by Kris Pearson
“Heather Gregson,” Heather said.
John raised an eyebrow. “She says Heather Gregson. Married name, maybe. Anyway the point of phoning you is to say that someone’s dead. Shot, and arranged on a well-weathered tree on the beach down Drizzle Farm way. We’re picking it’s Beefy Haldane.”
There was a short silence from the other end. I could picture DS Carver gnawing on his nasty fingernails. “What were you doing over Mason’s Ridge?” he eventually demanded.
“Sightseeing. Showing off a bit of the local scenery. No law against that, is there?”
“Did you land?”
“No way, buddy. Never planned to. Flew around a bit longer and then spotted the body on the beach. He was hardly a sight to share close up with a woman. Bad enough from the air. Let me send a couple of shots through to you and you can get back to me about anything else later. We have a café to run here and the lunch crowd is arriving.” He disconnected, and I pictured DS Carver’s annoyance about not being the one to terminate the conversation. Not to mention being addressed as ‘buddy’.
“That was a bit devious of you,” I said. “Not saying why you headed to Mason’s Ridge.”
“Not his business to know,” he said in a deceptively mild tone as he inspected what I presumed were the photos of Beefy. I leaned a little closer, hoping for a glimpse. Not a whole awful close-up, but perhaps just a whiff of the atmosphere?
“One,” he said firmly. “And it’s the highest one. You can’t see a lot, which is probably for the best.” He held out his phone very briefly. Sand, waves, a straggly white X in the center, and ‘something’ on top of it. He didn’t let me look long enough to register any details. And I really didn’t want to.
Heather buried her face against Erik’s neck. “I’ve never been involved in anything like this,” she murmured. “When Rob died…” She swallowed. “There was nothing sinister. I woke up one morning and found he was dead because his heart finally gave up. We’d known for years he was on borrowed time.” She raised her head and looked across at Paul. “Sorry we didn’t make you an uncle, but that was mostly why.”
Her brother’s expression was both thunderstruck and dismayed. “You knew but didn’t tell us?” He sounded hurt and baffled.
“Rob’s choice,” she said. “He didn’t want everyone tiptoeing around him on eggshells.”
Paul gave a slow nod. “I still wish I’d known.”
She heaved a gusty sigh. “But can you imagine how Mother would have carried on? Treating him like an invalid. Coddling me as though I was sixteen and helpless. She was bad enough when he died. ”
“Mothers are allowed to fuss over their daughters when something that horrendous happens. You fussed over me when I first came back from Afghanistan.”
“Yes, but you were…”
“I was fine,” Paul insisted, obviously not wanting John and Erik to know about his PTSD. I couldn’t help thinking they were the ideal people to talk with if he was right about their military backgrounds.
Erik shifted on the sofa, finally releasing Heather. “You gonna be okay?” he asked.
“I’ll live.” She stroked a hand down his forearm. “Thanks for looking after me.”
Erik glanced at her fingers and laid his on top of them for a couple of seconds. “We’ll do it again sometime soon. And to somewhere there’s no chance of finding anyone dead. I guess the cops will want to talk to you. Just maybe don’t tell them we might have been looking for Beefy.”
“Lips are sealed,” she said. “How would I know where we went or who we might have been checking on?” A mischievous smile transformed her serious face for a few seconds. “And brunch was lovely. Thank you.”
We all rose. I collected Manny and Dan and we set off for my car while Erik and John returned to their customers.
Not even the boisterous dogs could cheer us up after something like that. They danced around, tugging on their leads because they knew another ride was following, and sniffed at Heather’s bagged-up muffin until she raised it out of range. They both bounced up into the trunk of the Focus when I opened the hatch, wagging their tails and panting out big doggie grins, but even their joyful faces weren’t enough to lift the mood.
We drove out onto the highway in somber silence. After a few minutes I put some music on, but whereas their cheerful howls on the way out had been a cause for hilarity, now the noise simply sounded painful. I switched the music off again.
“So,” I said, because I thought we’d better talk about it, “What did Beefy do to deserve that? Who shot him? Why arrange him so grotesquely?”
No-one said anything for a while, and finally Paul cleared his throat. “It can’t have been him who put the meat in the car. He wouldn’t have left a notice threatening himself.” He fell silent for a moment. “Although…” he added slowly, “I can’t say I found him exactly sane. Maybe it was him and he was trying to deflect attention from himself somehow?”
“Funny way to do it,” Heather scoffed. “He was obviously in danger though. Maybe he knew it. Do you think it was a warped cry for help?” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself despite the warm day.
“Do you want the air-con off?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, I’m not cold. Probably shock.”
“Do you think he lived out there?” I asked, tilting my head toward the forested hills.
I saw Paul’s slow nod in the rear-view mirror. “He must have. Roddy’s been gone a couple of months, and it would be about that long since Beefy broke into the Totara Flat church. They’ve probably set up camp in the trees. Unless there’s an old forestry hut?”
“A bit close to civilization for that,” I suggested. “Okay, let’s suppose they have a hidden camp. How are they surviving?”
“Two crack shots,” Paul muttered. “Shooting rabbits. Trapping possums. He has that bike – some sort of farm bike, I guess. Good ground clearance. It would get him most places. He must leave the camp for fuel and other supplies, though. Maybe he goes further north for those?”
“How many guns does he have?” I asked.
Paul shook his head. “Too many. Even one would be too many, and I know he had the rifle he was shooting at the church rafters with. He was talking about buying more, and no doubt Roddy has others. They might have quite an impressive arsenal between them.”
“All the district needs,” I said, pressing my lips together.
He leaned forward. “Roddy claimed they were going to hunt and sell wild venison and pork.”
“Which could be all above board,” I said. “Although surely meat has to be certified safe by some sort of authority if it’s for sale. Do you think the Police know about that?”
“I daresay,” he said gloomily. “If they’re hot on the trail of the rustling they’ll be following all sorts of leads.”
I glanced sideways at him. He was looking at Heather with concern.
“I’m wondering whether they transport it out or if they have a contact who goes in and collects it,” I added. “They couldn’t do much on one bike. Or even two bikes.”
“It seemed very steep countryside,” Heather said. “Mountains compared to England’s hills. Erik thought someone else might be flying in. Maybe dropping a big sling down to them. Taking it out that way, if they’re really doing it.”
We fell silent for a few minutes. The waves surged and splashed out past the sea wall, and the spaniels gave occasional whines to remind us they were there.
“It’s very peculiar all round,” Heather announced after more thought. “Merry – you said the detective thought the leg of beef must have happened while your brother’s Mercedes was parked where he worked.”
“Probably on Friday, because he flew to Australia on Saturday. I can’t believe he wouldn’t have smelled it if it had been any earlier than that.”
“It’s an expensive car. It wouldn’t be easy to unlock.”
I eased my foot off the accelerator of my Focus. On a fine day it’s far too tempting
to whizz along over the speed limit. “Graham’s smart-key is always with him. He’s the most orderly person you can imagine. No-one could take it without him knowing. There’s a spare hanging up out of sight in one of our kitchen cupboards. That’s what I used to open it with. If anyone had tried to force the lock, the alarm would have been tripped for sure.”
“How public is the parking area?” she asked. “Who could have seen it happening?”
It didn’t take long to think about that. “Probably nobody. The parking lot is behind the law offices. Various people use it. I haven’t driven in there very often because there’s plenty of room out in the street. I know there’s a huge sycamore tree. Graham always parks opposite that so the birds can’t poop on his car from the branches. And he always reverses into his space so he’s facing out for a fast getaway.” I couldn’t hold in a puff of mirth. “If you’d met my brother you’d know how absurd that is.”
I braked slightly to stay further back from a small dark green truck we were catching up to. The scent of animal dung was getting too strong, so I had a play with the car’s ventilation. “Anyone upstairs would need to be right beside the window and looking straight down to see a person tampering with the trunk of the Mercedes. It’s a good point.”
Paul leaned forward again. “Carver has no doubt already asked him things like that.”
“Well, maybe,” I said. “But Graham’s not home until later tonight, so he might be saving some of his questions for tomorrow. I hope my poor brother enjoys his double-strong cologne.”
Paul grunted. “Warning you here, sis. He’s always swamped with it. Take a hankie when he wants to see you. I’ll bet he gets you sneezing.”
I thought about that for a while. As Graham’s friend wouldn’t be dropping him off until after eight I could ask Paul and Heather home for a meal without having to contend with my darling boring brother’s company. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Would you two like dinner with me? It won’t be fancy, but I can rustle up some pasta and a salad?”
“And I can bring my muffin,” Heather said. “Erik put it in a bag for me.”
Ah – the elephant in the car had finally been mentioned. I was sure Paul must be bursting with questions, and here was his opportunity.
“Speaking of Erik,” he began.
“Don’t start,” Heather said with equal determination. “I’m a free agent, Paul-James. I haven’t looked at another man since Rob died. If I want to look at one now, that’s entirely my business.”
“As long as it’s only a holiday thing…”
Well, that seemed a bit much. It was her life, after all. Or did Paul have more info about Erik than he’d let on?
“What have you got against him?” Heather needled. “What do you know?”
I decided to listen along and not interrupt. Being a fly on the wall sometimes brings very interesting morsels to light.
Paul cleared his throat. I’ve noticed he does that when his next words are going to be significant. “What do I know? Not enough. Hardly anything at all, and that’s the trouble. Erik and John arrived in the district about eighteen months ago. All of a sudden the Burkeville had new owners, and I hadn’t heard a word about it being for sale, or that Paddy O’Donovan was thinking of retiring.”
So much for listening along and not interrupting because I couldn’t help inserting, “Paddy did say quite often he wanted to take a trip back to Ireland.” I caught Paul’s annoyed expression in the rear view mirror and returned my attention to the road.
“What about the planning, and the boasting, and all the little details Paddy was so fond of sharing?” he demanded. “That man told everyone everything, but not a whisper about leaving. Not a hint. He was just gone and they’d taken over. Don’t get me wrong – I like them well enough, but I know nothing about them. I didn’t know they had a helicopter until today. That’s a fairly significant detail. Where did they get the money from?”
“Shall I ask?” Heather said in an over-sweet tone.
“Good luck with that. They act perfectly open and friendly but they never actually share anything about themselves. I’m picking they both have military backgrounds.”
“They’ve got the bodies for it,” Heather agreed.
Paul practically snorted. “And I’m also picking they were into something a bit hush-hush.”
OMG – had I ever let Paul know about their possible Black Ops work? I wracked my brains. I remembered phoning DS Carver from outside Saint Agatha’s the evening Paul and I had had dinner together at the Burkeville Bar a few days after poor Isobel Crombie was murdered. I’d definitely mentioned finding strange files about car thefts and probably Black Ops in the secret office behind her garage. But had I ever linked John and Erik to the latter in Paul’s hearing? Surely not. He’d have been all over me with questions if I had.
“Maybe they’ve taken early retirement from something a bit dangerous?” I suggested. “They could have got tied up with a big court case and been put into witness protection or something?”
“And come halfway around the world to hide,” Heather said.
“They don’t look like the hiding sort to me,” Paul scoffed. “I’m sticking with my military theory. It takes one to know one.”
Mmmm… he might be closer than he expected!
“Anyway – dinner?” I offered again. “In fact, Heather, would you like to come home with me for the afternoon? You can have another doze in the sunroom and sleep off some more of your jet lag if you like. Paul can join us later because he’s no doubt got things to do.”
“The Young Housewives Group,” he said. “Arranging holiday activities for the children.”
She sent me a smile. “I don’t want to hold up your work, but I wasn’t much looking forward to an afternoon on my own. Not with that to think about now.”
“Thanks Merry,” Paul said. “I’ll bring a bottle. And I’ll walk so there’s no worry about driving home after a drink or two.” He poked Heather on the shoulder. “Your shoes okay for walking?”
She grabbed his finger and tugged it. “You haven’t grown out of doing that, I see.”
“Ow,” he said. “Your fingernails are too long.”
“Now, now, children,” I couldn’t resist saying.
“Comfy enough sandals,” Heather said, letting go of his finger. “But maybe I’ll collect a cardi when we drop you off, Paul. I’ve still got the shakes a bit.”
He gave her shoulder an affectionate pat before he leaned back in his seat again. “Horrible start to your holiday. Not that anyone could have predicted that would happen.”
“I wonder how it’s going to finish…” she mused, staring out at the summer countryside.
Was she talking about finding the murderer or seeing more of Erik? Both were going to give me plenty to think about.
5 – Heather at Home
I made a pot of Earl Grey and carried it through to the sunroom when we reached home. Heather curled up on the divan and I flopped down in the old cane chair Dad had been fond of.
“Don’t let me hold you up from your work,” she said.
“No worries. I keep my own hours.” I gave the teapot a stir and let it sit a while longer. “I have something quite fun on the go right now. I’ve worked for this lady in the past. Elaine. She’s kind of a modern day Beatrix Potter. She writes lovely stories for children about birds and animals, but she’s badly dyslexic. A bit of a challenge to sort out sometimes.”
“Spelling and punctuation?” Heather asked.
“And grammar that sometimes needs a helping hand.” I poured her tea. “But it’s so worth it. The finished results are gorgeous, because she does her own little watercolor paintings to go with them.”
“You weren’t joking about Beatrix Potter then?”
I shook my head. “Her hedgehogs are avoiding motorbikes and fire engines, and there are no squirrels because we don’t have them here in New Zealand, but there’s Kewa the kiwi and Kerry the kereru.”
Heather lo
oked blank at that. “Our native wood pigeon,” I added. “If Paul takes us walking in the bush we might see some. In fact, keep your eyes skinned for big birds sitting on the power lines. If they’re getting on for chicken size but with really small heads and mostly dark green with a big white bib, that’s them.”
“Really small heads? Do they have big enough brains?”
I set her tea down beside her. “Shame on you, dissing our wildlife. Yes, I think they do. They never come down to ground level so they don’t get run over, although I’ve heard they occasionally slam into car windscreens because they’re slow to get up to speed after taking off out of trees.”
She dropped a sugar cube into her tea. “There were probably hundreds of them below us in all those pines.”
“I don’t think there’d be anything in a pine forest for them to eat. They need the native berries and buds.”
And just like that she dissolved into tears as the fright of seeing the body on the big white X slammed back at her.
“Sorry,” she sobbed, hiding her eyes. “It’s hit me again. Oh, this is so stupid.”
I galloped off to the bathroom and found a box of tissues for her. “Not stupid at all. Your circadian rhythms will still be out of whack and you had a heck of a fright. That little glimpse John gave me on his phone was bad enough.”
“How could someone do that to another person?” she said between sobs.
I picked up my cup. “I daresay Paul saw worse in Afghanistan. And I know Beefy Haldane lived through absolute hell there. I did a bit of research after Paul first mentioned him – not that I told him that. Beefy got hooked up with an orphanage, and used to go back and help out in his time off. Maybe it made him feel he was there for the right reasons. He’d bonded with one of the little boys and wanted to somehow adopt him, or at least sponsor him.”
Heather nodded, and sniffed into her tissue.
“A terrorist with a grudge followed him to the orphanage and stormed the school.”
“No!”
“Killed everyone, or so they thought. Beefy was left for dead and they found later that the little boy had been kidnapped. Converted to their cause, with pretty horrible results. A tiny terrorist. A group of UN soldiers found Beefy more dead than alive and he came home a total mess – badly injured and hooked on pain meds.” I took a sip of my tea. “I can’t imagine how he’d ever live a normal life after that.”
