A gannet plummeted into the sea.
‘That summed up parenthood for me,’ Ford said.
‘Well, I suppose. You’re often wrong, and it’s always your fault.’
Ford chewed the edge of his thumbnail. ‘If you walk on the seed, pack it down, it must make it grow faster. Anyway, for days, until the rest of the verge grew, I walked past her little grass footprints.’
‘I’m sorry, Ford.’
Ford shot the half-smoked cigarette into the dunes, rubbed his eyes. ‘Ah, don’t be sorry. She was pretty obnoxious. And Emily wasn’t May.’
‘No loss then.’
‘No. Smoke?’
‘Very funny. No thanks. Ford, I need your help.’
‘That sounds serious.’
‘It is. Ford, I’ve done . . . a terrible thing.’
The sun was melting and sinking, the sky was strung with wispy ropes of fine red cloud. Ford had his head in his hands. Beside him Simon sat and stared hopelessly at the sea, silver and flat like mercury; it looked chemical, congealed. He put his hand on Ford’s shoulder, but Ford shook him off. ‘Shut up,’ he said. And a bit later, ‘Christ.’
‘Ford?’
‘I’m thinking. How could you? What were you . . . ?’
‘I told you, it was an accident. I didn’t do it. It just happened.’
Ford straightened up, ‘This woman. The South Auckland woman he was asking about, you’ve never heard from her again?’
‘No.’
‘And the police have phone records and they’ve questioned you more than once, and they barged into a work seminar. And they said Weeks had your name written down in his house, along with the name of the woman. Have the police looked for the woman?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And after the, the incident, you drove away through the suburbs, avoided commercial areas, drove home and then went to work. And you hadn’t been in to work first, only got as far as the street outside work. Why did you go home after you’d been to Weeks’s?’
‘I put Karen’s car back and took my own to work.’
‘You were driving Karen’s car?’
‘Mine was making a noise and smell, overheating. We’d left Karen’s at the house while we were at Rotokauri, so I called in to see Claire before work and I took it.’
Ford stared.
‘It was just chance I took her car.’
‘Just chance.’
‘Yes.’
‘So as far as work’s concerned, you turned up that morning at work, on time, in your own car.’
‘Yes.’
‘And then, after work, you drove back to Rotokauri in your own car, the one with the funny noise and smell.’
‘Yes. I made it back and then took it to the Rotokauri Garage.’
‘And no one saw you at Weeks’s.’
‘I assume not, or I would have heard.’
‘But they can track your whereabouts through your cell phone. They’ll have a record of you going up Weeks’s street.’
‘No, I turned the phone off. Oh, and then I left it in my office mailbox in the street, before I went to Weeks’s.’
Ford looked at him. ‘You turned off your phone and left it behind at your office.’
‘It kept ringing, my secretary was hassling me. I wanted a clear head.’
‘You took your wife’s car. You left your cell phone behind. You removed evidence from the scene. You lied to the police.’
‘Yes, but none of it was calculated. It just happened.’
‘Not calculated. Or planned?’
‘Honestly, Ford.’
A long silence.
‘Did you want to harm the guy? Did you mean to?’
‘No. He threatened me, he gave me a fright, but I didn’t want to hurt him. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. You know that.’
Ford scratched his stubble. ‘It just happened. It’s an interesting defence.’
‘I swear the only reason I didn’t tell anyone is because of how it would look. The damage was done . . . had happened. It was an accident. Think of the harm I’d do to the Hallwrights, to Karen, all of us, if I told.’
Tapping an unlit cigarette on his arm, Ford looked uneasily at Simon, put the cigarette back in the packet, rubbed his hair into a tangled mess. Silence. He walked away across the top of the dunes, kicking the marram grass.
Finally he came back. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to you.’
‘Ford . . .’
‘This is bad. I can’t believe it. You’re with these corrupt people. And now . . .’
‘For once, spare me your fucking moralising. These “corrupt people”, as you call them, have got nothing to do with it. I’m trying to protect them.’
Ford stood over him. ‘You want to be with the Hallwrights because they make you feel respectable, like you’ve made it. You’ve never got over Aaron. Even now he’s dead.’
‘Don’t talk to me about that violent prick.’
‘Aaron never killed anyone.’
Their eyes locked. Simon stood up.
Ford planted himself square, big arms folded. ‘You going to attack me now? Going to kill me?’
Simon wanted to smash him. ‘Aaron has nothing to do with it.’
‘Aaron wouldn’t have had anything to do with Hallwright.’
A sound escaped from Simon, almost a laugh, incredulous. ‘Aaron was a drunk and a loser. Who cares what he would have done?’
‘But he was clever. He was ruined, bad; sure, you could say he was a disgusting bastard, but he wouldn’t have associated with Hallwright. He had political standards.’
‘Oh that’s hilarious. You’re going to hold Aaron over me. As an ethical standard.’
Ford pointed at him. ‘You’re better than these people. The only reason you cling to them is low self-esteem.’
‘Low self-esteem!’ Simon bent over, squeezing his aching knee. ‘I associate with the Prime Minister because I’ve got low self-esteem. That’s rich.’
Weak laughter made him shake. He lowered himself down on the seat. A stab of hot pain went through his kneecap and he bent over, bumping his face against Ford’s leg. He grabbed Ford’s thigh and pressed his forehead against it, rode the pain.
He let go. Ford sat down beside him. Silence, then the click of a lighter, Ford blowing out a long cloud of smoke.
Simon watched a group of seagulls pecking at something on the sand. ‘What am I going to do?’
Ford said distantly, ‘I keep going over it. You say it just “happened”. But you’ve managed to get away with it without leaving much evidence. Could you have meant to do it subconsciously? Would it be possible to commit a crime without consciously intending to?’
Simon groaned. ‘Don’t get abstract. I need your help.’
Ford picked a bit of tobacco off his lip, his voice deliberate. ‘You always looked down on Aaron, despised him. Distanced yourself. Both you and Karen’ve accused me of taking after him.’
‘We haven’t.’
‘But is there a bit of Aaron in you after all?’
They looked at each other, and the tiny gleam of malice in Ford’s eyes made Simon hollow. Would Ford turn on him, now he had the power?
‘The bad seed,’ Ford said.
Had he made Ford hate him?
The pain in his knee was so bad it seemed to have its own sound, a blare in rhythm with his heartbeat. He waited, hung on, instinct telling him to hope; if you endured his baiting, Ford would come round. Having punished you, he’d show his real face.
Aaron said, ‘Not so respectable now, Dr Lampton.’
Eyes, nose, jaw, even the shape of the teeth, he saw his father’s face, and when he looked down he saw his father’s big, strong hand holding the cigarette, lifting it to the thin, derisive mouth, drawing in smoke
and letting it curl.
He jumped up, his face blazing, Ford got up, pushed him, the knee felled him and he sank down on the seat. Ford got his arm in a hurting grip, stared into his face, then shoved him roughly sideways and walked away.
Simon looked at the birds skimming over the sea in the last of the light. Could he have formed a subconscious intention to hurt Weeks? An evil spirit within, the spirit of Aaron: there was horror in the idea and he rejected it; it wasn’t possible to shape events subconsciously. And yet so many of his problems had been brought about by impulses he didn’t understand. He didn’t know why he’d sought out Mereana; he didn’t know why he’d loved her and then hated her. All he could do was try to control the mess he’d made.
The cold thought came to him: it had been a mistake to confess. Ford had gained an enormous power; he despised Hallwright, and he was right that Simon and Karen had sometimes called him a chip off the old block. How could he resist giving them their comeuppance? He could potentially damage the National government too, and he would find that a deliciously amusing prospect.
Seeing his brother coming back along the dune Simon steeled himself to the anticipation of grief. Losing his family, friends, practice. His whole life.
Ford stood over him. ‘The question is whether you can ride it out. Whether the police will draw a blank and leave you alone. My guess is no.’
‘No?’ Simon could hear the pleading in his voice, relief too that Ford’s tone had changed. Little brother.
Ford paced. ‘There’s too much to interest them. They’re harassing you, interrupting you at work, probably trying to make you worried. I can’t really see how you can get away with it. There’s always evidence somewhere. Forensics.’
Simon broke in, ‘But there are lots of unsolved crimes. Look at Crimewatch. The police are on TV every week asking for evidence.’
Ford looked grimly amused. ‘Crimewatch. You’ve been watching it, have you? Boning up?’
‘I could lose everything. My whole life.’
‘Like Weeks lost his.’
‘It was an accident. He came after me, hounded me, threatened everything I’ve built up, everything I’ve worked for, and it was all for his stupid meaningless art. He talked about his art, the fucking vampire, as if he wasn’t playing games with real people’s lives.’
‘Art. No wonder you had to kill him.’
Simon counted to ten,
‘No matter what you say, I reject your bullshit about subconscious actions. I did not mean to hurt him.’
‘Is there anything you’ve left out?’
‘No. The woman detective did say they’ll need to talk to me again.’
‘Did she. We need to prevent it.’
‘How?’
Ford went on pacing. The sky behind him was marbled with red, the dunes were a black line.
Simon looked up, remembering. ‘The detective might have implied Weeks rang other people. I’m not sure. Weeks asked me about Roza. He asked if she’d had a wild youth, mentioned drugs. He said someone had told him a story about her. A woman.’
Ford walked away again, came back. ‘Two choices. You sit and wait for the police to come to you. Perhaps they won’t and it’ll all go away. But the more often they talk to you, the greater the risk you’ll be implicated. The alternative to waiting for them is, you ask for help.’
‘A lawyer. Know any good ones?’
‘Not a lawyer. Better than that. Talk to your best friend. And his oldest, most slavishly loyal friend.’
‘To David. And Ed Miles.’
‘Who is . . .’
‘The Minister of Police. I can’t do that. Confess?’
Ford thought about another cigarette, checked himself, put it back in the packet, clicked his lighter. ‘Not a confession, not if you do it right.’
‘I can’t see how it can help. I might as well ring up the police. Miles is the police.’
‘Make it worth his while.’
‘He can’t control police operations.’
‘I bet he can, if it matters enough to him and his beloved leader.’
‘It’d be illegal, also probably impossible. There must be checks against political interference.’
‘Well, yes.’
‘And why would he?’
Ford sat down next to him. ‘You said yourself you’ve done something terrible. You’ve also said, and you’re right, that if it comes out it’s going to affect all of them, because you’re part of the group and you’ve done it while you’re staying with them. So why wouldn’t they do anything to make it go away?’
‘I can’t tell them.’ At the thought of it, an ancient, familiar sensation burned in him. Shame.
Ford stretched and rubbed his chin, scraping the rough, day-old stubble. ‘Maybe they’d just throw you to the lions and hope they can ride it out, but I bet they’d rather not.’
‘But I can’t.’ He couldn’t face the idea. ‘They . . .’
‘They won’t like you any more? All your rich and powerful friends. Poor Simon. You made it and then you blew it.’ Ford’s tone wasn’t mocking now; worse, it was sad. Or was it mocking? An empty, falling sensation: was Ford leading him to disaster out of some evil impulse of his own? A ‘subconscious’ one, even, now that Simon’s position was threatened? Simon heard Aaron’s bad laugh, saw his teasing eyes. He used to think there was something of the slave in Aaron; part of that was, if you were on form he’d leave you alone, be deferential even, but if he sensed you were weak he’d start circling, ready to attack.
Ford put his hand on Simon’s shoulder. ‘One way to do it—’
Simon stood up, nearly went down again, the knee letting out a horrible click. ‘I’ll deal with it myself.’
‘What?’
‘I shouldn’t have bothered you. It’s my problem; you don’t need to be involved.’
Ford looked at him, searching. He put out his hand.
The clicking knee struck Simon’s nerves, anger flared in him. ‘I’d better get back. I need to pop some more pills, this fucking knee.’
‘Listen, Simon.’
‘No.’
‘I understand. You don’t want to lose . . . all this.’ Ford waved a hand back at the big house, lit up now, yellow windows against the dark sky.
‘You don’t care if I lose it. You think it’s immoral, worthless.’
‘But I don’t think you’re immoral and worthless.’
‘You self-righteous prick. You’d like to see me in a cell, chanting some Buddhist mantra, learning the error of my materialistic ways. You forget about the people relying on me, my wife and kids, my patients.’
‘I don’t want to see you in a cell.’
Simon hobbled, stumbling on a clump of marram grass. Ford got up and gripped his shoulders, steadying him. ‘Look at you, staggering around. You’ve got to get that leg looked at again.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘No, I’m not fucking off. I will help you. I want to help you if I can.’
‘How can I trust you?’
‘You can. Now listen, I’ve got some ideas.’ He pulled Simon down on the seat.
When they set off towards the house it was dark on the dunes. Ford led the way and Simon followed, placing his feet in Ford’s footprints. He had one hand out, ready to catch the back of Ford’s shirt if the knee gave way and he fell.
Falling
Johnnie had run out of the house early, and joined them at breakfast. Now he was perched on David’s knee and inspecting Simon closely. Simon inspected him back. Unnerving child. He needed to grow into his eyes, which were too big for his face. Having spent all his time around adults the boy had a watchful quality; Karen said it made her squirm. She often made negative comments about Johnnie; it was a way of criticising Roza.
Tuleimoka sat on a park bench on the other side of the lawn pla
iting her hair, while Chad or Troy staggered back and forth carrying boxes from one outhouse to another and Ray and Shaun conferred on the path that led to the beach. The light flashed off their mirror shades. A breeze crossed the dunes, flattening the silver marram and rustling the dry bushes, swarming over the lawn and billowing under Tulei’s skirt. It flew up and she grappled with the material, her glossy black hair tumbling free. Shaun put his head back and laughed, clapping a hand on Ray’s shoulder. A boat droned out into the bay, smacking over the waves.
One of David’s phones was beeping and vibrating on the table, another started to ring. He bumped the boy off his knee and gestured across the lawn at the nanny, who stood up and began to cross the grass, holding her skirt carefully bunched in one hand.
David ended one call, the phone rang again, he talked for ten minutes, walking back and forth between the bright flower beds. Simon shaded his eyes against the glare. The sun had burned through the humid, misty cloud; the light was already strong even though it was still early in the morning. At the beach the waves were breaking in long, even rolls, the shorebreak was big and churning and foamy, so pure white it hurt to look. A grey heron flew low overhead, its slow wings sighing, creak creak.
Roza, Karen and Sharon Cahane emerged, heading for the tennis court followed by Garth, who was lugging a bulky sports bag and wearing cuboid yellow shoes. Distant screech of Sharon’s laugh. She stopped, one elegant foot up, balancing with a hand on Garth’s shoulder while she adjusted her shoe, Roza waited and Karen, looking tiny next to the other two, stood at a slight distance. Simon waved but she was frowning off at the dunes. She looked vulnerable standing alone; he would have liked to join her and put his arm around her, to talk about mundane things.
‘Let’s walk,’ David said. ‘Let’s limp together, you and I.’
They took their usual route through the dunes, followed by Shaun and Ray and preceded by two other men who had been inspecting the beach and were now standing by the long wooden boat ramp, kicking their feet in the sand, watching.
David asked about the knee, Simon told him: it was his anterior cruciate ligament; he’d be seeing the orthopaedic surgeon next week.
‘I nearly had my leg amputated, you know that?’ David said. ‘When I came off my bike, the car actually came to rest on it. Passersby lifted it off. I got to hospital and they were going to take the leg off it was so mangled, and then the shift changed, some new surgeon breezed in and said no, let’s have a go piecing it back together. It was a bit of a punt, and a marathon effort they told me.’
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