by Finn Bell
“How are the mum and kids doing?” I ask Maud.
“Andrea Chen is out of surgery and in a stable condition. Bullet passed clean through her upper chest, no arteries, no organs. She’s going to make it. The kids are ok. Traumatised and not ready to talk to us but that’s to be expected. Nothing from them yet about where James is or what happened when everything blew up. The invaders all wore masks and the kids were blindfolded and gagged. They even had their ears covered so I don’t think we’ll get anything to go on in any case,” Maud says over his shoulder as we get to the back of the house.
“But that’s all ancient history. You’re not going to believe this. Fire crew found it not long after you left, it was covered by debris,” Maud says as he points to the floor just inside what remains of the Chen’s back door.
As we look past him we see a neat black square of darkness in the floor.
“That’s a hole in the floor,” I say flatly, staring at the hole. “Maud, why’s there a hole in the floor?”
“Not a hole, a tunnel,” Maud corrects.
“Tunnels have more than one hole,” I state brilliantly.
“Fascinating. Where does it go?” Tobe asks.
“A few places actually, we’re still looking. It seems old and there have been several soil slips and cave-ins down there. Nothing is stable so we’ve only used the drone camera so far. This is the mouth to what we think is part of an old gold mine. It runs pretty much straight into the hillside behind the house. The fun part is that about 100 paces up the hill there’s an old air shaft with an even older ladder,” Maud says.
“No way,” I say, shaking my head as I realise what he’s getting at. “No way and why? Just how and why. I mean, we’re standing in someone’s kitchen.”
“Yes way,” Maud counters as he looks over at Martin rounding the corner while angrily pulling on a cigarette. “We’ve already found fresh foot prints and blood down there. And as to the how, we think this was an illegal mine, just a small tunnel following a vein of gold. We’ve been talking to the locals and apparently in the gold rush days people were coming south from all over the world. Competition was tough. Especially here around Lawrence where the Scottish and Asian settlers didn’t get along too well. And they were mining all over the place, sometimes right next to each other. They say back in the 1860s lots of it was done like this, hidden, small scale, unofficial. People hid their mines so they could get the gold out without competition, often digging in under other people’s land if they had to. We think that’s what this is.”
“Great. Why can’t this just be your standard horrible hostage drama ending in multiple deaths? Explosions and tunnels? I mean an actual tunnel under the actual kitchen? Becca Patrick’s going to be giddy. I can see the news special already,” I say.
“There’s more isn’t there? And that more is why we are here,” Tobe says to Maud, while still staring down at the tunnel.
“Yes. We found two sets of tracks. We’re pretty sure one belongs to James Chen. The other doesn’t,” Maud says.
We’re momentarily distracted by a bout of coughing from Martin.
“Hey Cap. How are those nicotine patches working out?” I ask him. We watch him catch his breath, then pause to take his cigarette out of his mouth and pop in some nicotine gum for good measure.
“Want me to yell at you Nick? Because I’ve got stuff saved up,” he says.
“Easy Cap,” I say. “This is all very strange but why are you showing us?” I ask.
“Because you think we know who the other set of foot prints belong to,” Tobe says, looking at Martin.
“I don’t think,” Martin says between chewing and smoking. “I know. We’ve got five people dead in there who are either gang leaders or their close family or both. You know how they do things. Whoever took James Chen down that tunnel isn’t going to be a random stranger. I’m betting he’s a leader or blood or both. That means we – and by we I mean you two – know him. You just don’t know you know him.”
“You want us to find that guy?” I prompt.
“No,” Martin answers. “Find his friends. You’re going to find whichever friends he’s got left without headshots this morning and you’re going to get them to make contact and tell this guy to let James Chen go or else.”
“Not our usual approach,” I say, looking around at the burnt-out remains of the kitchen. “I’m thinking maybe this guy isn’t going to be in the most reasonable frame of mind this morning. James could be dead already.”
“No,” Tobe says. “Whoever escaped took him along as hostage for that purpose. He’ll only kill him if he doesn’t have a use for him anymore. If we’ve been fast enough to cut off his exit routes then he hasn’t finished escaping. Means James Chen is still worth having alive.”
“We can’t not try. Everything in our ability, that’s the job,” Martin says.
“Look, Andrea Chen is going to survive and the kids are doing better, it’s only James who’s still at risk. Our bad man is gang, which means he’ll have help. It’s only been a matter of hours and we’ve had cordons and searches going from literally minutes after the explosion. There’s a good chance that we’ve been fast enough to stop that help from getting to him.
“Now we need that help to be telling him what’s going to be happening if the hostage doesn’t show up unharmed, and we need him to think we already know who he is. So you two are going to find out who our most likely suspect is and you’re going to convince his dear friends that we already know it’s him. And we’re going to all pray that he believes it, because there’s no way we’re going to find him on our own,” Martin says.
“What about search and rescue?” Tobe asks.
“Here. Tobe. Please,” Martin states with disdain. “If he got help it’s already over and we’ve got nothing left to do but draw a chalk outline around the body when it shows up. Our best-case scenario is to hope we’ve blocked him from his friends in time. We’re assuming he’s on foot and stays out in the wild, and even then we’ve got little chance. It’s the usual moves to subdue the media but you know how poor the odds are. For the look of it we’ve got dog teams and choppers out but the trail leads into Glendhu Forest, is already a couple of hours old and it’s been raining. This is the far south. The only things down here are mountains and forests and fuck-all people.
“If this guy is Māori, with even half the bush craft most of them have, he’s gone. If he makes it to any of the ranges that lead to Fiordland we’ll never even find the body. Then all he needs to do is go back to his life. We’ll have no positive ID and no body. Even if we get lucky and find some physical evidence that puts someone here at the scene, without time and place together we’ll never get it to court.”
“We could get something that leads to an ID from Andrea Chen or her kids,” Tobe suggests, but without conviction, knowing how small the odds are given that everyone was masked.
“Too much maybe and you know it. Andrea Chen is still in recovery and the trauma counsellors won’t let us near the kids yet. Even if there was something to know, which I doubt, by the time we get that done James will be buried and gone. We need this now, as in today,” Martin says, looking over at Tobe, who returns the stare for a moment then nods towards Maud but doesn’t say anything.
“Maud, you want to go get me some coffee please? And more of this godawful nicotine gum,” Martin then says to Maud, who heads off.
When he’s out of earshot Tobe says, “What’s the angle here?”
“Depends on the list of possible bad guys. Which, given the circumstances, I’m hoping is going to be fairly short. How many guys do you know who would fit in with all the dead gang royalty in there?” Martin asks.
“Not many. If it’s gang leaders as high up as these then only two, maybe three, who aren’t in prison. If it’s family it’s harder,” I say.
“The only thing we’ve got is a good head start. If we move fast enough we may just get ahead of this. We’ll have to risk it. Let’s assume it’s a le
ader because we can’t afford not to. Go find them, now. See who’s missing, then lean on the friends,” Martin says.
“And if no one is missing?” I ask.
“Then at least we’ll know it’s not a leader and we’ll start on family,” Martin says.
“He’ll be gang,” Tobe answers with a note of certainty I don’t feel. “How hard are we going to be leaning?”
“The way things stand, and assuming all our most optimistic guesses are true, then it’s a matter of hours, days at best. We won’t keep our bad guy from his friends beyond that no matter what we do. There’s just not enough cops. So we need this now. Within hours,” Martin says, pausing to give us both an estimating look before continuing. “What do you need?”
“If we’re sure it’s our guy and we’ve got the right kind of friends in reach? Pull them in with cold cases, say we’ve got new informants, something messy with sex, and involve the families. It’s ugly but if it works it will work fast,” Tobe answers, looking over at me for confirmation. See, it’s never clean, I think to myself. Then after only a moment’s hesitation I nod my agreement, remembering all those happy kids I saw at Maria’s school earlier. This could have been any of their families. Fuck it. These guys have it coming.
The method is simple. It starts with prison. Gang members spend a lot of time in prison. It’s pretty much an occupational hazard. In many cases you won’t even be allowed to rise up in the ranks without having served some time first. It’s not as bad as it sounds either, prison’s not a tough place if the gangs look out for you. Safety, friends, drugs, food and much more. The gangs take care of their own.
But there’s a flip side. Go to any prison in any country in the world and there’s one group that is separate. One group that is hated unanimously. Paedophiles. You can be any kind of criminal, from committing petty theft to murder or arson or anything else, and the gangs will take you in with open arms, but hurt a child and you’re out. And what’s worse, those same gangs will turn on you in truly brutal ways. This is why most prison riots that involve the full take-over of the prison will almost always include the killings of inmates with child sex offences. It’s a strange, universal truth but there you go. Everybody has a line.
Another universal truth is that there will always be far more crimes committed than are solved. This means cold cases, unsolved crimes of every kind imaginable. Any detective you ever meet will start his career with a stack of them and one day retire with an even bigger stack.
If you put these two facts together and mix in a willingness to colour over the lines, what you end up with is a very effective, if completely illegal, scare tactic. Simply put, you find an unsolved cold case that involves sexual violence with a child. Bring in the gang member you want to scare into doing your bidding and tell him you’ve got a new criminal informant who told you they did this. Also tell him that, for safety, you’ll be interviewing his family, his kids, his friends and his friend’s kids too, to ensure no other children are at risk. Tell him you’ll do all this, unless he helps you. All you need is your commanding officer to be willing to sign off on protected identity status for the fake criminal informant and to back date some signatures on your supposed ongoing investigation into the cold case.
The case itself will of course never stick. The bad guy already knows this, but he’ll also know that the rumours and questions will. Especially after those uncomfortable interviews his friends and family will have to go through. And if he’s a gang member who, at some point in the future may be looking at prison time again, then that’s a very concerning prospect. What if the wrong people hear those rumours about him just a little too often? Like Tobe said, it’s ugly but it works.
“You’ll give us cover? Back date some memos, couple of meeting minutes?” Tobe asks Martin.
“Deal. Get to it. Drop everything else you’re doing or hand it off to Uniforms if it’s urgent, but this is your one and only job as of now. I reckon we can hold the search grid and cordons until about 6:00 p.m. tonight. Then we’ll have to start rotating staff with less cover. Let’s hope it’s enough. Get this done before then. Call me when you’ve got something,” Martin says as Maud returns with the coffee.
* * *
“Martin’s really pushing this, you think he’s getting pressure from above because of how this will look in the media?” I ask Tobe as we get back into the car.
“I’m sure he will be but it’s not about that. It’s about the line that’s been crossed. Gangsters killing gangsters is part of the natural order. But now they’ve brought that into a normal family’s home. I checked the records myself this morning; the Chen’s, they’re clean, just a family. Just people. Martin has to show the gangs how much he’ll make them pay for that. Make sure the next time they don’t risk it,” Tobe says.
“You think the two of us leaning on a few high ups is going to get that message across?” I ask doubtfully.
“Sometimes I forget how young you are Nick,” Tobe says with a smile. “By now Martin will have talked to Tom Parata and between the two of them they’ve got maybe 60 cops under their command. How many of them will be like us? Cops who’ve been on the streets a while. Seen things. All of them detectives or tactical guys. People with skills and connections. Do you really think we’re the only ones being told we’re allowed to bend the rules on this one?”
“I think my occasional naivety is endearing, makes you still feel needed and such,” I say in defence.
In a way it’s an awe-inspiring thought to consider. Cops, aside from the skills and connections Tobe mentioned, also have a lot of information, weapons, hardware and systems. What limits their impact is the burden of having to do things legally, by the book, with proof. Understanding and exploiting these limitations is exactly what makes organised crime successful. Their success is dependent on our limitations. They know it, we know it. Now, for what happened here, some of those limitations are being lifted. It’s going to be an interesting day to be a gangster in the south.
“It’s almost 10, I’ll find us a case to use,” Tobe says, jarring me from my thoughts as he starts dialling on his phone. Someone in the records department is about to have a busy day too.
“Ok, but a quick stop while you’re setting it up,” I say, stifling a yawn. “I need coffee first, and not prison coffee, actual coffee, with foam and fancy names.”
* * *
The Wild Walnut smells like coffee and time. The shop, which looks merely ancient on the outside, actually manages to reach all the way to antique on the inside. It’s brimming with more chutneys, jams and general preserves than seems reasonable. Hidden here and there amongst the stacks, almost as an afterthought, are haphazardly-arranged locals eating and drinking. Lawrence. Conversation dips as we enter and we attract a few stares.
“High times in Lawrence huh,” I say as we take a seat to wait for our coffee. Tobe makes more calls while I take the time to check my messages, hoping for one from Maria, but there’s nothing.
“Was it gold then dear?” a tall, extremely thin old lady sitting at the table beside us says, leaning over so far that she actually has to put her hand on our table to keep her balance. Her face slowly moving to within only a few inches of mine, so close that I can actually make out my own carefully blank expression reflected in her glasses.
“Pardon?” I say, stubbornly fighting the impulse to start leaning forward as well, just to see how far she’d let it go.
“Well, you’re the police aren’t you?” she says, as if this assumption clarifies things.
“Yes ma’am, we are,” Tobe answers as he gets off the phone.
“There’s been no end of you fellows coming in today. We hardly ever see city police in Lawrence, so it must be all about the explosion over at the Chen’s house. And you haven’t answered my question young man. Was it about gold then?” she says.
I’m about to give her the standard, “We can’t discuss particulars of an ongoing investigation,” line when Tobe stops me by putting a hand on my
arm.
“I’m Tobe ma’am, pleased to meet you. And you are?” Tobe says in a tone much nicer than his usual as I suppress my already rising impatience. Tobe has the curiosity of a toddler and seems willing to accommodate no end of random conversations with sometimes even more random strangers. A quality I don’t share. But in the end we have coffee coming, so sacrifices need to be made.
“Enid Carson, school teacher, retired now of course,” she says. To my short-lived relief she finally leans away from me, only to then shift her chair over to our table. I think the trick to making friends is to not let people know how weird you are until it’s too late for them to back out. Enid looks like one of those people who doesn’t bother.
“I’m afraid at this stage we don’t know yet what it was about. May I ask why you would think this involves gold?” Tobe asks.
“Because this is Lawrence and they’re Chens of course,” she replies. “The Chens are a fine old mining family, covered themselves in gold. They used to have mines all over. James Chen is a fifth-generation local. There’s always been rumours about all their hidden chests of gold.”
“The Chens had mines all over you say?” Tobe says.
“Of course, for about 100 years they were renowned for it, generations of them. It’s in their blood. No one could find gold like a Chen. More of a curse than a blessing if you ask me,” Enid replies knowingly.
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“Being good at finding gold can be a terrible thing really. People used to have an expression for it. They called it being ‘touched by the colour’ after the gold dust that would sometimes get on the miners’ hands when they found gold-laden ore. Some men would become simply obsessed with it. They’d find gold and that moment, really, would be the end of them. From then on they’d always be searching. They’d spend their last penny, dig mines too deep, or go out in heavy snow, whatever it took to find it again. Terrible on their families,” Enid concludes.
