by Finn Bell
“Agreed. Everything but the camera spot. The usual ‘confidential source’ stuff for whatever we give you unless we announce it through GIC, and you share whatever you find, same day, before it’s broadcast. You’ll get the exclusive if and when we do a media release, it may not go through GIC. Deal?” Tobe says to Becca.
“Deal,” Becca says.
“What happened last year?” Tobe asks again.
“You guys don’t watch much news, do you? That’s James and Andrea Chen. It doesn’t even matter what happened here. It matters that it happened to them. I recognised the address on the police call out and came straight out,” Becca says.
“Come on,” Becca continues when she takes in our blank expressions. “The Chens? The search around the world? Gold for love? It was in the news on and off for months. There were repeat stories on them across several years.”
“Bare facts please Becca?” I ask tiredly.
“This was big. The Chens had family money. Old money. Inherited from the gold rush days. Well into the millions. Then several years back William Chen, their eldest son, gets a rare form of cancer. Young too. Fifteen or so, I think. Needs a kidney but the hospital won’t put him on the list because they think he’ll die anyway. So first James and Andrea Chen take them to court, but they lose. By now the kid is in a bad way, on dialysis. Here’s where the story really took off. They sell everything – houses, land, businesses, the lot. Everything to fund their own search for a cure. They were going to find a kidney and find a hospital willing to do the surgery no matter the cost. First it was thousands then it was millions. They went all over the world. It was all anyone could talk about for weeks. People were debating it on TV. Protesting outside the Ministry of Health.
“And then, it actually worked. They ended up having to move the whole family to Argentina. But they got him the surgery and he got better. By now the family had spent all the money they had. Channel 3 even ran a fundraiser to help them buy plane tickets back home,” Becca says.
“So you thought whatever happened down here tonight would be big news under the bad-things-happening-to-good-people category?” I ask.
“No Nick. I know it will be big news because it falls under the even-worse-things-now-happening-to-good-people-who-already-had-bad-things-happen-twice category. You see, it actually got worse. The Chens came back and settled in that little cottage. The only thing they hadn’t sold. They started rebuilding their lives again. Dad went from being a big money IT company exec to doing odd jobs as a carpenter. Mum went back to nursing. They were poor now but they had each other. Such a good story, straight to the heart strings.
“Young William was doing great. Complete recovery. We even did a follow-up piece on him. Math prodigy, destined for great things, won a full scholarship to university. People were eating it up. Then about a year ago, one morning he walks out his front door and gets run over by a logging truck. Right there in front of his family. Killed instantly. I’m telling you, you couldn’t even make up stuff that sad if you tried,” Becca finishes.
So you give up everything to save your child and then he dies anyway, and then all this happens on top of it, I think to myself. I don’t know how you respond to that.
“Anything else?” Tobe asks.
“That’s it. Until this. I even covered William’s funeral but we didn’t run it. My editor thought it was too sad, too much honesty for 6:00 p.m. We’ve kept tabs on them for follow-ups, which is why I came out. Now you,” Becca prompts.
“Ok, but sit on the specifics until we tell you. It’s a hostage situation gone bad. Multiple armed offenders. Shots fired. Multiple fatalities, thus far all on the side of the aggressors,” I say.
“Yeah, anyone we know?” Becca says, looking over at the remains of the house.
“Manga Kahu leadership, all of them,” Tobe states.
“You’re shitting me. Who?” Becca asks with growing incredulity.
“We’ll only release the names after the kin notifications, but it’s the full deck: Blacks, Kepus and Maihis,” Tobe says.
“That’s crazy. Why the hell would gang royalty be out here? Why the Chens?” Becca replies.
“You know anything that could point to a reason? Ever find any dirt on the Chens?” I ask.
“Nothing. And believe me, with the amount of money we threw at this story we’d have found something if it was there. This makes no sense. Did the Chens make it?” Becca asks.
“Looks like they’re all going to be ok but we’re still looking for James Chen. There was an explosion so maybe he’s dead but it’s also possible he wasn’t here at all,” Tobe answers.
“This story will be massive. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Put everything you’re telling me on top of what’s happened before and it’s entirely too much tragedy for the average person to deal with. Martin will fry for this,” Becca says. “Look, I’ve got to get a crew out here. I’ll call you guys later.”
“Remember our deal,” I call after her as she heads off.
Once I’ve got the car on the road I say, “Tobe, why did we just tell her everything we know? We could have sat on those names for a while. Given her less.”
“Those names are the reason why Nick,” Tobe says. “Had to get her interested. She has money and connections. And the kinds of people who will know what this is about aren’t the kinds of people who will talk to us. She might get lucky. Word is going to get out in any case; this way at least we stand a bigger chance of finding a lead.”
I know he’s right. This may help us get closer to the truth but it still feels wrong knowing that it means bad people get good money for nothing. But it’s a familiar feeling from an old problem. There’s nothing clean in this kind of work. For every bad guy you hurt you help another, hoping that one day his turn will come.
We’re almost back in the city, each lost in our own thoughts, when Tobe asks, “Do you think Martin is right?”
“I think Martin has a wisdom all his own, but what exactly are we talking about here?” I say.
“Do you think having this happen to those kids will change them? Knowing what we know now? Maud said the two Chen girls are 13 and 16. Later on, maybe 10 or 20 years from now, when this is all history and they’re just people. Would you be able to look at them and see the marks of this still on them somehow?” Tobe continues. For some reason this makes me think of Martin staring down at the stack of board games in the Chen’s living room and saying, “We’re going to hurt them back.”
“Some partners talk about sports, cars, even the weather,” I say.
“You know those things don’t interest me,” Tobe counters. “And now that I’ve asked you’re going to wonder about it anyway, so answer.”
“Will all this stay with them through their lives? Depends,” I say, trying to find words to fit around the shape of a thought.
“On what?” Tobe prompts.
“On whether their dad’s dead,” I reply.
Being a cop, especially working gangs, you see a lot of young kids, some barely in their teens, who’ve already had to go through a whole lifetime’s worth of wrongness through no fault of their own. Then, over the years, from time to time you’ll meet them again, mostly in prison, and there’s a tiredness to them that doesn’t fit. Like on the inside they’re already old men but still in young bodies.
“I think when something bad like this happens to you, you’ll naturally start to heal but only up to a point. Beyond that point you have to make a choice, choose to work at it to heal up all the way,” I say, not really sure what I’m trying to say. You see plenty of both kinds of people, I think. There’s the ones who manage to get over the things that have happened to them and those who never really do. Strangely, those are the ones who always seem the oldest.
“But when something really bad happens to the people you love, like your dad when you’re young, or you lose your kid or something, then I don’t know. I think then maybe you don’t always get to choose that second part. Sometimes you’re just fucked,” I say.
“If that’s true it seems like a strange way for people to work. Why would we be built that way I wonder,” Tobe remarks.
So do I.
* * *
Dawn breaks on the horizon right in front of us as we drive into the city, painting the skyline in golds and too-bright whites. I’m already getting that all too familiar work-life premonition that it’s going to be a very long day. I check the time and realise that there’s just enough time to go see Maria.
“Pick you up again in an hour?” I say as I park in front of Tobe’s house.
“An hour?” Tobe asks, looking over at me curiously, then he nods in understanding. “Ah, you’re going to propose again.”
“Yup,” I answer.
“I’ve always liked Maria. A very smart woman. The fact that she keeps turning you down is a key indicator,” Tobe says.
“Hey, she could say yes this time. Unusual circumstances, we were in an explosion and had a near-death experience,” I say.
“Having people die near you is not actually you having a near-death experience,” Tobe counters.
“Semantics old man,” I say.
“How many times has it been now? And why do you keep doing it?” Tobe asks.
“We’re probably somewhere in the twenties by now. It’s not like I do it every day. I pick my moments you know. I’m like sensitive and stuff,” I answer.
“And the fact that she’s said no every single time doesn’t give you pause for thought?” Tobe probes.
“Look, I keep asking because I obviously want her to say yes. She took a while to say no that last time. I think I’m wearing her down,” I say.
“Romantic,” Tobe states. “Ok. An hour. I’ll prep the talking points for the media conference, then we’ll head out to the prison. Talk to some friends.”
* * *
I find Maria where I knew she’d be – at school, in her classroom, preparing for the day. She doesn’t see me standing on the playground as I’m camouflaged by the bustle of parents and kids coming and going, so I take a moment to stare. We have almost nothing in common, inside or out. Maria is beautiful with delicate features, a tall redhead with an athletic build who, at 30, still looks like she could be in her early twenties. She’s calm, self-assured and softly spoken, and seems to have an unending reserve of patience and kindness for everyone around her, especially, for some strange reason, me.
On the other hand I’m scrawny, balding and, at 34, look like I’m already pushing 40. And my face won’t be inspiring any songs or poetry unless they are Irish or rhyme with words like Nantucket.
Sometimes I think people who really get to know me either love me or want to murder me. Sometimes both. We’ve been together almost three years and I’m still not really sure why she bothers with the likes of me. Especially when I see her here. It’s a bright, noisy, happy place. Feels a million miles away from that destroyed house in Lawrence. For a moment I feel out of place here, like I’m tainted somehow, that I dragged the soot of that tragedy in here with me. Then I see her laugh at one of the kids and the moment passes. Maria. It’s only now that my hands finally stop trembling.
After some more unashamed staring I decide on a different proposal tactic from the so-far-unsuccessful-yet-traditional down on one knee approach. I head over to the school office and find Bernice Ngarea, the principal, doing paperwork. Bernice likes me. She was part of my third or fourth failed attempt and ever since then she’s been rooting for me.
With only limited cajoling I manage to convince Bernice to hand over control of the intercom microphone on her desk. Taking a moment to compose my thoughts I hesitate before choosing the button marked ‘First Grade Class’ or the button marked ‘All Class Rooms’. Moderation is for cowards, I tell myself as I take a breath and push ‘All Class Rooms’.
“Your attention please students and teachers. If I could have your attention please for these announcements. Today we will be serving free milk boxes at lunch. All children will have permission to make as many animal noises as they want. And if Miss Maria Stevens would like to marry Mr Nick Cooper please send a note to the principal’s office. That’s Miss Maria Stevens for Mr Nick Cooper with a note to the principal’s office. Thank you. That will be all,” I finish before clicking off.
“What do you think?” I ask Bernice as she looks over at me with a bemused expression.
“We’re going to be paying for that animal noises offer but the rest seemed pretty good to me,” Bernice says, chuckling. It’s not long before we see a young boy run up to the office door clutching a note.
“Miss Ngarea?” he says, holding out the note in front of him like a shield as he enters.
“Thank you Jeremy, you can give it to Mr Cooper here please,” she says to him.
“Thanks kid,” I say to him. “And remember, as many animal noises as you want.”
As he leaves, experimentally growling to himself, I open the note and read Maria’s neat hand writing, “Nice try. How about dinner instead?”
“Very cute,” Maria then says from the door, having followed young Jeremy here. “My class room already sounds like a zoo,” she adds.
“I thought it would give the place some drama,” I say, kissing her on the cheek.
As we head out the door I say, “Thanks for the help Bernice.”
“No problem. I think you’re wearing her down,” Bernice calls out after us, which makes Maria laugh again.
“I know, right,” I say as I wave goodbye.
“It’s been three years Nick. Trust me. You’re not,” Maria confides as she takes my hand and leads me out towards the parking lot.
“Don’t sound so sure,” I reply. “Or at least act like it for my sake.”
“If rejection bothered you we wouldn’t still be together,” Maria says, smiling.
“Anyway, did something happen at work?” Maria asks. She knows me too well. And she’s had practice. Her dad was a cop. I think that’s part of why she loves me but also why she doesn’t want to marry me. Wants me to walk away from it. I can’t blame her for wanting a different life from her parents. I’m no different. And if I was her I’d worry just the same.
“Oh, same old same old,” I lie smoothly as I think of everything that happened this morning. “It’s probably going to be a busy week though.”
“You’re such a bad liar Nick,” Maria says, laughing.
“Telling you the truth about what happens at work makes you want to not marry me,” I say.
“So does lying about it baby,” Maria says. Women.
Her lips beat my reply to my mouth as she leans in and kisses me by my car. After a few moments she leans back and I say, “So that’s a firm no then?”
“You staying a cop?” she says back. It’s become part of the pattern; I propose and Maria counters with the ultimatum of me leaving the job. I’ve already told her on several occasions that I plan to walk away from it, maybe in a few years’ time. She says that’s what her dad said too.
“For now, yup,” I say, nodding.
“Then for now, nope,” she says, nodding back. As she heads inside again she calls out over her shoulder, “So dinner, my place, seven o’clock?”
“Yeah,” I say, watching her go. Dinner at seven, I think, but first a media conference at nine.
* * *
“She said no,” Tobe states confidently as he gets into the car.
“No faith,” I tell him. “Just give it time.”
“You should bring her along tonight,” Tobe suggests.
“Huh?” I ask.
“It’s Tuesday remember, tonight you’re having dinner with Mother and me,” Tobe reminds me.
“I didn’t say yes to that,” I protest.
“No, Mother did,” Tobe says. “And I told you about it. Besides, you know if you don’t come she’ll just call the station like last time.” It’s true. She actually called the station. Dispatch found it so funny they put it on an All-Units bulletin. They even included her dire warning of, “Or the s
oup will get cold.” Took a while to live that one down.
“Dude, she’s your mum, plus you’re in your sixties. How come I have to eat with her?” I complain.
“She likes you,” Tobe answers evenly.
“Tobe, you’re a good man, strange but good, but your mum, she’s got more of her in her than you do,” I answer, having done a few of these dinners with Tobe and his mother. Most detectives have partners. It works. You go through enough together and a bond forms whether you want it to or not. Helps you stay sane. You get someone who has your back. If you’re lucky you also get someone to talk to, maybe a drinking buddy, someone to go to the game with. Me, I got Tobe, a grumpy, academic type in his sixties, and his mum.
Margaret White is an 82-year-old retired psychiatry professor who dislikes cops in general and detectives in particular. Sometimes I think your brain reaches an age where it goes from, “Maybe I shouldn’t say that,” to “Meh, fuck it. Let’s see what happens.” Margaret lives happily well past that point.
“It’s settled then. Bring Maria, we’ll see you at seven,” Tobe says.
I’m about to protest further when our conversation is interrupted by Tobe’s phone ringing. As I park at the station I can make out that it’s Martin calling but not much else. When Tobe hangs up he says, “Media conference is cancelled. Head back out to Lawrence.”
“Us? Why do they need organised crime there again?” I say.
“Martin says,” Tobe answers.
“They find the dad?” I ask then, thinking about those kids. About what Tobe and I were discussing earlier.
“No, but they found how he couldn’t be there,” Tobe says as he looks over at me.
Lawrence has turned into a bright, autumn morning when we pull up by the police cordon. If anything, the crowd of emergency responders has actually gotten bigger, which doesn’t bode well. We find Martin and Maud at the centre of it all, talking to a fire crew.
“Martin,” I greet him, not really sure why we’re here for the second time today.
“Show them,” Martin says to Maud, who leads us around to the back of the house. The devastation from the explosions looks even worse in the daylight. It still surprises me that those kids survived unscathed sitting so close to it.
