Dead Shot

by Wendy M Wilson

  Hop Li was distracted for a split second; his eyes flickered from Bernard to look at her before returning to Bernard. “Mette…? Are you…?”

  Bernard was on him, swinging his belt hard, wrapped it around Hop Li’s head. He gave the belt a yank, pulling hard on the end, spinning Hop Li around like a top. He fell backwards, still holding the dagger, dazed. Bernard lifted one foot and stamped hard on the hand holding the dagger, driving the blade into the webbing between his fingers. Hop Li screamed and put his hand against his chest. Blood was gushing from between the fingers where he had held the knife. Bernard kicked him in the head, circled around, and kicked him again. Mette started to drag herself towards the door, but he kicked her in the ribs once more, and then bent and yanked the locket from her neck.

  “This is what I came back for. Your husband will know this is yours, won’t he?“

  He shoved the locket into his pocket, plucked the dagger from Hop Li’s broken hand, and left. Mette heard the plank slam drop into place on the outside of the door.

  She crawled across to Hop Li. She could feel wetness on her leg, and was terrified Bernard had hurt her baby. But Hop Li was in much worse shape than she was.

  “Hop Li. Hop Li….”

  He was breathing, but his breath was shallow and blood was streaming from his mouth. She could see that he had lost a tooth and one eye was starting to swell from a vicious cut from the belt prong. She cradled his head and wiped away the blood with her shift. His blood mingled with hers on the shift.

  She was desperate. It was up to Hohepa now, and Mette prayed that he could bring help quickly, or Hop Li might not survive. More than anything she longed for the reassuring sight of Frank coming through the door. Please God, send Frank to help us.

  19

  Searching for Ernest

  He circled the tent, searching for Ernest. A group of men had gathered outside to smoke while their wives were being suckered inside. He couldn’t see much in the dark, just the glow of the pipes and cigars. The sweet smell of tobacco and smoke wafted from them and made him long for a Sweet Three. He’d given up smoking for Mette, but was constantly tempted, especially when he was tired and needed the boost the smokes would give him.

  “Evening Sergeant Hardy,” said a voice he recognized.

  “Mr. Todd?” The ginger-haired bank clerk separated himself from the group; he was holding a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, the burning side facing towards his palm to shelter it from the wind, a posture Frank recognized. His fingers itched to hold one like that himself.

  Mr. Todd hooked his head towards the circle of glowing tobacco. “This is my cricket team, sarge. Most of us are volunteers as well. We’ve been hoping you’d come out some time. I’d bet you could knock a ball a good distance, a big bloke like you…”

  “Ask me in a week or two,” said Frank. “Look, Todd, I’m trying to find my brother-in-law. Ernest Robinson from the book shop in The Square. I saw him leave the tent but he’s disappeared. Have any of you seen him?”

  “I did, sarge,” said a voice from behind Todd. “Went over to the stands at the end of the course. Walked right through the middle of the track…in the dark. I was wondering…”

  Frank vaulted over the fence and ran towards the stands - a rickety structure with stairs at either end, reserved for members of the jockey club. He’d been in the stands a few times as a guest, but hadn’t been asked to join the jockey club which meant he would be turned away if he went there during a race meet.

  The area beneath the seats was mostly open, with a wall at the back and wooden pillars in front supporting the seats above. In the dark it was impossible to see anything. He felt his way between the pillars and bumped immediately into a pile of hay bales. No room down here for anyone unless Ernest was hiding up in the bales.

  He backed out slowly, then heard footsteps above him. At least two people. He listened to see if could tell what direction they were moving, but they stopped. He made a guess and climbed the stairs on one end in time to see a figure disappearing down the steps at the other end, a billy can dangling from each hand. In the centre, staring at him coldly was his brother-in-law Ernest.

  “Frank. What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you.” There was no time for caution. He strode over to Ernest and grabbed him by both sides of his collar. “What’s going on? Mette has disappeared and Agnete tells me she was at your place in spite of what you said yesterday…”

  Ernest leaned away from him, holding on to the railing facing the track. “She left…she doesn’t like us..you know that as well as I….”

  Frank hoisted Ernest up on his toes. “Doesn’t like you? You fucking coward. You hit her, didn’t you? Like you hit your poor bloody wife. She didn’t leave because she was unhappy with you. She left because she was terrified…now what can you tell me…”

  Ernest winced, but did not look afraid. “She stole a letter…”

  “Lying won’t help…she was out at the Scandi clearing and a woman was murdered. Whoever murdered the woman took Mette. Why? What’s going on…” He edged Ernest further out over the railing, his muscles straining under the weight.

  “Put me down and I’ll tell you,” said Ernest. He seemed much calmer than Frank would have expected. Frank pulled him in but kept hold of his collar.

  Ernest reached into his pocket. Frank pushed his face closer to Ernest’s. “If you have a gun I’ll throw you off the stands.”

  “I don’t carry a gun. Here. They told me to give you this…”

  He held out his hand. No gun, but something else shone in the darkness. A silver locket. The locket that he had given Mette for her last birthday, the one she never took off.

  He dropped Ernest and opened the locket. The lock of Mette’s mother’s hair nestled inside. “What..? Where did you get this? Who asked you to…?”

  Ernest brushed off his coat and shrugged. “They want the horse. They said you’d know which horse. They’ll give you Mette if you give them the horse.”

  He shoved the locket into his pocket and picked Ernest up by the collar again. “You’d better tell me who you’re working with…”

  “I don’t know. Someone from up north…”

  He sat Ernest on the railing of the stands. “Tell me who you were speaking to just now, and who gave you this locket or I’ll throw you off the railing, I swear I will…was it that Australian?”

  “I can’t tell you…”

  “Tell me or you’re gone.” He eased Ernest further out, his muscles shaking with the effort. “I mean it Ernest. If I don’t get Mette back soon I’ll kill you…what are you involved in?”

  Ernest clutched hold of the edge of the railing; he was slipping from Frank’s grasp. “Stop…let me up. I’m going to fall.”

  “Ernest…”

  “I’m not involved in anything. All I do is run the totalizator deal…I swear, that’s all. But they came to see me and said I had to help them get the horse back…they threatened me.”

  “Who came…?”

  “An Australian…he just arrived…they put him with the woman…like they put Boyle with Milroy up in Patea…that’s what…”

  Frank pulled Ernest back in slightly. “What woman?”

  Ernest gestured with his head towards the tent. “The pledge woman. She doesn’t know…Bernard his name is…”

  Frank pulled Ernest back the rest of the way and threw him onto the seats. “Tell them they can have the bloody horse. I want my wife back.”

  He left Ernest with his head in his hands, sitting on the front row of seats in the stands and ran back towards the tent. The smokers were still gathered outside, and the show inside continued. He could hear a choir now. What had happened to the man he’d seen? The Australian? Was he Bernard? What the hell was he going to do now? Wait for them to contact him?

  “What’s up, Sergeant Hardy?” asked Todd. “You look sick. Do you need our help? All of us are sporty types. If you need us to chase someone down, just ask…”
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br />   “They’ve got my wife,” said Frank. “Someone has taken my wife…”

  Mr. Todd dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his heel.

  “Where? What can we do?”

  He was at an impasse. He had no idea where else to start looking for Mette and it was too dark to do much anyway. A black cloud of grief was taking hold of his mind and he fought to keep it away. He knew one thing: if anything had happened to Mette it would all be over for him. He would shoot himself. He would go up to the blind in the high paddock, put his revolver in his mouth and pull the trigger. There was no point living without her. He’d scarcely been able to bear the death of his brother, had struggled with it for years; this would overwhelm him. He felt physically ill thinking about it.

  In the tent, a man with a deep bass voice was singing a solo version of Men of Harlech, the words replaced by temperance language - something about ‘rally temperance men’. He felt a surge of strength from the music.

  “Sergeant Hardy?” said Mr. Todd. “We’re here to help…just ask…”

  He fought back from the depths. He had people here to help him. An army of his own against the bastards from Australia, or whoever it was who wanted a horse so much they’d taken his wife to get it. Why? What was so important about this particular horse? Had Mr. Milroy not told him the full story? Did Milroy even know the full story himself?

  From the tent came a round of applause, followed by the singing of the national anthem. Crowds started to stream out, laughing and talking, many clutching blue ribbons.

  The smokers had gathered in a semi-circle in front Frank, looking worried.

  “What can we do?” asked Todd. “Should I fetch Constable Gillepsie?”

  Frank nodded. Someone should. He pulled himself together. “Yes, if one of you wouldn’t mind. And Inspector James as well if you can find him. I sent him a note earlier but he can’t have received it. Start at the Clarendon Hotel. He’s staying there. And when you find him, tell him there’s a body in one of the houses out at the Scandi clearing. An old woman had her neck broken. A murder…”

  “Phew. It’s a war,“ said one of the cricketers. “I’ll go. I’m the fastest runner on the team.”

  “True,” said Todd, watching him leave. “Faster than me.” He turned to Frank. “Now, what else?”

  “Catch some of the men coming out of the tent,” said Frank. “The more help we have the easier it will be. Any of you have guns?”

  “I do,” said one man eagerly. “A revolver and a rabbit gun.” A few other men murmured their agreement.

  “Go and get them then,” said Frank. “All of them. Every weapon you can find. We’re up against a vicious man - or group of men. I’m not sure…”

  Several of the men took off in quest of guns. They seemed to consider it somewhat of an adventure. One went to the tent opening and started to talk to men leaving.

  “Here come some natives,” said Mr. Todd suddenly. “We could get them to help…”

  Will Karira was back from Foxton with Dead Shot. He was accompanied by three other men on horseback. They rode in a square around a black horse with leading reins running from his halter, the reins held loosely by the two horsemen at the front. Karira and the fourth horseman rode behind. Frank had seen horsemen riding like this before, protecting a prisoner or a general, but never a horse. It looked very efficient.

  “What’s going on?” asked Karira.

  “Mette’s been gone for a couple of days. Stupidly I didn’t realize…I thought she was safe with Ernest and Agnete, but she wasn’t. She’s in trouble…someone has her and they want to exchange her for the horse.”

  “What does it mean? How do you know someone wants the horse in exchange for Mette?”

  Frank showed him the locket. “He sent this as a message. Ernest gave it to me…my wife in exchange for the horse…”

  “What are you going to do? It isn’t your horse…”

  “Give them the bloody horse,” said Frank shortly. “But I don’t know who or when or how…”

  “The groom who brought him on the Jane Douglas warned me that someone might be after him,” said Karira. “He said there was an attempt up in Patea as they were leaving but they manage to stop it. And when the boat came in at Foxton there were a couple of suspicious looking characters hanging around the wharf. Fortunately I had the Powhiri boys with me. That’s why we came back in the dark. We didn’t use the main road either - we came along the old walking track my people used, alongside the river.”

  The crowd gathered around them parted suddenly; Mrs. Patterson swept through the gap in full armour, her hat planted firmly on her head, her red gloves covering her arms almost to her elbows, her black sateen dress glistening in the light from the gas lamps.

  “What on earth is all the fuss about?” she asked. She glanced at Dead Shot. “Ah. I see. A new horse has arrived. Are new horses so unusual in Palmerston that the whole town assembles to meet them?” She stroked Dead Shot’s nose and he bowed his head to her. “Even though he is a very fine horse…”

  Frank stopped himself from reminding her that they had come to listen to her, and the arrival of the horse was incidental. He was about to continue telling Karira about what he had learned, but remembered what Ernest had said. A man had been planted with Mrs. Patterson. Bernard. Maybe she knew something. He made a sign to Karira, indicating he should wait.

  “Mrs. Patterson, could I have a word with you?” He looked around at the crowd. “A word in private?”

  “Of course,” she said. “How mysterious.”

  She followed him over to the stable yard, which was lit with a single gas lamp.

  “What do you know about the man who works for you. Bernard, I think his name is.”

  “Bernard?” she frowned. “Very little. Why do you ask?”

  “Has he been with you long?”

  She shook her head. “A week, perhaps? Maybe a little longer. I lost a man recently, a man who’d been working for me for some years…he fell off a cliff onto rocks - up near New Plymouth. I was doing a show and…oh, my goodness. Do you think someone pushed him?”

  Frank frowned. It did seem like a strange coincidence. “I have reason to believe someone put Bernard with you. Whoever it was may have helped the situation along by pushing your man off the cliff. What was he doing on a cliff?”

  “Walking,” she said. “And looking at birds. He was a lovely man, and very well organized. The most honest man I’ve ever met. Bernard is not nearly as useful to me, but I was told…my goodness, if someone pushed him…”

  “Who recommended Bernard to you?”

  “An old friend of my father,” she said. “Someone I trust - at least I thought I did. Surely he wouldn’t do that to me?”

  “I’ve heard talk of a gang,” said Frank. “Running various horse racing frauds. Have you heard anything like that? A gang from Australia?”

  “Of course not. Why would I? I’m not involved in racing. I just happen to use race tracks sometimes as a place to erect my tent. And I’m constantly on the move. I suppose that would be useful to a gang. I travel with several coaches. An advance group goes on ahead with the tent. Bernard was with them this time, although I hired him to help me personally. Come to think of it, he asked if he could go on ahead.”

  “Have you had any reason to mistrust him?”

  “The take hasn’t been as good lately,” she said. “I was wondering if someone was skimming something off the top. I need every penny to continue my crusade and see a little profit, and it gets difficult when the money isn’t there.”

  Money. Frank understood. Everyone was short of it these days. But he was curious. “Do you do the shows for the money? You seem to be collecting a fair bit…”

  She frowned. “You think I’m a fraud, don’t you?”

  “I’m not saying that,” he said. “I’m sure your heart is in it, but…”

  “I’m not sure if my heart is in it, actually,” she said briskly. “But I don’t have a choice. Se
rgeant Hardy, you have no idea what life is like for a woman on her own. After my husband died I discovered he was deeply in debt. He’d taken the money I inherited from my father and gambled most of it away. I was almost destitute and I had to find a way to support myself. Then I saw Mr. Fox speak at a temperance meeting in New Plymouth. He spoke of the ragged schools, and how so many of the children were there because of parents who drank. The audience was spellbound, and I realized they longed to hear this kind of thing. At school I always did well at elocution, and I was sure I could tell stories that would win over converts to the cause. I’m providing a benefit at the same time as I earn a living. A woman has to do what she can in life. Can you understand that?”

  He nodded mutely. He was beginning to understand the difficulties women faced.

  20

  Catching Fire

  Her shoulder ached from not moving, and from the forced position of cradling Hop Li’s head on the hard dirt floor. She flexed her hand, trying to get the blood moving, but it didn’t help. What was worse, since Bernard had left she had felt cramps in her belly, short stabs of pain that lasted for a minute or so each time. She edged his head slightly to one side. Hop Li moaned. “Mette?”

  “I’m here, min kaere, and Frank will be coming soon,” she whispered. “We just have to wait a little longer…”

  “Water…”

  She moved his head off her shoulder carefully. “I’ll get you some.”

  She was wracked by another stab of pain, but not as bad as the last one. Perhaps it was going to be alright. She squatted by the window and pulled off her shift. She could use it as a cushion for Hop Li’s head and as a way to get water to him. Moving cautiously she soaked a corner of the shift in water. Surely she would not lose the child now? How would she ever tell Frank? She remembered the times he had woken in the night, torn by nightmares, reliving the memory of his deserter brother’s head hanging from a pole across the river; she would comfort him as best she could and in the morning he would claim that he couldn’t remember the nightmare. He would find it hard to suppress the knowledge that such a vicious man had killed his child. It would drive him mad.