Containment

by Vanda Symon

Leo had finally come to light and had spent a not-too-pleasant afternoon under Smithy and Reihana’s scrutiny. The upshot was that he vowed not to have known anything about Clifford’s death until he had been contacted and hauled out of the bush. He was not a happy camper, in any sense of the word. He also corroborated Felix’s story that he and Clifford had left Felix to it at Aramoana to take some boxes into town. He said they’d first taken them to the Castle Street flat, but then decided Jase was being a nosey pain in the arse, so took them to the Pine Hill Road house instead. Leo had helped Clifford do some of the listings for Free-Market, but had then gone on to Trina’s place as promised. He claimed Clifford was alive and well when he left. He also said he and Clifford had no idea Felix had come to grief and had been fighting for his life in hospital, otherwise they would have been in to see him straight away.

  ‘What was at the Ward Street address?’ My thought waves must have deflected and been absorbed by Smithy. God bless Smithy.

  ‘Panel beaters.’

  Spaz lived above a panel beater in Ward Street. This was a bit too much of a coincidence for me. Not that I could imagine Spaz being the mastermind behind a drug-import business, although if I’d learned anything from my interactions with young Spaz, it was not to underestimate him. One thing I was certain of, though, considering the concern he showed for his mate Felix: I couldn’t picture him arranging the death of his mate Clifford. Still, it was probably time for another little chat.

  ‘And the Free-Market follow-up? Smithy?’ DI Johns asked.

  ‘We’ve accessed email records from the cathnadam account,’ Smithy said. ‘The purchase of the paint and subsequent communications about pick-up and payment were made through a gmail address. Untraceable. The purchaser called themselves John in the emails and had arranged to pay cash and pick up at nine-thirty on the Monday morning, which is incredibly quick. Spun a nice little story about the mates coming around to paint the house, hence the urgency. There was more email correspondence from buyers of other items, some of the jumble-sale stuff. One had arranged for cash and pick up next morning too.’ That had been in the report Smithy gave me, and I was following it up for my fun insurance caper. ‘Can’t picture anyone killing Clifford Stewart for a few ugly ornaments though,’ Smithy said. ‘The last time someone logged into the cathnadam account from the home computer was the Monday afternoon at three-sixteen, so we would have to presume this was Clifford, meaning that, at that point at least, he was still alive. But then we had an interesting situation last night. After two weeks of inactivity, someone logged into the account remotely at about eight o’clock.’ I felt a cold wave spread from the top of my scalp and break in the pit of my stomach. ‘Whoever it was, they seem to have gone to spectacular lengths to decoy and deflect detection, but we’ve got the IT boffins working on it.’

  Shit. I had to warn Spaz.

  62

  These clandestine, mist-shrouded meetings were starting to seem normal. That wasn’t a good thing for a girl planning a long career in the CIB. What the hell was I thinking? Actually, I knew pretty well what I was thinking. I was thinking that I was too far in to back out now. Damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. My only hope was that Smithy and the drug squad found Clifford’s killer quickly, so that interest in Felix Ford would subside to the point where he was regarded simply as another courthouse no-show, and a few months added to his inevitable prison term. I was yet to figure out how on earth I would be able to convince the guys it was in all of our best interests if my employers didn’t know about my role in all of this. The irrational, anxious female in me didn’t find it hard to imagine Sam Shephard doing a prison term for aiding and abetting, or at the very least getting her arse kicked to some one-horse backwater. And considering what had happened in the last one-horse backwater I’d worked in, it wasn’t something I wanted to revisit. The familiar throb beneath my right temple demanded to be rubbed. It didn’t respond favourably to the attention.

  Despite expecting it, I still jumped when the door clicked open. I took another few scopes up and down the street before walking in and up the stairs. It was Felix who opened the inner door. He had haversacks under his eyes and looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He was probably thinking the same about me. Spaz was parked in the armchair.

  ‘Gentlemen.’

  ‘Detective,’ Spaz said.

  Felix mumbled something and wandered back to perch on the edge of the couch. He looked poised for action, ready to run. They were scared of me, or at least Felix was; nothing fazed Spaz, probably. Although, when I’d phoned to say we needed to meet, it took some work to convince them it wasn’t so I could arrest them.

  I decided to forgo the social niceties. ‘Okay, I’m not going to beat around the bush, here. Two things.’ They looked dubious. ‘Firstly, the police have noticed your login to the cathnadam account. They’ve got the IT geeks on your trail.’

  Spaz paled a little before tossing out some bravado. ‘No prob, I’m good.’

  ‘No one’s that good. They’ll track you down.’

  ‘Betcha not.’

  ‘But what if they do, Spaz?’ Felix’s voice had the edge of someone who was going to need clean underwear soon. ‘They’ll find me here and arrest me and I can’t go to jail. I can’t.’

  He should have thought about that before he took a swipe at me. But that ball was already rolling and the terrain was downhill all the way. Something in me still felt compelled to fix his problems, though.

  ‘Would your parents hide you?’

  He looked down at the floor. ‘I couldn’t ask them to do that. I’d get them in trouble too.’ So he did have some common decency after all.

  ‘Have you got someone else you can trust whose house you can crash at?’

  ‘No, don’t trust a lot of people. Just Spaz, really, and you now.’ I hoped to God he wasn’t alluding to crashing at my place, because that was never going to happen. Not even I was that stupid. Feelings of responsibility only went so far.

  ‘What about your family, Spaz? Would they consider it?’

  ‘No. Too strait-laced, too Christian.’

  ‘You might want to make yourself a little scarce too, then. If the police track down your computer, you could be in a lot of trouble.’

  ‘Like you?’

  I didn’t need reminding of that. ‘If you think you’re going to use my involvement here as some kind of leverage, just remember I’m the only person who has a shit show of keeping us all out of prison, so you can keep your smart-arse comments to yourself and use that brain of yours to find some solutions here.’ He’d pressed the wrong buttons this time. ‘And while we’re on the subject of you, would you mind telling me what the hell it is that you actually do? Because I’ve got a murder enquiry for your friend that looks suspiciously like a drug hit because of an ill-timed theft of a few cans of paint containing heroin that were supposed to be destined for some now very pissed-off people, who just happened to list their street address as the panel-beater’s workshop directly under where you live. So what do you know about that, Spaz, huh?’

  By the time I’d got to the end of my mini-rant I was towering over him, as best as someone just over five feet could tower. Shock registered on his face, but I couldn’t figure out whether it was guilty shock or ‘no way’ shock.

  ‘Nothing. I know nothing about that.’ His stammer was even worse than usual and he had to wipe at his face to remove the spittle.

  ‘So you’re telling me that this is all just a coincidence? That your friends just happened to steal the cartons of paint off that boat, the same cartons that just happened to be destined for a business address below your flat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s a pretty sophisticated computer set-up you’ve got there.’ I turned my attention to his work station. ‘A lot of technology involved. It must cost a bit to buy gear like that. That’s your thing isn’t it? Computers? Your friends told me you were some kind of genius. Bet you do a bit of hacking into places – places you
shouldn’t be. You’ve got your own wireless network. What about the other businesses around here? They got networks too? Have you snuck past their security, gone for a peek into their systems, discovered a few things that could be of use to you and your friends here? Like a shipment of drugs that your friend Clifford was in just the right industry to distribute and earn some big dollars for you all?’ I didn’t know where all this was coming from, it was just spouting out of my mouth, but in a sick kind of way it was making some sense. ‘Of course you couldn’t possibly make a bloody great container ship get stuck on rocks, but, if you knew the goods were on board, it might explain why your friends were so keen to loot the containers, and why Felix here was prepared to bash the crap out of an officer to make off with his box.’ By the time I got to the reference to Felix I was building up a fair head of steam. ‘But then, if you’re half as clever as they say you are, who’s not to say you couldn’t remotely hack into the shipboard computers and put it off course? Perhaps you planned the whole bloody thing.’

  Silence hung in the air as what I said sunk in. It was probably in the realms of science fiction or James Bond movies, but nowadays, you never knew. If a handful of Somalians could hijack an oil tanker on sheer audacity and a few firearms, who was to say someone with the technological know-how and means couldn’t pull off a similar feat.

  Spaz lurched to his feet, now towering over me, and uttered, ‘No fuckin’ way.’ He put his hands on my shoulders, got his face up close and locked eyes. ‘Not involved. We had no idea about the heroin. That was a fluke.’ He was so emphatic, and his eyes bored into mine in such a way, I believed him.

  I sighed and started nodding, and Spaz dropped back down into the chair. Felix had drawn up his legs and was hugging his knees. Both were silent.

  ‘Well, your fluke has obviously pissed off some very scary people, because you didn’t get to see what they did to your mate. I did, and it’s something that will probably haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. So if you know anything, even the slightest little thing about these bastards, you need to tell me. They will stop at nothing – nothing – to reclaim their goods. And who knows, the police might not be the worst creatures trying to track you guys down right now.’

  63

  The sight of the vehicle parked on the street outside my house made me want to keep on driving, so I did. After an evening of scaring the crap out of a felon and an accessory, not to mention myself, the last person I wanted to face was Paul. He hadn’t mentioned he was coming up, and, considering I was very late home, he hadn’t texted to find out where I was. What was he doing here then?

  I had no idea where I was going to go. What I really wanted was the couch, a Milo, Toffee Pops and a book to escape into, but the presence of Paul’s car put paid to that. Ah, bloody hell. I did a u-ey on Kenmure Road and headed back to the house. I couldn’t run away from this forever. There was no point in being wimpy and pathetic about it.

  When I walked into the lounge, Paul was sitting on the couch with a bottle of Speights in his hand, and Maggie was in the armchair with a glass of red.

  ‘Well,’ she said, as she stood up. ‘That’s my cue to go do some study. Nice to see you, Paul. I took the liberty of pouring you one, Sam.’ She pointed to a glassful of wine on the coffee table. She must have been psychic. ‘So, if you’ll excuse me.’ She made a gracious retreat.

  ‘Thanks, Maggs.’

  I went over and gave Paul a cursory kiss, then grabbed my wine, sat down in the armchair and took a substantial swig. Paul gave me a bemused look.

  ‘So what’s up?’ I said, returning his look. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Lovely to see you too, Sam. You know why I’m here.’

  ‘I thought I made it clear I need a little headspace right now. You didn’t warn me you were coming.’ Like some advance cyclone-alert system.

  ‘If I did, you would have made some excuse for me not to, and I’m not the kind of person to leave important issues to a few text messages and grumpy phone calls.’

  Yeah, he was the type of person to face them, damn it. Unlike me. He was right about the excuse, but I didn’t think I’d been that grumpy on the phone.

  ‘So we could start again with my asking you how your day was? Apparently that’s what polite people do.’

  I laughed. ‘I’m not polite.’ I didn’t really think he’d want to know how my day had gone. Considering most of it had been based on half-truths, lies and deception, it wasn’t the best footing for a conversation that would inevitably turn towards the state of the nation, as it were. ‘But seriously, Paul, what is it you want? Because I’m tired, and this isn’t the best time, if I’m honest.’

  ‘That’s precisely what I would like,’ he said, looking at me with affection and a hint of vulnerability. ‘Some honesty from you, because, let’s face it, you haven’t exactly been forthcoming.’

  ‘Oh?’ I took another big swig. Part of me thought I should take offence at that comment, but the other part of me felt too tired and couldn’t muster up the energy.

  ‘You’ve been on the run since I told you about my job application. And yes, I will admit here and now I made a monumental cock-up dropping it on you when I did.’

  A laugh slipped out of me. ‘I am sorry about that.’ It was hard to get angry with someone so damn-well earnest.

  ‘So here’s the thing. How about you just tell me what you actually want. I’m a big boy; I can handle it. Let’s quit this beating around the bush. For better or for worse.’

  A ‘now or never’ moment. Great. I wondered if the phone would go this time. I seem to be always rescued by the phone. I looked at it, waiting, but nothing happened. Damn. I took a swig that ended at the bottom of the glass. When in doubt, answer a question with a question. He did it often enough.

  I turned back to him. ‘Well, what do you want, Paul? In your perfect world, what would you want, huh?’ That sounded a little facetious, it wasn’t really meant to be.

  ‘It would just make you more freaked out.’

  ‘Tell me. Come on, hit me with it.’

  I knew exactly what he’d say.

  He took a deep breath, a swig of beer, flashed me with one of his charming and fatalistic smiles and launched in. ‘In a perfect world it would be friendship, marriage, lots of great sex, overseas travel, a great working relationship, and eventually babies.’ He gave me a salute with his bottle.

  ‘You don’t ask for much.’

  ‘Apparently I do. That seems to be the problem. But this isn’t a perfect world, especially with you.’

  I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘Sorry, that didn’t quite come out right.’ He seemed to be scrambling for words. ‘I realise, with you, there won’t be marriage, and most likely not babies, so I would be very satisfied with friendship, lots of great sex, overseas travel and the fabulous working relationship part.’ I went to interject. ‘And before you explode – you asked.’

  I went to say something else but he beat me to it again.

  ‘And before you get all high and mighty on me, at the end of the day, I quite fancy you and it’s you I want to be with. You. Stroppy, passionate, slightly nutty you. All the other stuff is by the by. God help me, I happen to love you, your company, quirks, tendencies to get uppity and panicky, commitment-phobia, warts and all. Can’t help it. So there you go. It’s on the table. You can take it or leave it. But if you’re going to take it, can we get on with the lots of great sex bit please?’

  For once in my life I couldn’t find anything to say.

  64

  There was something about antiques shops I found unsettling. From an aesthetic standpoint, sure, some of the items were beautiful, but it was almost like they carried with them the ghosts of past lives, a certain heaviness or burden. You’d never find them at my place. Besides the fact I couldn’t afford them, they’d seem like a little pocket of sadness lurking in the corner. I’d stick to cheap and cheerful. Consequently, this was the first time I’d actually set foot in Curio Antiqu
es at Port Chalmers. The first thing that struck me was the smell. It was more refined than the old-stuff smell at Cash for Crap, with a hint of furniture polish and old leather, but it was there all the same. The second, and more remarkable thing, was the rather familiar face behind the counter.

  ‘Hello, Mr Gibbs, I didn’t realise you worked here.’

  ‘Detective Shephard.’ He came around and shook my hand.

  I didn’t correct him on my rank, in fact I very much liked the sound of it. He wasn’t as apprehensive as he’d been when I’d last seen him at his crib at Aramoana.

  ‘How are you feeling now? Everything on the mend?’

  ‘Much better, thanks. What about yourself? Have they given you an indication of when your court case will be?’ I took the don’t-beat-about-the-bush approach.

  ‘There’s such a backlog that it’s unlikely to be before next year. I still can’t believe it’s going to trial. A man tries to help an officer down, and look what happens. The law’s an ass.’

  ‘You won’t get any argument there from me,’ I said.

  I was just grateful he’d bothered to come to my rescue. How many people nowadays would just stand by and watch while someone had a go? Most, I would think, and cases like this would ensure it stayed that way. In fact, half of them would be busy recording it on their phones to upload onto their social media accounts, expressing their disgust at what society had become. Wouldn’t occur to them they were part of the problem. All in all I felt thankful to Iain Gibbs. Sure, he’d gotten way too carried away, and he was lucky Felix Ford didn’t die, but all the same, it was another instance of someone being punished for being the good Samaritan.

  ‘Is this your store? I didn’t realise you were in the antiques trade.’

  ‘Been in the business for over twenty-five years. Pretty good way to make a living, and fascinating with it. If you’re into history or art, I couldn’t think of anything better. I’ve got things in this store that are over three hundred years old; they’re older than our nation.’ I could see by the enthusiasm on his face it was a bit of a passion. ‘Were you looking for something in particular?’