Deep in the Shallows

by J. L. O'Rourke

  “Weren’t you scared of the pigs?” I asked.

  “They weren’t there then. Nettles brought them in the next day. Good way to get rid of a body, pigs. They’ll eat everything except the hair, which didn’t matter with this bloke because he was bald.”

  “Hang on,” I interrupted. “Are you saying they brought those pigs in specially to eat that guy’s body?”

  “I reckon. Which is why I’m glad I grabbed his arm when I had the chance.”

  “Why did you?” Bruno asked. “Why didn’t you just report it?”

  “To whom would I report it, young Bruno?” Gunna sounded like the teacher he had once been. “The police? The local policeman? Oh wait, that’s Carlton. No, Bruno, if I had reported it, Carlton would have found a way to twist it back on me. He knew Maggie and I were aware of his game and, with Maggie no longer here, he’d find it very easy to set me up and get rid of me too.”

  “Which is why you disappeared and have been hiding out,” I said.

  “Yes. I was struggling to work out the best thing to do. I saw the bloke’s arm sticking out of the pile and, as I reached for it, I noticed my duck caller hanging on my wrist. That gave me the idea. I knew people would know it was my caller and I also knew it wouldn’t take long for them to work out that it wasn’t my arm. I figured that, if it became a proper forensic investigation and a full-on hunt for the rest of the body, then Carlton wouldn’t be able to cover it up.”

  “I still don’t get why the duck caller,” Bruno said. “Wouldn’t the arm be enough? Why connect yourself to it when you could have just floated the arm in the lake then waited at the pub to see who found it? Wasn’t putting your caller on it just helping Carlton to crucify you?”

  “That was a calculated risk, and one I have regretted taking several times since, but it made sense in the heat of the moment. I was counting on there being enough people in Waihola who cared about me to make a fuss. If it was just a random arm, there was a chance it could be passed off as a freak boating accident and Carlton would sweep it under the covers as quickly as possible. I had to do something to make people take notice and my duck caller was the only thing I could think of at the time.”

  “Well, it has certainly worked,” Bruno said. “Everybody is talking about you, wanting to know if the arm is yours, where is the rest of you, are you alive or lying somewhere injured. Carlton is rushing around pretending to care and desperately hoping he will find you before anyone else does. I wouldn’t go near your caravan for a while, if I was you. Stay here, keep out of sight and I will bring supplies. But you’d better keep the place locked and the lights off when Andy’s not here.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” I suggested. “I could check out of the motor camp and move in here. I can tell them there is so much to sort, it’s easier to stay here. Then it won’t matter if anyone sees lights on because they’ll think it’s me.”

  “Good idea,” Bruno nodded in agreement. “Look, I know I was hoping to catch Carlton over there tonight but, with all that Gunna had just told us, I think it’s more important for us to sit and make some plans. What do you guys think?”

  “I agree,” I said. “Let’s take a break. Let’s find the linen and make some beds up. It could be a long night. Unless you need to get back to the clinic, Bruno.”

  “No, I’m right. I had already organised cover for emergencies and for Jackson, so I don’t need to be back until my clinic tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Jackson?” Gunna gasped. “Is he all right? Why is he at the clinic?”

  “Nettles shot him,” Bruno explained, “but he’s okay. He’ll be limping for a while but he’s doing well. Andy might be able to bring him home tomorrow.”

  “Here?” A smile lit up Gunna’s face. “I’ve missed that little guy. I thought I had lost him forever.”

  I was confused again. “So why did he end up in the pound? Why didn’t you just go and pick him up?”

  “Me, making bad choices again. I was distraught when Maggie died. I wasn’t thinking straight. I wasn’t even feeding myself, let alone Jackson and he ran away. The neighbours found him and handed him on to the ranger but it was a few days before I found out where he was. Then I had to deal with the funeral and a few more days went by. When I did contact the ranger, she wasn’t too impressed that it had taken me so long to get in touch with her and she kind of pressured me into giving him up, telling me she would find him a loving home with a family when all I could offer was a damp caravan. If I had been in a better headspace I would have told her to go to hell and brought him home, but I didn’t. I’ve thought about him every day since, wondering where he went. I thought he had been rehomed already. How come he was anywhere Nettles could shoot him?”

  “He was here, with me,” I replied. “The ranger handed him over to me. I was going to take him to a rescue organisation, but it took about five minutes to fall in love with him, so I’m keeping him. He’ll be coming back to Wellington with me when I finish here.” I felt guilty when Gunna’s smile faded. “Or maybe he can stay here with you. I’m not sure how I would manage a dog in the city anyway.”

  To cover the tears I could see misting his eyes, Gunna bustled down the hall to the linen cupboard and came back with a pile of sheets and blankets which he doled out to Bruno and me. Clutching our bundles, we followed obediently as he allocated us our bedrooms, giving me Maggie’s master bedroom at the back of the house and sending Bruno to the guest room that overlooked the deck before he stepped through the bookcase-door to make up his own sleeping arrangements.

  I felt like an intruder in Maggie’s room but, at the same time, I felt I was at home. Maggie’s extensive use of gold trim and burgundy velvet made the room look like a movie set for a B-grade film but it drew me in with an unexpected feeling of warmth and comfort. I took my time making the oversized bed, then sat on it, imagining curling up under the covers. Then my imagination added Bruno to the picture and I snapped out of my daydream, angry with myself for my thoughts. I was glad his bedroom was at the other end of the house, with Gunna between us. To shake off my musing, I looked around the room, taking in the overwhelming rococo styling. Bruno was right, Maggie’s taste could only be described as unique. In one corner, where I had bundled them as I had checked them onto my inventory list, I saw Maggie’s ornaments and knick-knacks piled in a box and I was relieved that Gunna hadn’t come into the room to see them looking like discarded rubbish. My business efficiency suddenly seemed like an insult to Maggie’s memory and to Gunna’s emotions. To assuage my guilt, I pulled a matched pair of china ballerinas from the box and sat them back on the dresser before firmly closing the door on my thoughts and rejoining the men in the lounge.

  “So, let’s recap,” Bruno said as he handed us each a mug of coffee. “Let’s get all our ducks in a row. Gunna, I’m impressed. I didn’t realise that you and Maggie were aware of Carlton and his little business, although if I had thought about it, I should have worked it out. After all, nobody knows more about the lake than you two. I wish I had known earlier, we could have pooled our resources a month or two ago, but we’re here now. I’ve been trying to collect concrete evidence but I don’t know who the buyers are and the suppliers are keeping pretty tight-lipped, even though they are all hunting buddies of mine. They all know I’m not Carlton’s best friend and I think they assume that, because I’m the vet, I’m too much of a goody-two-shoes to get into anything illegal. Which is true, but I’ve been trying to convince them that it’s not so they will let me in and give me something I can use as proof.”

  “I’ve got the proof,” Gunna replied. “Pages and pages of it. All hidden away in the athenaeum under innocent boxes of rubbish. We’ve got dates, times, numbers of birds, collateral damage to other birds, hell, we’ve even got photos of some of the deals being done. The only thing we haven’t got one hundred percent, is proof of the end product. The best we’ve managed to get is proof of a delivery to the restaurant and one of our mates has got proof that the meat they ate there was swan
. He’s a scientist so he bagged some and had it DNA tested, but we don’t have any physical proof that links the two together.”

  “Woah!” I interrupted. “Back the truck up. Restaurant? Are you saying Carlton is getting swans from the lake and selling them to a restaurant? Aren’t they protected?”

  “Exactly,” Gunna nodded. “Our friendly local policeman is breaking the law he is sworn to protect, in a nice little racket that contravenes two different Acts of Parliament. First off, he’s committing offences, or getting his mates to commit offences, under the Wildlife Act. That’s the act that says what animals can be hunted and what are protected. There are two rules for swans. White swans are totally protected, you can’t hunt them at all. Black swans can be hunted but only during the duck shooting season, which we’re not in at the moment.”

  “So all those swans in that pile in the woolshed have been illegally killed?” I asked.

  “Yep,” Bruno confirmed. “Every one of them.” He pulled out his phone and flicked to the photos. “And, although a lot of the white feathers in the pile will be from the black swans’ wings, it looks like some of the birds are mutes, so Carlton must have a supplier from Canterbury or someone around here is breeding them.”

  “Mutes? What? Swans who don’t make a noise?” I was baffled.

  “No,” Gunna answered. “Mutes are white swans. That’s what they’re called. They’re only found wild in a couple of places in the South Island, Lake Ellesmere and North Canterbury, so he must be getting them from a private pond, or even a town’s botanic gardens. And they are totally protected, there’s no hunting season for them at all, so if there are any in that pile there’s no question about them not being illegally caught. Anyway, no matter where they’re coming from, or what type of swan they are, he’s still not allowed to sell them on to a restaurant. That’s the other law he’s breaking, the Animal Products Act. Places that sell food have to ensure that food is safe, they can’t just buy meat from any old hunter who turns up with a dead bird or pig. They have to buy from certified suppliers. But, wherever you find food, you’ll find those self-professed connoisseurs who like to brag about their last meal and have to out-do each other at their next dinner party.”

  “Sounds like my ex and his mother,” I snorted derisively.

  “Told you he’d get on well with Carlton,” Bruno’s laugh made me smile but it didn’t stop Gunna who had picked up the papers I had left on the couch and forgotten.

  “It’s all in here,” he said. “Dates, times, the whole lot. Maggie and I kept watch, turn about. It didn’t take much to work out who his main suppliers were and, with a bit of help from those young lads from the garage, we’ve been watching them.”

  “The Atkins boys are helping you?” Bruno asked.

  “Don’t sound so incredulous, Bruno,” Gunna chastised. “They’re good boys. A little wild yet, but they’re young. There was a stage I was worried Carlton might turn them to the dark side, but they’re smarter than they look, those two.”

  “Yes they are. I know they’ve been patrolling the lake, trying to catch that night shooter who’s been firing off lately.’

  “I heard that – scared the shit out of me,” I said. “I thought it was you, Bruno, because I saw you the next morning, loading dead birds into your truck.”

  “And I was, but only because the boys let me know but they couldn’t get down there themselves. Whoever it is likes shooting them but he doesn’t bother to retrieve them, just leaves them in the lake. I wish we could catch him.”

  “My bet’s on Nettles,” Gunna said. “But don’t worry, the Atkins boys will get the proof. They make excellent spies. They’ve brought me more information on Carlton’s suppliers than I could ever have hoped for. I was just after proof of the swan kills but they brought me proof that he’s selling wild pig too.”

  “So the act about selling meat covers pig hunters too?” I clarified.

  “Yes, indeed. Meat for sale has to be killed and processed at a certified abattoir, which that old woolshed certainly is not.”

  “So what do we do next?” Bruno asked. “What’s our plan going to be?”

  “Well,” I tapped the paper Gunna was holding, “Let’s round up all of Gunna’s proof. Gunna, this looks like the secret code from a spy movie. Can you please write down a clear explanation of how it works, so whoever we pass it to can understand it? Bruno, you need to make copies of those photos and save them to a couple of different places so we don’t lose them. In fact, start by bluetoothing them to my phone and I’ll save them to my cloud account. I’ll add the ones I took of the pigs.”

  “Yep, onto it,” Bruno acknowledged. “Gunna, are you okay finding those papers yourself? Because if you are, I would like to go back up to the woolshed. I know it’s dark but there’s a decent moon out tonight and I really want to get a better look at what’s in there.”

  “One thing at a time, Bruno, lad. Let’s put that off a few more hours and wait until the sun’s coming up. Nothing over there is going anywhere in the meantime. I agree with Andy, the best thing to do now is pull the dragon out of the athenaeum. Come on, we’re looking for boxes labelled cat food, or crushed pineapple. If it’s any other kind of box, it’s not part of the dragon and not important.”

  “I wish I’d known that a couple of days ago,” I muttered, thinking of all the boxes I had ripped open to find them full of pulp trash.

  Even with three people, it still took an hour to sort through the last of the boxes in the first room and all the boxes in the second one. We worked as a chain gang, Gunna identifying each box and passing it to Bruno who weaved his way through the maze to hand them to me. My job was to stack them in the first room, rubbish on one side, files by the door. By the time we had finished and lugged twenty boxes of files back to the lounge, I was exhausted. I glanced at my watch, shocked at how late it was.

  “That’s it. Enough. We’re all going to bed,” I ordered. Neither man objected so I left them for the comfort of Maggie’s massive bed where I quickly fell asleep imagining I was running my fingers over Bruno’s face on the pillow beside me.

  Chapter 9

  I’m not sure if the men got any sleep at all but when I awoke, dressed – in my own jeans instead of Maggie’s pyjamas – and headed to the kitchen, I found a scene of domestic bliss. Gunna was sitting on the couch, papers strewn all around him, munching on a piece of toast, while Bruno was standing at the stove solemnly cooking bacon and eggs. I paused in the doorway to admire the picture of perfection as the sun streamed through the window to frame his chiselled cheek bones and sparkle highlighted streaks of gold in his tousled hair.

  “Good morning,” I said as I stepped into the kitchen’s homely warmth. “Did I sleep in or have you two been up all night?”

  “No and no,” Bruno laughed, his frown lines disappearing as a smile flashed all the way to his eyes. “No, you didn’t sleep in, it’s only seven o’clock, and no, we haven’t been up all night – we grabbed a couple of hours sleep but we got up again at daybreak and we’ve already been over to the woolshed and taken a heap more photos. Oh, and Gunna knows who the pigs belong to, so we can do Carlton for stealing them too.”

  “I thought they were wild pigs? They were great, big, hairy things. Domestic pigs are pink, aren’t they?”

  “Not always,” Gunna interjected. “You’re thinking of the Landrace breed, but there are other breeds of pigs and a lot of them are black or black and white. In the case of those mongrels up in the woolshed, you’re half right – they belong to Hans van Rooy, an old Dutch bloke who lives right up at the end of the road. He’s been crossbreeding Berkshires, which are black with white feet, with wild pigs for a few years now. Don’t ask me why, it always seemed like a daft scheme to me, but it keeps him happy and, I think Bruno would agree with me, the meat from them is mighty tasty.”

  “It certainly is,” Bruno agreed, handing me a plate of bacon that made my mouth water at its delicious smell. “Try this and see if you agree.”
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br />   “What? Is this from one of the pigs over there? Did you kill them?” I looked at the plate, unsure if I wanted to take it, in spite of how good it looked and how hungry I suddenly felt.

  “No, you duffer,” Bruno laughed, pushing the plate towards me. “This is last month’s vet bill. Cousin to this month’s bill that you met on the back of my truck.”

  “I’m not following you. Is this safe to eat?”

  “Yes it is, don’t panic. But it does come from the same place as those pigs in the shed. Old Hans used to make most of his money as a lumberjack but now his eyesight’s failing and he can’t work a chainsaw safely anymore, so he struggles to make ends meet these days. I help him out with his animals when I can, but he can’t afford to pay me cash, so he pays me in pork instead. That beast you saw when we first met, in such ungallant circumstances, was his payment for some surgery I did on one of his dogs that was hurt by a boar.”

  “And you sold it on to Tom at the camp?”

  “Well,” Bruno looked sheepish, “that wouldn’t be strictly legal, so let’s just say Tom owed me money for ... something ... and I gave him a pig as a gift, and it was really useful of him to pay me back right then when I needed to match cash in with expenses out for the surgery’s accountant. Okay? Oh, and before you ask, yes, Bill at the pub made some of it into pork pies but no, they are not the ones he sells at the pub. That would be illegal. These ones are just shared between friends around the family table.”