by A C Praat
‘Not if Ani calls them first.’ Raffe smiled, attempting to break the pall that had settled over them, like a cloak over a casket.
Mishra dug her hands into her trousers, then started up the beach again, following Ra. Raffe was studying the beach houses, but she didn’t have the heart to look.
When they arrived at Ani’s gate Ra was waiting on the veranda. ‘Don’t think there’s anything left for you to do here.’
Mishra tamped down a flash of annoyance. The search for Philip had become entangled in Ra’s personal issues with her family. It wasn’t helping. And now she was telling them to leave?
‘Here.’ Ra threw a set of keys at Raffe. ‘You can take the truck. I’m going to hang around. See what else turns up.’
Behind Ra the front door opened. Ani hobbled down the stairs, carrying a basket. ‘Here, dear.’ She handed the basket to Mishra and kissed her cheek. She pulled Raffe down for a kiss on his cheek too. ‘We’ll bring Ra back tomorrow.’
Things felt better with Ani around. ‘Thank you, Aunty Ani.’
Ani’s face crinkled into walnut folds.
On impulse Mishra trotted up the path after Ani and, reaching Ra, pulled her into a quick hug. Ra said nothing, but raised her hand as they walked the path back through the dunes to the truck.
‘This thing is a tank!’ Raffe said as he executed a three-point turn to set them onto the road that zigzagged back up the hill.
Mishra stared out the window. Grass, sheep, flax, fences – and the beach, a ruffle of white lace on a ruched green cloak.
‘Shall we?’ he asked as they neared the top.
‘Shall we what?’
But Raffe had already turned into the lookout at the top of the escarpment. As they drove in, a blue sedan backed out in a spray of gravel and careered away. Raffe jammed on the brakes and Mishra flung her hands against the dashboard. She whipped her head around – but the sedan had disappeared.
‘What is it with this place?’ Raffe said, shrinking back into his seat. They sat in silence, contemplating the clumps of flax and fluffy-headed grasses that bounced in the wind at the edge of the lookout.
‘I don’t believe Ra’s theory about the bag,’ Mishra said.
‘Which one?’ Raffe asked.
‘Either of them. Philip had nothing to do with Ra, not really. I just don’t think whatever’s going on with Ra and Rex is about Philip. I mean, if I really wanted to worry somebody, I wouldn’t give them anything. The bag, the scrap of newsprint – it was all so neat, so clean.’
‘Yeah. I’d be sending fingers, or hair. Something more personal.’
Mishra whacked Raffe on the arm.
‘What shall we do?’
Mishra leaned her head against the dash-board. What could they do?
‘Think that guy in the sedan was spying on us?’ Raffe asked.
Mishra sat up. ‘Did you see him?’
Raffe shook his head. ‘Not really.’
‘How do you know it was a guy?’
‘I don’t.’
Mishra pushed the heels of her hands against the dashboard. ‘Maybe we should just go to the police.’
‘With Roberts poking round? Philip wasn’t keen to be found, Mish.’
‘I know.’ She shouldered the door open and walked to the edge of the lookout. The wind whipped her hair into her face as she clutched her arms around her sides, fending off its chilly embrace. She wanted to wake up now – wake up and find the nightmare ended.
‘Mish, quick!’ Raffe leaned out of driver door. ‘Listen to this.’
He turned up the volume on the radio as Mishra climbed into the cab. ‘Police are asking the public for assistance in locating a man last seen on Friday morning at Little Bay in Northland,’ said the announcer. ‘The man is described as being in his mid-twenties, six foot two, a lean build, with curly blond hair.’
Mishra grasped Raffe’s wrist in fright as they continued to listen.
‘Police would like to hear from anyone who has seen the man or knows of anyone fitting that description. They were alerted to the man’s disappearance by a holidaymaker who says the man went out in his kayak but failed to return.’
Raffe turned off the radio and looked at her, his face rigid with tension. ‘Someone’s onto us.’
Mishra was calming her urge to run away, trying to think. ‘But they said a kayak.’
‘They described Philip. It’s the same area. That’s just some cover story.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ Raffe banged his fists against the steering wheel, causing an ear-splitting honk.
‘Raffe!’ Was he trying to kill her? ‘They didn’t mention your yacht. If it was one of Ra’s family sounding the alarm wouldn’t they have mentioned that?’
‘Not if they wanted to keep in good with the rest of the family.’
Mishra thought of Rex and Stacey. The story was different enough that they could plead innocence if somebody pushed them on it. There were three hundred people in that closed group. It could have been any of them – anyone believing the search could be more successful with official assistance. Had Ani’s post specifically said not to take the search to the authorities? She couldn’t remember. Another possibility dawned on her, and her stomach seized. ‘What about Roberts?’
‘We don’t even know if he’s here.’
‘But if he was, he couldn’t enlist official help using Philip’s name, could he? The ADF have said he’s dead.’
Mishra pulled her shoulder bag through from the back seat to find her phone. ‘Let’s rule out the family angle, shall we?’ Phone in hand, she paused. She’d already questioned the loyalty of Ra’s family once. But that was before she’d seen the animosity between Ra and Stacey and Rex. What would they gain by making the search public? Less burden on their own time? Showing Ra they weren’t on her side by breaking the confidence? But Ra’s aunty had made the request – it wasn’t just about Ra. Her phone beeped as she held it.
‘It’s a text from Ra. Police are looking for someone that sounds like Philip. First we’ve heard of it.’
Raffe shrugged. ‘That leaves three possibilities I guess.’
‘Three?’ Mishra frowned.
‘Roberts, someone from the ADF, or there really was a guy looking like Philip who didn’t come back from his kayaking trip.’
They stared at each other.
What were the chances of someone matching Philip’s description disappearing into the sea at about the same spot and within the same time period? They’d been on the beach this morning, the only ones there apart from Ra’s family.
Raffe spoke first. ‘I think we need to cover our bases. If it was someone in Ra’s family it’s done now. We can’t unmake the news. And if the police are keeping them informed that’s less of a risk than the police reporting back to Roberts or an ADF officer.’
Mishra rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. ‘But if it’s not Ra’s family, the police will tell whoever it was and they’ll find Philip, and –’ Her mind swooped down another alley.
‘What?’ Raffe asked.
‘They can’t convict Philip if he’s legally dead, can they?’
‘He’d be patently not dead, Mish. And they could probably convict him for wasting police time on top of the other charges.’ Raffe checked his phone. ‘Anyway, the article says ‘probably’ took his own life. Nothing legal about that. It takes years to declare someone legally dead.’
‘How do you know?’
‘All part of the service.’ His smile was bleak.
She’d forgotten this wasn’t the first time Raffe had helped people resettle. The less she knew the better, just in case she was ever called to testify.
‘Crap.’ Raffe tossed his phone onto the dashboard.
‘What?’
‘A request to contact the local police station.’
Mishra shrank into her seat. Part of her didn’t want to know. She’d had enough.
‘They want help with an inquiry.’
‘It’s not specific.’
‘What are we going to do?’
Raffe retrieved his phone and tapped the keypad. ‘We’re going to comply. What else can we do?’
‘But –’
Raffe’s phone began to give directions and Mishra fell silent.
They were soon back on State Highway 10, heading for Kerikeri.
‘Supposed to be pretty,’ Raffe said in the interval between directions. ‘Oldest stone building in the country.’
Mishra watched the paddocks and trees fly past, along with the odd modest house and, increasingly, orchards surrounded by leafy shelter belts. She wasn’t in the mood for scenic tours.
Eventually her silence persuaded Raffe to stop talking. Forty minutes later they swept over a long bridge across a river and up to a roundabout bordered by a stand of eucalypts on one side and houses on the other.
Take the second exit and continue three hundred meters. Your destination is on the right.
Raffe switched off the audio directions.
The gardens were lush with palms and lilies, giving the town a subtropical feel. The porch over the station’s entrance was marked by four tall, wooden carvings but the station itself was closed. On the glass door a sign told them the station was open from Monday to Friday only.
Mishra shook her head. ‘Now what?’
‘There’s a number to call. Just give me a minute.’ Raffe tapped the number into his phone. ‘We should find somewhere to eat. I’m starving,’ he said as he waited for the number to connect.
Mishra wandered out toward the road. Across the way, the lights of a large supermarket were starting to take on satellite proportions as the afternoon faded into early evening and the clouds were once again towering in the sky. Her feet were cold and sandy and her rolled-up trousers and T-shirt felt gritty to her touch. Eating was the last thing she felt like doing. Raffe could have Ani’s basket of food all to himself. While she bent into the backseat to retrieve the basket Raffe opened the driver’s door.
‘They wanted to know about the kayaker. They are asking all boaties in the area if they saw the kayaker or anything else around the time he disappeared.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said we hadn’t been out since we docked on Thursday midday.’
‘Outside their timeframe?’
Raffe nodded. ‘Nice to not have to lie. I think they were trying to confirm if there had ever been a kayaker. Apparently there’s only that one eye-witness so far.’
Mishra handed him a sandwich made of thick brown bread, ham and salad, then joined him in the front of the cab.
‘Thanks.’ Raffe took a bite and chewed quickly. ‘I played up the concerned citizen thing and asked if they’d tell us when they found anything.’
‘And?’
‘They will let us know if anything comes to light.’
Mishra’s brain supplied an image of a bloated corpse suddenly breaking the surface of the ocean. It had short tangled hair, long limbs –
‘Mishra?’ Raffe was looking at her with concern.
She shook her head, dispelling the thought. ‘I don’t know if it’s good or bad that they’re looking for him too. I just want him safe.’
Raffe wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist. ‘Safe on his terms. Otherwise this will all have been for nothing.’
SEVENTEEN
By the time Brett had followed Raffe and Mishra into Kerikeri his heart had stopped racing. The incident at the lookout had been way too close. And it seemed they suspected Roberts was also here looking for Philip, or perhaps an officer from the ADF. They’d be alert to people following them. Caution would be his watchword.
They’d found something at the beach, something that convinced them they were looking in the right location. From his spot at the lookout it appeared to be a bag.
At the supermarket carpark across the road from the police station, Brett watched Mishra amble around the truck, duck into the back seat, then pull out food for Raffe. He was really beginning to dislike Raffe. Too buff and good looking by half, and with some kind of super-power that lured women toward him. On the upside, Mishra didn’t seem that enamored of him, still stuck on Philip. One thing he knew for sure: he wasn’t the one who reported the missing kayaker. Must have been Roberts. It was a good tactic to enlist a whole lot of help – he had to give him credit for that – but if the police and Roberts were snooping around what were Brett’s chances of getting to Philip first?
Across the road, the truck was backing out of its park. Brett watched his phone while it tracked their progress out of town. Nothing came over his scanner. They were subdued and must be feeling like shit. He followed them halfway back to the farm, stopping just past the intersection where the farm road came off the highway. How would he be feeling if someone he loved had upped and disappeared? Dead or alive – you didn’t know?
Stop it, Nielsen.
Now was not the time to get all soft on the mission. He still hadn’t decided what he’d do if he found Philip, deliberately focusing instead on the search. Hiding from the end game wouldn’t stop it from eventuating though. Brett sighed and unwrapped a muesli bar. Crap food – another downside of surveillance.
Lying to Hebden was always an option if he did find Philip and decided not to deploy the bees. But if Roberts was also feeding intelligence back to him Brett might be caught out.
The sun eased behind the hills, backlighting the grass and wire fences. A star appeared in the wake of the sunset. What was he doing here?
Intelligence work – being a spy or a detective – was all he’d ever wanted to do. But unlike the stories he’d read as a child, it wasn’t clear to him now who were the good guys and who were the bad. He wanted to be a good guy.
Brett switched the car back on.
What a load of tosh. No point in getting all philosophical – he had his orders.
Bugger.
He pounded the steering wheel. His orders were so far outside what any sane person would ask him to do; so disproportionate to the risk. An image of an international war-crimes tribunal sprang to Brett’s mind. Men and women sitting behind a long table, microphones before them, interpreters at the side – and all of them staring at Brett, who was seated alone, giving his testimony.
I was just following orders.
History didn’t judge people like him kindly. He wasn’t a freakin’ robot.
There’d be no excuse if he did kill Philip.
EIGHTEEN
By Tuesday Philip’s appetite had fully returned, along with his sense of balance. He was running out of food and patience. When was Rex coming back? The mainland was tantalizingly close, maybe a few hundred meters, but the thought of breaching that gap still roused nausea. He might never get over that phobia. Sitting on the step of the hut, squinting into the midday sun, he scoured the sea visible through the fringe of trees for signs of Rex’s runabout. It was way past time to leave.
In the last few days he’d come to accept that he was missing roughly two months of his life. And that he wouldn’t be able to piece those months together until he had more information. It was so damn frustrating. His dreams were startling, offering shards of memory, but made little sense. There was always Mishra – and quite often Lexi and Brett and another man with blond hair. He could do without the Brett reminders and wondered if the blond guy had been inserted into his memory by Rex’s tale of the people looking for him. Brains were tricky things. And his, he knew, was trickier than most. But Mishra – he was still drawn to her, and at the same time felt anxious and sad. And Tess. He swallowed on the hard lump in his throat. Tess was a nightmare: muted thumps, the stench of burning tires, and the black-and-white ruff around her collar matted with blood. Tess was dead. Of that he was sure.
At least he had his plan. The ad for the WWOOFER had been in the Friday paper and now it was Tuesday. The job might have been filled. He’d never worked on an orchard. His mum had kept a vegie patch and tried
to use organic products when she cooked, but that was the extent of his exposure to organic farming practices. When he got off this island he would ask Rex to deliver him to the orchard. Apply in person, the ad had said, four to six weeks of work, accommodation and food covered. Was he allergic to orange trees? He loved oranges, so probably not.
The buzz of the outboard motor reached his ears before he saw the runabout. By the time Rex was pulling it out of the surf and up the beach, Philip was waiting for him. ‘I need to go now.’
Rex heaved the runabout to the edge of the bush line. ‘I missed you too.’
Philip frowned.
‘Get your stuff, bro.’
Philip ran up the path between the trees to the hut. He was leaving! The euphoria lasted the couple of minutes it took him to shove his sleeping bag into its sack and throw the backpack, already laden, over his shoulder. He scanned the hut one last time. It felt like weeks, not days, he’d stayed here. Every inch was familiar: familiar and safe. Anxiety washed over him as he picked up the rubbish bag and pulled the door to. Nobody would think to look for him on an orchard. And WWOOFERS were itinerant, casual workers. His fake ID would be enough for those purposes. He would be all right.
Tossing his gear into the bottom of the runabout induced a new wave of terror.
‘Stop panting,’ Rex commanded. ‘Breathe slow and deep.’
Philip bent over his knees while Rex turned the nose of the runabout into the waves.
‘Don’t think.’ Rex was holding the boat steady in the gentle wash of the tide. ‘Just get in. Be over before you know it.’
The cold sting of the water around his ankles threw his breakfast up into his throat. His knees crumpled and Rex shoved from behind.
‘C’mon, bro!’
Philip landed, half sprawled over the luggage, in the top half of the runabout as Rex revved the engine and sent them speeding through the waves. Dark. It was dark and cold and he couldn’t see the beach.
‘Open your eyes,’ Rex bellowed above the outboard. ‘You’ll feel better if you look at the horizon.’
Philip shook his head. Tears blurred his vision, protecting his eyes from the light and the sea spray.
