morning,’ I say brightly.
‘Yeah.’
‘How’s things?’
‘Daniel’s staying down Christchurch another week because of his mum, and somebody scratched the paintwork on my car.’
‘The work one?’
‘No, mine. They can do what they like to the work one.’
‘Deliberate?’
‘Looks like it. They did a nice little pattern on my bonnet. A dick. Oversized as usual.’
‘Bugger.’
‘And I didn’t get much sleep last night.’
‘Need a coffee from the shop?’
‘I’ll come with you.’
We lock up, turn the sign to closed, and walk a block down to the bakery. Latifa adds a bacon sandwich to her coffee order and we take a seat by the window. Her mood seems unshakeable.
‘Anything else bothering you?’
‘Somebody was creeping through the yard last night. Same people who vandalised the car I expect.’
‘Kids?’
‘Havelock doesn’t really have any bad kids, like bad-bad. And then my mobile kept going off in the night. Unknown number.’
‘Should have turned it off.’
‘Can’t. I was on call.’
‘Any idea who’s behind it?’
The coffee arrives and she takes refuge behind hers. ‘That Yank is the only nutcase I’ve had bother with lately.’
‘We’ll need evidence, given how lawyered up Cunningham is.’
‘I know.’ She attacks her bacon sandwich. I’m wishing I’d given in to temptation and got one too.
An idea occurs to me. ‘That camera he has on his tree. Maybe we can set one up too. If it is him and he comes back, then bingo. If it isn’t then we’ll know who to go after.’
‘Okay.’ She brightens. ‘I’ll organise it.’ Changes the subject. ‘Any news on the Mummy?’
‘The body’s not that old. No, nothing yet. How about the water-tank shooter?’
‘After Thomas’s tip-off about the silencer, I contacted that bloke near Rai Valley who makes his own.’
There’s a retired hydrologist who knows all you need to know about how water moves underground, has set up his own wi-fi system in an area that doesn’t have any, and is an expert marksman. In his spare time he crafts his own silencers and sells them to hunters to supplement his pension. I think he might be writing a book too. No, really.
‘What’d he say?’
‘He insists it couldn’t be one of his because he doesn’t sell them to dickheads. Besides he reckons they couldn’t afford his – artisan, handmade. Bespoke, he said.’
‘What if it’s a cashed-up dickhead?’
‘Much as I’d like to blame Cunningham for everything that’s happening right now, I’m not sure it’s diligent police work. You should be setting me a better example, Sarge.’
I drain my coffee. ‘I checked out the line of sight for the shootings on Gary’s and my tanks. What with the trees and angles and whatever you can narrow it down to a small area on that hill over the river.’ I bring a map up on my phone and show her.
‘You reckon we need to climb that steep hill for what? Spent cartridges, abandoned signed confessions?’
‘Diligent police work, Constable. And who’s this “we”? It’s your case, remember?’
‘I knew it was going to be one of those days.’
Back to the list of Bruce Gelder’s plumbing jobs until midmorning, then DSS Maxwell summons me to the murder room in the town hall for an update. The Four Square is still shut and communal mutiny is in the air.
‘Heard you had some dramas up the valley yesterday. The landslip?’
‘No serious injuries. Just an old body that was unearthed.’
He nods. ‘Keegan’s added it to my caseload. Like I haven’t got enough on my plate. How’s your plumbing list going?’
‘Slowly. It’s a waste of time.’
A half-grin. ‘It was designed to be. Look I’m not gonna piss around anymore. Drop it for now. I need you to run with this cold case. You up for it?’
‘Sure.’
‘First things first.’ He checks his watch. ‘Hightail it to Nelson and you should be just in time for the post-mortem.’
‘Is it just me or do I get any help?’
‘On an as-needs basis. Let me know after the PM, okay?’
And so it’s SH6 over the Whangamoa Saddle to Nelson. Winding through the logged hills, around the hairpin bends with the usual impatient roadsters up my tail, completely unfazed by the ‘Police’ markings on my car. At one point I flick on the top lights and pull over one particularly annoying dipstick for a talking-to. Five minutes later and a ‘who cares’ shrug, and he’s on his way.
The pathologist is a middle-aged man I’ve never met before and he’s already started his examination. According to my paperwork his name is Professor Bardawi. He’s bemused by my uniform as he was expecting a plain-clothes detective.
‘I’ve been seconded to the investigation and was first on the scene when the body was unearthed. I can email you my resumé later if you like?’
‘No need. You have a trustworthy face.’ Photographs and measurements have been taken. ‘He was probably around one hundred and eighty-five centimetres. Maybe once we find the other half we can join him together and confirm that but I’d like to think I’m right.’
‘Sound
s good to me.’
A report will follow, he tells me, but I’m taking my own notes anyway.
‘Age?’
‘Anywhere from thirty to sixty. I’ll try to narrow it down with a few tests later today.’ He brings the magnifier in on its retractable arm. ‘You already saw the hole in the head, I believe?’
‘Yes. Bullet?’
‘I’d say so. There’s a corresponding entry hole behind and lower down.’ He shows me.
‘The exit hole was on top of the skull, above the forehead. That’s a pretty extreme angle?’
‘Not if he’s kneeling in front of you with his head bowed.’
‘An execution?’
‘I’ve seen a few. Until twelve years ago I lived in Iraq.’
‘Anything else?’
He looks up. ‘In a hurry? You only just arrived.’ A nod and murmur towards his assistant. ‘What looks like ligature markings around the neck. Not sure about that, with the state of putrefaction. Again though, hangings and garrottings are not unfamiliar to me.’
Strangled and shot? I grab a seat and listen and learn.
The rest of the preliminary examination suggested a well-nourished victim with no signs of disease or traces of narcotics or other notable substances. He had died sometime in the last three to five years but Bardawi would need to do further tests to be more accurate. By the end of the examination, the professor was prepared to tighten the age range to the higher bracket.
‘So forty-five to sixty-five?’
‘Yes. I’ll update you in my report in the next few days. I have a number of more urgent and recent cases to deal with, including the poor fellow in the supermarket storeroom who needs further examination. Strange goings on. Is there something in the water over there in Havelock?’
Probably. Outside, there’s a message from Vanessa on my mobile. She sounds pissed off. I’ve had this Gemma police woman in the staff room asking me to confirm your whereabouts on Monday and Tuesday evening. What’s going on?
So much else happening: earthquakes, bodies, you get the drift. I call her back. ‘Sorry, meant to tell you yesterday.’
‘Why’s she checking up on you?’
‘Because of my history with Gelder over the mining.’
‘You’re a suspect in his murder? Seriously?’
‘It’s a due diligence thing to make sure I can’t be seen to have a conflict of interest in the investigation. Just a formality, a rubber stamp.’
‘So where were you on Monday night? I was in bed by the time you got home. Assumed you were working. Gemma says not. She says you told her you were back home by mid-evening. Asked me to confirm it.’
‘Did you?’
‘You want me to lie for you? Provide a false alibi?’
‘I’ll explain when I get home.’
‘You do that.’
It’s midafternoon heading back over the mountains and I’ve offered to collect Paulie on the way, to save Vanessa the journey and to try to make some amends for enmeshing her in my web of fibs. Before leaving Nelson I dropped by HQ to ask DC Keegan for some help with the donkey work on my Mummy enquiry: a trainee detective, probationary constable, civilian, even a year twelve student placement; whatever. Her office smelled of expensive perfume and sneaky cigarettes.
‘Executed you say?’
‘According to Professor Bardawi.’
‘Organised crime then?’
‘Or somebody who watches a lot of nasty movies.’
‘Both even.’ She glanced at her computer and her fingers moved across the keyboard. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ A sniff. ‘That offer remains open, Nick. There’s a job for you over here in the detectives.’
‘Thanks, appreciate it. But travel time’s an issue and I need to be around to share Paulie with Vanessa. And to be honest I’m getting a taste for the simple life.’
She lifted her eyes from the screen. ‘Somebody tortured to death in your local supermarket and a possible gangland execution at the nearest campsite. How’s the simple life going?’
Not to mention a water-tank sniper and some American crazies moving in down the road. ‘Famine or feast.’
‘Have it your way. The execution-style killing is ringing bells for me but not for this region. I’ll do some digging.’
‘Don’t forget my donkey.’
‘Leave it with me.’
Paulie’s at the school gate when I pull up. He’s with a girl who is probably his new friend Mim. He introduces her and we shake hands formally.
‘This is Dad. He’s a cop.’
‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘You told me.’ There’s a worldly spark to her eyes, a knowingness beyond her years. I can’t help wondering what she sees in Paulie.
‘How are you settling in to your new school?’
‘New?’
‘Started this year, that right?’
A nod. ‘Great,’ she says. ‘My old one was very strict.’
‘Making lots of new friends?’
‘A few, I suppose. Paul’s nice. He makes me laugh.’
‘Makes me laugh too.’ Paulie is looking a bit agitated. Too much scrutiny, I’m guessing. ‘Is your mum picking you up, Mim?’
A shake of the head. ‘Grandad. He should be here soon.’
‘We’ll wait until he arrives. Make sure you’re okay.’
‘No need.’
‘No problem, we aren’t in a hurry. Are we, Paulie?’
‘It’s Paul, Dad. I’m not a kid anymore.’
‘Really. There’s no need,’ Mim steps back nervously.
A ute draws up, dusty, seen better times. An older man at the wheel: late sixties, early seventies maybe. Weather-burnished and tough, like most of them are in these parts. He notices my uniform, the police car. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘No problem.’ I offer a hand for shaking. ‘Just picking my son up from school. He’s in the same class as your granddaughter.’
‘Right. Good.’ He tells Mim to hop in. ‘Gotta be going.’
‘Nick,’ I say, still holding out the hand. ‘And you are?’
A thin smile and a brief firm grip. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘See you Monday, Mim,’ says Paulie. Sorry. Make that Paul.
She gives him a wave as perfunctory as her grandad’s handshake. ‘Bye.’
They crunch the gravel and do a U-turn. ‘Michael,’ says Paulie.
‘What?’
‘His name’s Michael.’
At home there’s a frostiness in the air. Best not to go back into the cop shop and I phone Latifa to that effect.
‘I’ll do some research from here. Everything okay at your end?’
‘Yep. Sweet.’
Paulie is in front of the TV with a healthy afternoon snack and Vanessa is in front of me wanting to know what the hell is going on. Where was I on Monday night?
‘Outside the Lodge for a while, obsessing about the guy that hit me.’
‘That rings true. Then where?’
‘More of the same but down at Gelder’s shack on that block he bought.’
‘Why? Hadn’t we finished with him? We got the ruling we wanted, didn’t we?’
‘He’s not sticking to it. Wasn’t.’
‘He was, where it mattered, within our field of vision and hearing. Who cares what he might do further downriver, Nick? For fuck’s sake.’
‘Rules and regs, that’s what they’re there for.’
‘When it suits you. What were you doing at his shack anyway?’
‘Nosing around.’
‘What were you hoping to prove?’
‘I don’t know. Just, anything.’
‘Until nearly midnight? It’s not that big a shack.’
‘He came back. Caught me.’ I find myself rubbing the sore spot behind my ear. She lifts my hand away and sees now the lump that was hidden by my hair. Notices again the knuckles of my right fist, inflamed.
‘Jesus, Nick. What have you done?’
The truth is, I can’t remember.
&n
bsp; 7.
Vanessa did lie for me, even before she heard my side of it. She believes me, believes that I really don’t remember. Now she wants me to get checked out by a doctor.
‘Erratic behaviour. Memory loss. Could be warning signs of a stroke, could be anything.’ Vanessa’s mam had a stroke recently and Vanessa’s been thinking about that a bit lately.
The erratic behaviour isn’t a recent development, to be fair. Some would say it’s always been my MO. ‘But what if I did kill him?’
She’s doubtful. ‘I can see you punching somebody’s lights out but I can’t see you torturing anybody. Not without good reason. Either way, for me the priority is getting you looked at.’
‘But …’
‘But nothing. Or I withdraw my alibi and they can lock you up.’
‘Well if you put it like that.’
It’s too late to phone for an appointment now, so first thing Monday. Look busy. Help get dinner ready, give the goats and chooks their tea, check the water tank isn’t leaking. So far, so good. Vanessa keeps glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. She’s worried and who could blame her? Have I or have I not been responsible for Gelder’s death? Have I or have I not got some scary neurological problem going on? Rather than brood about strokes, aneurysms and prison sentences, maybe it’s time to change the subject.
‘I met Mim’s grandad today, when I was picking Paulie up.’
‘Paul,’ Paulie reminds me from his corner of the room. ‘And his name’s Michael.’
‘Yeah?’ says Vanessa.
‘Classic Kiwi farmer. Cards close to his chest, reserves any warmth until he’s met you at least thirty times.’
Vanessa nods. ‘Paulie, did you invite Mim over yet?’
‘Yeah, she’s going to ask her grandad.’
‘Why him? Doesn’t mum get a say?’
He shrugs. ‘Michael does the driving.’
Fair point.
After dinner it’s on to the computer to make up for my early finish by doing a search on where the Mummy might have come from. Log in to the police missing persons database as a starting point. Dead three to five years, Bardawi had said. Male, aged fortyish to sixtyish. I plug in the few scraps of information available.
More candidates than you can point a stick at.
Maybe try narrowing it to people reported missing from this region? It’s a starting point but there’s no reason why they couldn’t be from anywhere in NZ or in the world for that matter. Still, I give it a go and it immediately narrows down to a couple of dozen men from the top of the South Island of that age range reported missing during that timeframe. Some have been outdoor tramper types and have probably fallen down a remote gully or old mineshaft or been taken by a swollen river or king tide. Some had a history of alcohol and/or drug abuse so that probably rules them out as no significant trace was found on the dried-up corpse. Some maybe wanted to just take themselves off the grid. The top of the South, with its thousands of kilometres of fjord-like coastline, hidden coves and dead-end valleys, is a good place to hunker down. Speaking from experience, it can and does work, for a while at least.
