He gripped the steering wheel tightly, taking a deep breath to compose himself, concentrated on his driving. No other traffic was on the road, which he was pleased about. Getting home was an effort. The cupboard door protested on its hinges as he reached in to grab the only clean glass on the shelf, a large opaque tumbler, its rim slightly chipped, not that he cared. He reached into the bottom cupboard, pushing the sparse selection of tinned goods and a bottle of tomato ketchup to the side, searching for the cheap blended whisky at the back. The woody aroma hit him in the face as he put his nose into the bottle, savouring it. Pouring it with a trembling hand, he took a large gulp. The burn down the throat and into the bottom of his stomach took his mind off the increasing level of pain. He knew it would not last long.
Swallowing another generous mouthful, he felt the warmth spreading through his insides. He knew what he had to do, he’d seen it on television. Reaching for a packet of cigarettes, he pulled one out, finding it awkward using his left hand to light it. Finally getting it lit, he took a long drag and blew the smoke out slowly. Feeling lightheaded, he took a deep breath, then with one swift move he stuck the burning tip into the entry wound, cauterising the blood vessels.
The new pain was so intense that he could no longer hold the cigarette, and dropped it on the floor. The smell of burning flesh caused an automatic gag reflex. He ran to the sink and let it all out. He screamed and smashed his fist into the Formica bench, sending the glass up in the air. Before mustering the courage to repeat the whole procedure, he poured another whisky and downed it in one go, coughing and spluttering as his throat protested. Bending down, he picked up the still smouldering cigarette. A black burn had etched itself on the wooden floor board.
He closed his eyes as the red-hot cigarette once more connected to his exposed flesh. Every fibre in his body protested. Shaking wildly, he both dreaded and cherished the pain. Putting the bottle to his lips, he poured what he could down his throat. Losing consciousness was a welcome relief.
As the morning light came through the dirty net curtains, he woke up freezing, his body stiff from spending the night on the bare wooden floor. Shivering, he got himself to an upright position, holding on to the bench to steady himself. Dried chunks of vomit were left in the sink; flies buzzed around while the rancid smell wafted into his face. His stomach threatened to repeat the eruption.
He sat down and cast his mind back to yesterday. He had most likely killed that woman cop; she had got in the way. So had the damn dog. Why did she have to come out, her pistol drawn? New Zealand police didn’t carry guns, he knew. She was the one that had surprised him. But she had got what she deserved. Served her right for sabotaging his plan. He hoped the bitch was dead.
48
The alarm woke Bill at six o’clock, exhausted and feeling as though he had only just gone to sleep. His fatigued body and mind refused to function. Turning over, he realised Annika’s side was empty.
He rolled out of bed and his bare feet on the cool floorboards woke him up. He stumbled into the shower. The warm water on his tired body felt good.
Walking into the kitchen he stifled a yawn then he smelled freshly cooked bacon. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was.
“Morning,” Annika said. “Thought you could do with a decent breakfast this morning.” She handed him a plate of poached eggs and bacon with baby spinach and sliced orange on the side. He knew better than to comment on the greens.
“What time did you get up this morning?” he asked while tucking into his breakfast.
“I had trouble sleeping and finally gave up at about five,” she said with a weary smile. “The killing of the sheep... But on the upside I’ve done a heap of baking.” She pointed to the production line of lunch boxes lined up on the bench. “You were late home.”
Bill filled her in on the events at Matakana Valley Wines. Annika was shocked. “Oh my god, I hope that Laura is okay.”
“So do I. The guy who did this is panicking and will make mistakes. It’s just a matter of time until we catch him. I can feel it in my gut.”
“I just hope when you and Niko come face to face with this lunatic you are prepared.”
“We’ll be fine,” Bill said. “Don’t you worry about that.”
“Just promise you’ll be careful,” Annika said, planting a warm kiss on his lips.
The peace was shattered with shrieks from upstairs and noisy footsteps racing down the stairs. The twins piled through the door, quarrelling non-stop who had won the game they were playing. Getting their cereal and fruit for breakfast was deafening. Zac and Katie followed suit.
“Have a good day everyone,” Bill said, hugging them on his way out. As he was putting his shoes on, the shrill ringtone of his phone rang out.
“Morning, Andrew Copeson here. We’ll be on our way shortly to Matakana, just wanted to let you know. Terrible business what happened.”
“Hi Andrew. Yes, you could say that again. Thanks for keeping us in the loop. Really appreciate it.”
“No worries. Now we just have to make sure we get the bastard.”
Bill was just about to leave when Annika handed him a basket of baking still warm from the oven. She had wrapped the knotted Gotland buns in a red-and-white checked cloth. “I thought you could take these over to Lexi and Avery’s. I’m sure there will be a crowd of people there,” she said.
The sweet yeasty smell took him back to his mother-in-law’s house in Sweden. “Thanks, darling, I’m sure they’ll appreciate it,” Bill said as he rushed out the door.
Arriving sharply at seven, he parked outside the pharmacy. The security guys looked worse for wear in the unforgiving morning sun as they tucked into toasted sandwiches from the Rigawera Bakery next door. The melting cheese on the outside of the thick slices of bread made Bill’s mouth salivate.
“How long have you been here?” he asked Niko as he climbed through the broken front door.
“A while. I had trouble sleeping and thought I could use the time to get started.”
“Good work,” Bill said and went back outside to the guards finishing their breakfast. “Anything of note happen overnight?”
“It’s been dead as a doornail,” the taller one said.
“What about Harry the pharmacist? Did he come back?”
“He returned with some coffee and sandwiches that were well received,” the shorter one said.
“Did he stay long?”
“No, not really. He kept us company for a while, then went home just before I saw your colleague arrive back,” the taller one said.
Bill went back into the shop where Niko was sorting through things.
“Something isn’t adding up here,” Niko said, surveying the damage. “As soon as the alarm sounded, I came downstairs from the flat to investigate and there was no sign of anyone here.”
“Perhaps it was just kids.”
“No, I think it’s more than meets the eye initially. They would have had max thirty seconds after the glass broke. I was here straight away.”
“Unless they’d got hold of the alarm code,” Bill said thinking out loud, “but then why break the glass door? Why not just slip away into the night?”
“I guess we’ll see what’s missing when Harry does the stocktake this morning,” Niko said.
“Morning, officers,” Harry said from the footpath.
“Morning, Harry. How are you doing?” Bill said.
“Well, on reflection, I’m so pleased no one got hurt. You hear about aggravated robberies going wrong all the time. We can easily clean this up.”
People never stop surprising you, Bill thought. Most of the time people looked at things with a glass half-empty attitude.
“Although it’s a little peculiar,” Harry said walking through. “They’ve torn down the prescription drugs off the shelves, but if drugs were what they were after, why leave things like Tramadol?”
“Yes, that’s odd,” Bill said.
“I’ll get the girls to go through the stock to see wh
at’s missing as soon as they get in. We should know fairly quickly,” Harry said.
Bill wrote down the details of who had what responsibility, which turned out to be shared between the two women who had worked there for years and whom Harry trusted.
“Do they lock up, and if so have the code for the alarm?” Bill asked.
“Well, of course,” Harry said. “We change the alarm code every month.”
Bill and Niko stopped at Ravish on the way to Matakana Valley Wines, picking up two flat whites. Back in the car, the phone rang.
“Matakana police station,” Bill said, the phone on hands-free.
“This is Roger Willis from up on the ridge by Matakana Valley Wines.”
Bill’s ears pricked up. “Hello, Roger. What can we assist you with?”
“Well, after finishing the milking this morning, I found a big blood-stained Bowie knife in the paddock.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I didn’t touch it. Put a tin bucket on top of it so the cows wouldn’t trample all over it.”
“That’s good. Any chance you could move the cattle to another paddock? We need to preserve as much of the surrounding area as possible.”
Niko smiled. “Well, there you go. With any luck that might be the weapon used last night. Hopefully we’re one step closer to catching this scumbag.”
49
The morning sun streamed into the room, making the air hot and stuffy. Lexi’s mind was foggy from last night. She wondered if it had all been a dream, until she saw the bloodstained T-shirt thrown in the corner, and she remembered. They had fallen into bed last night, the bottom of her tresses still matted with Beau’s dried blood.
She rolled over and glanced at the time on her mobile; it was already after eight. She showered and put on a clean T-shirt and denim shorts. In the mirror she scrutinised the fine lines on her face and pulled the skin around her eyes. The stress and lack of sleep was showing. She sighed. She felt she had aged ten years in the last week.
As she walked down the stairs the aroma of freshly brewed coffee tickled her nose, making the kitchen feel homely, despite the five police officers sitting around the dining table.
Bill gestured to the basket of knotted Gotland buns. “Annika made these this morning.” “That’s so kind. I love them.” Lexi cut a soft, pillowy bun in half and spread a generous layer of salted butter on top, finishing it with some of her own cheddar. It was the comfort food she needed.
A call came in from Orewa, with an update on Laura’s condition. She was still critical, and in an induced coma. The room’s mood slightly improved with the news — she had survived the operation and the night.
“The Feds and the SOCO’s should arrive shortly. I’m sure old Ruddy will bring his bright sunny disposition,” Bill joked to Niko. It wasn’t like him at all to talk badly of other people, but this guy really got under his skin.
The sound of tyres on gravel alerted him to Rudd pulling in, followed by Jono, the photographer.
Bill braced himself before going outside. Rudd got out and strutted in front of the car like a peacock. “I might have to take up residence here in Matakana with all the mileage we do backwards and forwards,” he huffed. Well, let’s get started. Which of you were here last night?” His grey eyes peered at them all.
“I was the first on the scene,” Gary said.
Rudd pivoted on his heels. “Right, the rest of you remove yourselves from my crime scene.”
Bill steeled himself and went over. “I had an interesting phone call earlier from a farmer whose land borders this property.” He pointed up the gentle slope behind the winery buildings. “He found a knife in one of his paddocks this morning. The attacker might have dropped it as he fled. Niko and I will have a look. I’ll let you know if we need you to come by.”
Rudd grunted. “I hope you told the farmer not to touch anything.”
“I did, not everyone’s stupid,” Bill snapped and walked away.
Copeson had already followed the blood trail behind the winery. “See you up the hill,” he said.
50
To get to Roger Willis’s farm, they had to head back towards Matakana, turn right by Ravish then carry on for half a kilometre along Sharp Road. Roger Willis was waiting for them on the wrap-around veranda reading the paper. He had a firm handshake and a fit frame for his age. His weathered face had a few visible skin cancers and white scars from the ones already removed.
“Thank you for coming by,” Roger said, the laugh lines around his eyes creasing.
“No trouble at all. Where’s this knife you found?”
Niko had brought the stepping plates from the car and was taking care where he placed them, approaching the bucket slowly. Once there, he carefully lifted it up. The knife lay flat on the ground, its black handle and long blade smeared with blood. He could just make out a smudge mark or two in the dried blood. He could only hope the prints would be viable.
Bill back-tracked along the metal path, carefully balancing on the plates, then turned to Roger, who was peering over the fence to see what was going on. “Mr Willis, I’d like to ask you some questions. To start with, before the helicopter landed did you hear anything unusual?” .
“No, I don’t think so, although Kip was barking and carrying on just before we went to bed. He’s getting a bit senile and we brought him inside.”
“What time was this?”
“Not long after we heard the sirens,” Roger said. “We didn’t think much of Kip barking until this morning when I found the knife.”
“Anything else you have noticed?” Niko asked.
“Not really. The only thing I can think of was the other day, we’d been out and when I went to check on the cows I saw bike tracks in the dirt across the paddock. Peculiar, as I don’t ride these days. No one ever comes up this way through the paddocks.”
Bill and Niko stood up to leave. “Here’s my card, should you think of anything else,” Bill said.
The sound of another vehicle pulling into the property caught his attention. Copeson and Rudd stepped out of the car. Bill walked over and gave them the lowdown on what they had found.
“Granger, I see that you used stepping plates,” Rudd said. “Well done.”
Bill nodded, not accustomed to praise. Perhaps it had been good that he’d bitten back at Rudd before.
“We are expecting the autopsy report on James Smith later today. I’ll let you know as soon as we receive it.”
“Thank you, that would be great,” Bill said, still slightly wary.
“I spoke to the lab this morning,” Rudd said matter-of-factly. “The blood on the overalls and gloves found in the sports bag in the garage in Point Wells matches Peter Evans. ESR also retrieved DNA from the inside of the gloves and the collar of the suit. We now have a comprehensive profile of the killer.”
This was a breakthrough. “Any hits in the system?” Bill asked eagerly.
“Unfortunately not,” Copeson said. “This person has no prior convictions, although the indications of the crime suggest that this might not be the first act of violence he has committed.”
Bill’s feeling of slight elation waned.
“Hopefully we can give you more information later today.”
Bill could not believe his ears. Rudd was talking to him like a normal person without the tiresome sniping and excessive rudeness. It was as if the man had undergone a personality change.
51
As the police car pulled in to Matakana Valley Wines, Trevor came roaring up their rear on his quad bike. Despite being in his mid-seventies he jumped off with the vigour of a forty-year-old and swaggered over to the officers. “I demand to know what’s going on and why the police are still here,” he said. “Are the rest of us in any danger?”
Lexi, who had been talking to Gary, turned towards her irate neighbour with some annoyance. Dealing with Trevor was the last thing she needed. Gary stepped forward and gently guided the old man back toward his four-wheeler, talking
to him as they walked. Trevor got back on the bike and waved as he drove off.
“What did you say to old Trevor?” Lexi asked curiously.
“I just told him as he lives on top of the ridge, we appreciate his help, and if he would keep his eyes and ears open and report to Bill if he sees anything, the police would appreciate it.”
Lexi laughed. “Well, as long as it works. He is such a bloody nosey bugger.”
Before Gary could reply her phone rang. It was Annika. “What a terrible night you must have all had. Bill told me about the attack on Laura Rose and Beau.”
“I can’t believe what’s happening.”
“I’m not sure if I’m allowed to tell you, but apparently they received the autopsy report regarding Peter. It was his hand they found under your house,” Annika said. “It seems he had Heparin in his system. You know, the blood thinner. It was injected to make him bleed out.”
“It’s so sick,” Lexi said. “The police are doing their best, but I’m not sure if it’s enough. I don’t feel very safe here.”
“I know, but you have to trust them,” Annika said.
After tidying up the breakfast dishes Lexi went upstairs to make the bed and sort out some washing, anything to distract herself. She saw the pile of notes and photos from last night. Then it had seemed like a blurry mess, but this morning she was looking at it with fresh eyes and from a different perspective. On the top was a faded photo of the owners of Stott’s Landing, the husband, the wife and the adolescent son. She wondered whatever happened to the wife after Maurice’s death.
Her mobile buzzed again. It was Ronald the vet. Beau was doing well, had even eaten something and been outside for a minor comfort stop. Lexi smiled, food had always motivated Beau. Ronald said if he kept recovering well and there was no infection, he would be home in a few days. A warm glow spread through her chest, her boy was on the mend. Hopefully Laura Rose would be as fortunate.
Blood On Vines Page 18
