Farm Kill

by Robert W Fisk

  "No obvious cause of death. They both have ash all over them. Their hair is singed as if they have been too close to a fire," Richard said.

  "They smell of smoke," said Alex. "You can't smell anything yet after that blow to the head in Fern Valley."

  Richard lifted Ashleigh so her face could be seen. Her body was soft but cold.

  "There is a pulse," he said. "Not strong but definite."

  Richard lowered Ashleigh so she lay beside Greg, who was now on his back.

  "I wonder if Zinsli tried to kill them by freezing them to death?" Richard spoke his thoughts out loud. "He could then dispose of the bodies in a hole, or finish burning the cottage down. But why set fire to the cottage, only to bring the bodies here?"

  Richard continued to voice his thoughts. "He might have set fire to the cottage to get them out of their house, hit them over the head then thrown them in the fire? But what stopped him, Alex?"

  Alex said, "That makes some kind of sense. Use the fire to get them out of the house, not a bad idea. Something must have happened. Maybe the boy. Did Zinsli see the boy? Or did the dog attack Zinsli?"

  "Something happened to stop him throwing them in the fire. Perhaps ... "

  Richard paused while he sorted out his thoughts. "Perhaps if they died in the fire, it would be arson and murder. Then why freeze them to death? To put them out in the bush somewhere so they appeared to have died from hypothermia? It's summer time. Unlikely someone would freeze to death. Put them under a waterfall?"

  "But why didn't they struggle?” asked Alex. "Were they drugged? Then put in the truck to freeze to death? The earthquake must have cut the power off. He couldn't have predicted that."

  "I think we need to do some CPR on these two," said Alex. "I'll look after Ashleigh. You do CPR on Greg."

  "I think you're right; they're drugged," said Richard. "Look at her eyes."

  Richard lifted Ashleigh down from the truck to the ground to give more room and a firmer surface to work on. As Alex began CPR on Ashleigh, he climbed into the truck and began CPR procedures on Greg.

  "Greg has two marks on his neck where he has been injected," said Richard.

  "So has Ashleigh. One is faint, a pinprick. But the other is bruised."

  "Injected with something to stun them, then again to make them unconscious for a long time," said Alex.

  They both continued the CPR until clear signs of breathing were evident. Ashleigh was recovering more quickly than Greg. As a routine for the CPR developed, Alex and Richard began to talk.

  "So... ," Richard began. "Zinsli or whoever .. "

  "Zinsli," interrupted Alex.

  "Zinsli lit a fire to get them out of the house. While they were focussed on putting out the fire, he drugged them. Put them in a freezer truck to die of hypothermia. That takes a while. Probably gave them a second shot of something like diazepam or ketamine. But the power supply failed. OK. They are very cold but not hypothermic. "

  "If it was something like diazepam, Zinsli helped them by slowing their breathing and activity," said Alex. "They are breathing more naturally now. I think the movement of the CPR has begun to warm them, restored circulation. I think we can stop."

  "Fire," said Ashleigh. Alex sat back in surprise.

  Richard got up from his knees, jumped down awkwardly from the truck and gave Alex a hug. She seemed so tiny for someone who was so strong.

  "Yes, fire," said Alex. "but you are safe now. You have been drugged and you are cold."

  Back in the truck, Greg began to speak. "Sally! Sally!"

  "It's okay, Greg," said Richard, "You have been given a drug and now you're cold."

  "We need to cover them," said Alex. "Sacks. Look, there's a pile of hessian sacks. They will stop them getting colder."

  Together, they rolled Ashleigh on to a layer of sacks they placed on the concrete floor They piled sacks on top of her, then Richard pulled Greg to the edge of the truck floor.

  "Help me with him, please," he said. "He's surprisingly heavy for a small guy."

  "Ashleigh? Is that you Ashleigh?" asked Greg.

  "Greg, are you all right?" asked Ashleigh.

  Alex and Richard lowered Greg on to a layer of sacks next to Ashleigh.

  "You two cuddle up and get warm," said Alex. She and Richard looked at each other as if to say, "What next?'

  "The banging," said Richard. "Back to the house."

  29.

  Barbara received the bad news about the Wests being swept away in a mudslide by phone. The car was registered to Richard John West of Weatherston. He and his family had left for Weatherston at about eight thirty that morning. Fears were held for their safety. Barbara contacted Weatherston Police. They rang back half an hour later. The house was locked, the neighbours said the Wests were expected back, and the other next door neighbour had been into the house to open windows to air it in preparation for the family's return. Sadly, Barbara informed her Sergeant, who advised that Barbara should release the news as 'grave fears are held for the safety of as soon as family had been informed'.

  Barbara contacted Princess Cruises in Australia, who radioed the cruise ship, which was due to enter Dubrovnik in the following six hours. Following some delay, Bill and Syd Paki-Paki left from Dubrovnik soon after eleven in the morning, taking a ferry and train to Rome. From there, they would have to take a flight to Auckland and on to Christchurch. The trip was going to take at least forty-eight hours. It was early on Monday there, but they would not arrive in New Zealand before Wednesday due to travel and the International Dateline.

  Woken in the very early hours of Monday morning by the New Zealand Police, Robert and Jeanne West left for Heathrow as soon as they had packed a few necessities. On the internet, Robert booked seats on the twenty four hour route to Auckland. It would take over fifty hours for them to arrive in Christchurch because of the connections they had to take with such a late booking. They could not arrive until Thursday. New Zealand was really quite remote. With their tickets printed out, they caught a bus to the station, then trains to Heathrow to see if there were any last minute cancellations.

  At six o'clock in the morning, Heathrow was its normal chaotic self. They stood in long line of patient Asian travellers. A young man was behind them. He touched Robert's arm.

  "Excuse me sir," he said. "Are you related to this man?"

  He held his phone so that Robert could see it.

  "Yes, he's my son. He has been swallowed by an earthquake. My wife and I are off to New Zealand right now but it's going to take a long time because our booking is so late."

  Jeanne joined in. "Are you from New Zealand?" she asked. "I recognise the accent."

  "Yes. From Auckland. I'm a journalist, working in London."

  Before they could continue, it was the West's turn at the counter.

  "Our son has been killed in an earthquake," said Jeanne to the counter staff. "Well, we think he might still be alive but the New Zealand Police said to come immediately. Do you have better connections, or a cancellation?"

  "I'm sorry for your loss," said the counter attendant in a mechanical voice. "No. All flights are full. January is so popular for New Zealand travellers." She meant for tourists going to New Zealand.

  "Do you have any emergency seating?" asked Robert. "We spend hours and hours waiting at airports."

  "No. Sorry. All the flights are full. January is so popular for New Zealand travellers."

  "Excuse me, Miss", said the young journalist to the check in officer. "I am Kelvin Jordan, a journalist with the Guardian. Can you let me talk to these passengers, please? I might be able to help them." The journalist held out his hand, over the counter. "And could you please call us from the line when we re-join it?"

  Robert saw a flick of paper as the counter attendant shook Kelvin's hand.

  "Certainly, Sir. I hope you can help them. They have lost their son, you know."

  Kelvin left the bags beside the counter, putting his with them. He drew the Wests aside.

  "Wh
en do you fly?" he asked.

  "Not until ten at night," said Robert.

  "I'm checking in for the ten o'clock flight in the morning," said Kelvin. "My fiancée is joining me on the flight. I'm looking for her so we can get seats together. We fly through LA, about twenty six hours, tops. Would you like our tickets?"

  "I'd love them," said Robert. "But I'm sure Security will find some way to stop us. You can't just swap tickets, you know."

  "Watch me," said Kelvin. "Look, if I can get you to Auckland basically non-stop, can you give me an exclusive for my paper?"

  "I don't have a problem with that," said Robert. "What about you, Jeanne?"

  Jeanne agreed. They re-joined the line. Shortly, the counter attendant waved them forward.

  "I've checked with my supervisor and with Security. In the circumstances, we can change your seats but it does mean you have extra costs," she said. "It would be nice if the Guardian said what trouble we have been through to re-ticket the four of you."

  "Four?" questioned Kelvin.

  "Yes, sir. We found your fiancée looking for you at Counter Eight. She's coming along to this counter as we speak." The counter assistant was smiling broadly. Her supervisor came forward.

  "You must not leave Transit lanes," he said. "The Americans have been very decent about allowing the ticket changes but they are quite paranoid about people changing names. They want an eye view of you every second you are in the States. Stay with the Transit staff. They will be with you all the time."

  "How much will that cost?" asked Robert. "Extra security staff just for us."

  "Fifty pounds per ticket," said the supervisor. "That's for changing names and passport numbers. The rest is on us. We would like to help you in your time of sorrow."

  Kelvin's fiancée arrived at the counter and handed over her passport and tickets. She was a pretty young woman with short hair and a broad smile. Her sun tan spoke of the Antipodes. Nobody seemed to mind that she had jumped the long queue. The British are like that.

  Jeanne and Robert thanked the young couple profusely and offered them breakfast. They declined, saying they were only too happy to help out. Kelvin gave Robert his email address so that Robert could keep in touch and keep his promise to let Kelvin have the story.

  Los Angeles held no problems for them. The airline provided a staff member to stay with them until their next flight. Everyone in the transit lounge was going on to New Zealand. Many had read the Facebook tributes and told those nearby so that after a short time, Jeanne and Robert felt like celebrities. Some people commented on the likeness of father and son. Without any sense of morbidness, some asked for Richard's picture to post on social media

  "But for all the wrong reasons," said Robert.

  The news about the West family being victims of the earthquake was broadcast on the radio during their Earthquake Updates breaks. The news caused uproar on Facebook with hundreds of comments being posted. Many called for a police search for the car so the bodies could receive a decent burial but the Rescue Services had far too much to do with the aftermath of the earthquake. Barbara had sent a helicopter to transport Brendan back to Christchurch, and to photograph the area. The photos showed no tracks had been made along the banks of the gully, no sign that anybody had been in the area except for Brendan. The helicopter flew over the nearby terrain but saw no evidence that anyone had survived the landslide. Aftershocks continued throughout the day, focussing attention on more pressing matters as fresh damage occurred and more people required help.

  30.

  The dogs were quiet. They could smell that the people who had given them water were returning. They missed their companions who had gone to town tied to the rail behind the rear window of Philip's pick-up truck but they had been watered and now they curled up to sleep even though they were hungry.

  This time Alex and Richard entered the Zinsli house through the rear bedroom window, which had fallen inwards in the last big aftershock, scattering glass everywhere. There were occasional minor tremors still but Richard deemed it safe enough to go through the house. He reached the switchboard. No lights came on; there was still no power supply.

  The clatter of the metal seemed to come from a door in front of him. It was locked. There was no key. A low cry came from the room. It had not been a dog. It was a person. Richard rapped on the door.

  "Anyone there?" he called in a loud voice.

  There were two distinct bangs and a sound. 'Gagged?' thought Richard.

  "Alex, come along here to me. I think Sally might be here," he shouted.

  There was an increase in the grunting and groaning. Alex arrived.

  "Talk to her," said Richard.

  "Is it Sally?"

  "I don't know."

  "Then why did you say 'her'?"

  "Just talk," said Richard.

  "Is that you Sally?" asked Alex.

  There was a metallic bang.

  "Richard, the dirty toilet smell is coming from in there," said Alex. "Can you find a key or an axe or something?"

  Richard climbed over the broken timbers into Philip's room. On the wall was a key rack. He picked out the old fashioned house key, big and black and quite unlike the other keys that hung there. Alex was still at the door, shouting to Sally who responded by banging a piece of tin.

  "Richard, it's Sally!" she cried.

  Richard put the key in the lock. It fitted and it turned and it opened the door.

  Sally was lying on the floor. She was gagged and bound. The smell came from the overturned bucket that she kicked with her feet. Richard could smell nothing, while Alex was too overjoyed to worry.

  Richard untied the gag from around her mouth. She had excrement all over her clothes.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. I stink."

  "There, there Sally," said Alex. "Don't worry. We'll get you into clean clothes. Can you stand up?"

  With difficulty, Sally got to her feet. She turned to Richard.

  "My son, Lance. Philip is going to kill him, and then Greg and me last of all, after so he gets everything." She spoke so rapidly that Alex had trouble understanding.

  "Slowly, Sally," said Alex.

  "Philip is going to kill my son, and Greg my husband, then me," she repeated, more slowly.

  "Philip will not kill your son. Since the earthquake, Lance has been with us. At the moment he is with our fifteen year old daughter."

  "Oh, thank God," said Sally, her voice breaking. "But I must warn Greg. Philip wants to kill him too."

  "Tell me the whole story," said Alex as she helped Sally along the passage, over the rubble from the ceilings and the broken rafters. Earthquakes had long been part of New Zealand's history. Many English people, including Richard's mother, could not understand why New Zealanders insisted on living in one level bungalows.

  Sally and Alex went into the bathroom, with its broken glass from the smashed window, and its hand basin leaning at a crazy angle.

  "There's no power, so no hot water," said Alex. As she began to strip Sally she said, "Richard go and find something useful to do."

  As it was beginning to get dark, Richard went searching for lanterns or lamps. He found a cupboard in the laundry packed with bits and pieces. The tight fit of everything had protected the glasses on two kerosene lamps. Richard knew what to do with those. Then, right at the back of a high shelf, Richard found a Coleman white spirit lamp and a can of fuel.

  Richard went back to his scouting and tramping days, priming the lamp. Heating the mantle and finally opening the pressure so the yellow flame turned a brilliant white and the dark room lit up.

  Richard made his way back to down the passage carrying the lamp in one hand and two unlit kerosene lanterns in the other.

  "It's okay Richard," called Alex as she saw the bright light coming along the passage. "We're all decent."

  Sally said, "Where is Ashleigh? I think she is in danger, too."

  "Yes," said Richard. "I'm rather afraid she is."

  Sally burst into tea
rs. Alex held her while she sobbed. "Richard," she said. "That was a stupid thing to say."

  She turned to Sally. "Greg and Ashleigh are alive. Philip tried to freeze them to death in the truck but the power went off in the earthquake. They are both sleeping, wearing off the effects of a drug, I think."

  "It's all my fault," Sally wailed. "Philip is after both farms. When he found out I would always be a business partner with Greg, maybe even get back with him, Philip made me sign a will giving him everything."

  "Oh, no!" said Richard. "That's signing your life away. What made you do that?"

  "Richard. You're not helping," said Alex.

  "He said he would kill Lance," Sally replied.

  "Lance is with Jo, riding down to Te Kouka. There is no way Philip could find them," said Richard. "Where is he, anyway?"

  "He's going to my lawyer's," said Sally. "I worked as a paralegal before I married. I told Philip he would have to get my identity verified by Mr Middleton. When we thought a deal or contract was suspect or illegal, we would refer it to Mr Middleton. That was a signal that the deal needed investigation, and should go no further until Mr Middleton gave his approval."

  "That was a smart move," said Richard. "But how long will Philip wait? Speaking of which, now it's dark outside. We'd better get moving back to Greg's farm."

  The women both agreed. They found the atmosphere difficult to deal with: a broken house with fallen ceilings, broken glass, no electricity, an awful smell.

  "Let's go," said Alex. "Are you okay going back to Te Kouka Flats for the night?"

  "I'll be okay," said Sally.

  "I don't want to sound ghoulish," said Richard, "but I think we should take the freezer truck. We can load Ashleigh and Greg in the front and put you and Sally in the back."

  Alex said, "Richard, there must be a better way, but I can't think of one. I think you're right."

  "Let's do it," said Richard. Holding the lamp high, he led them out of the ruined building. He left the store room door locked, and took the key with him.