“What did you do then?”
“Umm, I think I swore a lot, we both did, then Gail made her drop it and I rang the police because I had my cell phone in my pocket. Gail took Kali back to the house and I waited with the .. the thing.”
“So when did you recognise who it belonged to?”
“What? I didn’t recognise it. What are you talking about?”
Harris looked up from the notebook he had been scribbling in.
“Harold Stevens.” He stared at me, waiting for my answer. I stared back, waiting for his explanation. As the silence became a deadlock, I shook my head.
“I have no idea who you are talking about. Who is Harold Stevens and why do you think I would recognise his arm?”
“Carlton said you were all talking about him. So which one of you recognised the arm as his?”
I shook my head more. “We weren’t talking about any Harold Stevens. Tom was telling me about some guy called Gunna.” I facepalmed my hand to my forehead as I suddenly understood. “Oh, Gunna. Is Harold Stevens his proper name?”
“Yes, it gather Stevens is known locally as Gunna. So it was Tom who identified the arm as belonging to Stevens?”
“No.”
“But you just said...”
“No,” I interrupted. “Tom recognised and identified the duck caller tied around the wrist, but he very firmly said that it didn’t prove it was Gunna’s arm. His duck caller, yes; his arm, maybe.”
Harris just nodded and scribbled in his book.
“Did you think it looked like Gunna’s arm?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I exploded up off the bed. “How the hell would I know what Gunna’s arm looks like? I only arrived here yesterday! I’ve never clapped eyes on the man. I wouldn’t know him from a bar of soap!”
Harris sat back, raising his hands protectively over his face in his surprise at my outburst, then lowering them to pat the bed, which I took as an invitation to sit down again. I remained standing.
“My apologies. I have completely misunderstood Senior Sergeant Carlton,” Harris said.
“Why? Did he say I knew the man? What other rubbish has he told you?”
‘No, no. Please sit down.” He patted the bed again. “He said you were working at the Netherby place, so I assumed you had met Stevens.”
“Why would you assume that?” I sat back down on the bed and pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders.
“Because, according to Carlton, Stevens lives out there, on the edge of the lake, in a caravan.”
“Oh. That’s news to me. There’s nothing about him in any of the information I have been given.”
“So you haven’t seen him hanging around?”
“No. So far the only people I have met are Tom and Gail, two young guys from the garage across the road and the guy from the pub – and only because they helped me move a stinky freezer out of the house. Oh, and some pig hunter called Bruno who drives like an idiot.”
“He’s worse than an idiot, he’s a troublemaker,” Carlton’s voice came through the door before him. “Take my advice and have as little as possible to do with him.” Ignoring my open mouth and indrawn breath as I prepared my response, he faced the detective, “They’re just about done, Sir, but they want to check with you before they take the arm away.”
My mouth was still preparing to speak as he turned away and melted back into the darkness. Harris rose, running his fingers through his hair as he had when he’d arrived.
“Thank you, Miss North. I will be in touch. I presume you will be here if we need you again?”
“Here in the evenings, or at the Netherby house during the day. I was hoping the job would only take a day or two but it may take all week, judging from what I saw in the house yesterday. There could be a lot more to sort than I expected.”
Harris thrust his notebook back into his jacket pocket, pulled his collar up and departed.
From the doorway, blanket wrapped tightly to keep out the cold, I watched the two men. Harris had caught up to Carlton and they had stopped to talk. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but by the body language I could guess that the older, smaller man was giving orders and Carlton was taking them. They parted company and my eyes followed Carlton as he strode towards his car, his muscles rippling under his rugby shirt. The cold forced me to close my door, but I wondered if I would see him again in the morning. In my head I ran through a series of questions I could use to strike up a conversation with him, then discarded them all as pathetic. I mentally told myself off. I had just successfully walked away from a domineering partner, so why was I hankering after the first set of broad shoulders I had met? But, unable to resist, I peeked out of the window and could barely make him out in the darkness, leaning against his car. I thought about taking him a cup of coffee but it was too cold and dark to venture over to the communal kitchen, so I just watched him for a while through the window. Eventually he walked away, talking into his mobile phone. I took that as my cue to go to bed. As I relaxed, I admitted to myself that I found this policeman attractive and that I really did hope I would see him in the morning. At least I could ask him what trouble Bruno had caused.
Chapter 4
He wasn’t there in the morning. I slept late, so the sun was shining when I finally stuck my head out of the cabin door. Down at the lakefront, it was surprisingly quiet. I had expected to see a swarm of people still buzzing around doing whatever they had been doing when I went to bed, but they had all decamped sometime during the night, leaving only one bored constable in uniform guarding the tape that fluttered in the light breeze. I was tempted to ask him if they had worked out whose arm we had found but I was hungry, so I settled for grabbing my supplies and scampering across to the kitchen, acutely aware that I was still wearing my pyjamas.
Fortunately for my ego, the kitchen was empty. The German tourists had packed their campsite and continued their journey, saving me from the embarrassment of facing them dressed in pink flannelette. Unfortunately, my sense of relief didn’t last long. I had made my toast, smothered it with jam and taken a huge, satisfying bite when the kitchen door opened behind me. I spun around to be faced with Tom but it was the person behind him I noticed first. I chewed my toast quickly, swallowing fast as my face went as red as the raspberry jam. Bruno’s eyes travelled from my dishevelled hair, past my flushed cheeks to the silver unicorn embroidered on my pyjama top. The girl who had just escaped from a bully flinched inside me, waiting for the harsh rebuke that never came.
“Good morning.” A laugh instead of a lecture. “Slept in, did we?”
“Well, I might have, but you obviously didn’t,” I retorted. How dare he use “we” when he meant me. We were not conjoined twins. “But then I guess you weren’t up till all hours finding a piece of human, then dealing with annoying police who expected you to know who it was.”
“No, no I wasn’t. I was sleeping like a baby through all your excitement. I didn’t know anything about it until Tom told me this morning.”
“Gail sent me to check you were all right,” Tom interjected, just before I had thought of a suitably caustic reply.
“And I just happened to turn up at the right time, so I joined him.” Bruno flashed me a smile I did not return, even though my heart rate quickened. I took another bite of toast to cover what I hoped was not another blush.
“Are you all right?” Tom asked. “Did you get any sleep at all with all those police? Gail was watching them out the window till all hours. Better than the tv, she reckoned.”
“Yes, I got to sleep after the detective and Sergeant Carlton had gone,” I said, not expecting the angry growl that came from Bruno.
“Carlton? Was he here? Bastard!”
“Yeah, he said nice things about you, too,” I replied.
“I bet he did. Don’t trust him. Don’t trust anything he says or does.”
“That’s pretty much what he said about you. I gather you two are old friends then?”
“Huh! Yeah,
maybe, back when we were at primary school. Then he grew up and became a prick.”
“Why? Because he became a policeman and gave you too many fines for bad driving?”
I could see Bruno stifle the swear words he wanted to reply with, before he exhaled a long breath, shook his head and turned to Tom.
“Boy, she sure does hold a grudge, doesn’t she?” He turned back to me and tugged his floppy, blond-streaked forelock, bowing as he did so. “Well, Miss North, I can see that you are just fine, so I will be on my way. I hope you have a pleasant day. Catch you later at the pub, Tom.”
“Yep, I’ll pay you for that pig.”
“I’d better be going too,” I said. “I’ve got a lot to do today and I’m already late.”
“Late? You’re not on a clock, don’t worry about it.”
“You’re right, Tom, but old habits die hard and all that. I’m so used to office hours I feel guilty standing around in my pyjamas when I should be working. Actually, I feel guilty standing around in my pyjamas at all, especially in public, so I think I will take my toast and go find some clothes.”
Tom laughed as I gathered my breakfast things.
“Sing out if you want a hand to sort through Maggie Netherby’s stuff. I think Gail would love an excuse to find out what’s in that hoard. Maggie certainly kept it well hidden. Gail has all sorts of theories about what’s up there.”
“Gail might get her wish. I’ve only had a brief look but there are two rooms full of boxes and I think I am going to need someone to help me go through them or I’ll be here all year.” I looked out the door towards the lake. “Not that staying here longer would be a bad thing. Waihola is just as lovely as I remembered.”
I hurried back to my cabin and pulled on my jeans, my one clean t-shirt and my warm jersey. Non-office clothes to go with my non-office hours. I unplugged my phone from its charger and checked my emails. There was nothing from Simon. No emails, no texts. Had he finally got the message that I wasn’t coming back? I hoped so. As I drove away, I started to make lists in my head of what I had to achieve. I decided to start by completing the inventory of the lived-in rooms, then take a look at the garage and sheds before I tackled the secret rooms. I would need to contact someone to value the vintage car. The thought of the car, just as I paused opposite the garage, waiting to turn onto the main highway, jogged my memory. I had to sort out the dog and I should do that first. I would go into Mosgiel and find the dog pound, then I could sign any paperwork needed to let them release the dog to the J brothers. I glanced down at my clothes. I could also find a shop and buy more clothes. I might be here a while.
I found the shopping mall before I found the dog pound so it was almost lunch time before I fronted up to the white, austere desk in the pound’s reception area and rang the bell as the note beside it instructed me to do. A pleasant-faced woman in an official khaki uniform entered through a side door after a few minutes, apologising for keeping me waiting. I explained who I was and why I was there, only to be astounded by her reply.
“If I had any other options left, there is no way in hell those boys would get Jackson!”
“Jackson? Is that the dog’s name? And why not? They seem nice boys and very keen to give him a home. I presume he’s a him, if that’s his name.”
“Yes, he’s called Jackson. And yes, they are not bad boys, but ....”
“But what?”
“Because they want him as a hunting dog, not a pet, and that leaves me with an awful dilemma. He’s not a hunting dog, or even an outside dog. He’s a house dog. He’s never slept in an outside kennel in his life. Do you know anything about him?”
“No, only what I was told by the J brothers. He’s not mentioned in any of the information I was given.”
“Okay. Jackson is a retired show dog. A grand champion, actually. He’s a gentle, sweet boy who has been pampered. And he’s not young any more. He’s nine years old. So, even if we are supposed to be happy with anyone willing to take on one of our unclaimed dogs, in Jackson’s case putting him down is a better option than letting him suffer in the wrong hands. You’ll understand when you meet him. Follow me.”
I was going to argue that I was just happy to sign any papers she needed signed but those words “putting him down” didn’t sit well. I followed her. She led me through a side door past two rows of wire cages in which dogs of all shapes and sizes barked noisily as we approached. At the very end of the second row, she stopped and pointed dramatically at a pile of blankets in the back of a cage.
“Um?” I couldn’t see a dog.
“Jackson,” the ranger called softly. “Jackson, come on boy.”
The blankets moved. A long, pointed nose twitched, followed by a long, skinny leg. The blankets rose, then fell to the floor as a tan and white dog emerged, his soulful, dark eyes begging for attention as he walked slowly towards us, his tail almost wagging in hopeful anticipation.
“Oh my god,” I breathed. “He’s gorgeous. But I thought greyhounds were bigger than that.”
“They are. He’s not a greyhound, he’s a whippet. As I said, I don’t know what to do. His time is up and the boys are the only ones interested in adopting him, but... oh, I just wish... could you take him?”
I formed in my head all the reasons why I couldn’t. I live in Wellington. Jackson tilted his head and stared at me. I live in an apartment. Jackson wagged his tail. I’m only in Otago for a few days, maybe a week. Jackson stood on his hind legs, pressing his nose against the wire gate. He whined. A tiny, pleading, almost soundless cry. I looked into his huge brown eyes.
“Yes,” I said.
Ten minutes later Jackson was snuggled in his blanket on the back seat of my car, the ranger waving him goodbye as I drove away. I now owned a dog. Simon would be furious.
When I reached the Netherby house I pulled the blanket off Jackson’s head and gave him a reassuring pat.
“Come on, boy, you’re home. Let’s go inside.”
He clambered out of the car, wandered sedately to the nearest tree to lift his leg, then climbed the steps to the front door. As soon as I unlocked it, he headed straight for the couch where he settled down and promptly went back to sleep. I gave him another pat then went in search of the electric jug. I needed coffee. I prayed that a miracle had happened while I was away and electricity had been restored and my prayers were answered. The light on the jug glowed when I flicked the switch. Yes! Jackson’s raised head made me realise I had said that aloud. Amazing how a twitch of a dog’s ears could make a person feel embarrassed. A quick search of her pantry showed me that Maggie Netherby had a gourmet taste in coffee, with several jars of a fancy brand in different flavours. I justified drinking the hazelnut one on the grounds that all the opened foods would be thrown out, so drinking it was acceptable as a perk of the job. Then it was back to business.
Piece by piece I worked my way through Maggie Netherby’s ornaments, books and personal effects, noting and counting every one, until a whine from Jackson made me realise that it was starting to get dark. Earlier I had found a dog lead hanging behind the laundry door, so I attached it to the wide, hand-tooled leather collar he was wearing, pulled on my jacket and told Jackson we were going for a walk. He led the way, taking me to the fence, beyond which was a paddock with a magnificent view over the lake. Even though the light was fading, I clambered through the wire and let the dog take me across the field to the opposite boundary where, although he wanted to keep going, I stopped to lean on the fence.
“No, Jackson, that’s far enough. Time to go back. What’s that down there, though?”
I don’t know why I expected a dog to answer me but I was intrigued. The paddock merged into lake edge, the grass giving way to reed patches as the solid land became a tidal zone. In the dusk I could make out a shape that looked like some kind of small building which, as I peered at it, seemed to have a faint light moving inside it. Then the light was gone. I shook my head.
“I must be imagining things,” I said to the
dog. “Come on, let’s go back where it’s warm. I saw some cans of dog food in the pantry so let’s get ourselves some food.”
Food was obviously a magic word as Jackson wagged his tail and let me lead him back to the house where I opened a can of dog food and tipped it into the bowl I had found earlier in a kitchen cupboard. I watched him gulp it down, then realised I was just as hungry as he was, so I decided to pack up for the day and return to the motor camp. But what would I do with the dog? Even though the house was his home, I couldn’t leave him by himself, that just seemed wrong. I had signed the papers so I owned him now. From now on I had to include him in my plans. I sat down on a dining chair with a thump as the reality hit me. I liked him. When the ranger had asked me to take him, I had thought I would just look after him until I could find him a new home. I saw him as another chattel I had to organise. But in just a few hours his big eyes and quiet nature had got to me. I had no idea how I was going to manage with him in Wellington but I had to make it work. I would worry about that later. For tonight I hoped Gail would be fine with Jackson at the motor camp. I guessed she would be.
I guessed right. When I told Gail the story, she was happy to let him share my cabin.
“Strictly, it’s against health regulations, so don’t let too many people see him. I won’t say anything. I won’t even tell Tom, it can be our secret. I remember Jackson, he was in the show ring the same time Kali was.”
“Kali? A show dog?”
“Hard to believe now, isn’t it?” Gail laughed. “Yes, believe it or not, that fat blob is a show champion. Not as flash as Jackson but she did all right in her day. Maggie Netherby was well known in the circuit. Jackson was the last of a long string of prize winners. I’m glad you’ve got him. Are you going to keep him?”
Deep in the Shallows Page 5
