Doom Creek

by Alan Carter

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘They moved both households on. Jeep full of armed men and some threats. The neighbour’s a big fan boy now. Bigot from way back. These Yanks are his alt-right wet dream.’

  ‘Cunningham had said he wasn’t pissing everyone off in the valley. Some liked what he was doing.’

  ‘And I did some more digging regarding the water tanks.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘The only delivery Marvin did was to you for the top-up, right?’

  ‘Yeah, Gary mentioned a mate of Marvin’s did the others.’

  ‘Marvin knew nothing about it. Word is he was pretty pissed off.’

  ‘So who did the water deliveries?’

  ‘Some bloke from Nelson,’ she says. ‘Booked and paid for by the Lodge.’

  ‘Them again.’

  ‘Maybe they knew Melvyn had been acting up. Felt guilty. Made reparation?’

  ‘Or they created a problem so they could be seen to fix it.’

  ‘All very Maoist,’ says Latifa, hanging up.

  After breakfast we get word that Vanessa will be released from hospital later this morning. Paulie’s swollen ankle is also on the mend. A beanie covers my singed hair and I’m getting used to the stinging tight feeling in my face and hands. My phone is running hot too; this time it’s Gary from out on the trawler, seagulls singing, waves crashing in the background and a satellite delay in his voice.

  ‘Can you hear me, Nick? You guys okay?’

  ‘News travels far and fast.’

  ‘Mate called round to see me, forgot I was away. Saw the fire engines and all that. What happened?’

  I tell him.

  ‘Jeez. Look, use my place. I’m never there. And I can stay at Gloria’s in Stoke on my week off.’

  ‘Nice offer, mate. Cheers. They’ve got us in some police accommodation for the foreseeable.’

  ‘Whatever, it’s there if you need it. If you miss the valley or need a local base, be my guest.’ I thank him again. People rallying around, it’s enough to make your chest burst. ‘We need to move these people on, Nick. They’re no good.’

  ‘Yeah, but there’s rules.’

  ‘Might be for you. I know plenty of people who would eat them for breakfast. Just say the word.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ While Gary gets back to hauling in hoki I weigh up the pros and cons of letting slip the dogs of war. Tempting, but first I need to pick up Vanessa from the hospital and arrange for somebody to watch over Paulie – I’m not game to have two invalids in tow at the same time. Trouble is, we don’t know that many people over this way.

  ‘What about David?’ says Paulie.

  Ex-DC Ford? ‘You two get on, do you?’

  ‘Yeah, he was here a lot when Mum left you.’

  ‘She didn’t leave me, she just needed some time to herself to think things over.’

  ‘Whatevs. He makes yummy banana smoothies.’

  ‘David it is, then.’

  Forty-five minutes later, Ford is at the door with a carton of milk and some bananas.

  ‘Ready to get your butt kicked on Crash Bandicoot, Paulie?’

  ‘It’s Paul. Milkshake first, then you can try.’

  I leave them to it. On my way out, Ford says, ‘We’ll sort this, Nick. One way or another.’

  Driving down to the hospital, I’m thinking what a flimsy and fragile thing the rule of law is. Traffic lights. Pedestrian crossings. Right of way. Truth. Justice. Start to peel them away, ignore them, flout them, negate them and pretty soon you have chaos at every intersection. Is that what they call the End Times?

  Keegan is right. Even if we think we know who the bad guys are, we still need to go through due process and collect the evidence. Without that there’s nothing. Paperwork is what they hide behind when it suits them but the Brandon Cunninghams, the Georges LeBlancs, the James Bryants of this world hate it being turned against them. That federal prosecutor nibbling away patiently at James Bryant’s ill-earned wellbeing. The best way of dealing with dickheads like this is to bore the bastards to death with niggling Kiwi red tape.

  ‘I’d say “penny for them” but I might be short-changed.’ Vanessa is sitting on the bed dressed, bandaged, and ready to go.

  ‘How’s it feeling?’

  ‘Sore and tight but the drugs are great. Let’s get out of here.’

  First the nurse gives me a lesson in how to change burn dressings and tend the wound and then we drop by the pharmacy to pick up some supplies. Vanessa is being stoic and me asking about her pain is no-go right now. Instead I tell her about all the offers of alternative accommodation we’re getting. ‘There’s some good people out there,’ I say, being uncharacteristically positive.

  She’s focused on the passing traffic and the windscreen wipers now that a soft rain has started. ‘We could have died, Nick.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I told you to keep them away from us.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yeah, I know you are.’ This isn’t the best time to tell her about Jaxon Hemi but she needs to know. She shakes her head. ‘Poor Thomas and Ruth.’ Turning to face me. ‘I’m not going back there, Nick. I’m finished with that place.’

  Who am I to argue?

  ‘Thomas wants to talk to you.’

  The call came from Latifa just after lunch. After checking that Vanessa and Paulie would be okay for a few hours, particularly with ex-DC Ford pottering in the background preparing culinary treats and cuppas, I’m headed back over the ranges and up the valley road while rain drums steadily on the car roof. There’s no sign of life passing Charlie Evans’ farm and the For Sale notice has gone. Life must be that little bit tougher for Charlie now that Israel is no longer around to help. No doubt I’ll get the story later. It’s equally quiet at the Lodge: no guards, no dogs, no nothing. Our place is a charred wreck. The chooks are free-ranging over the blackened ruins, scratching the wet scorched earth. The goats chew on grass and brambles like nothing ever happened. Vanessa is right, the valley no longer seems so beautiful and it’s hard to imagine living here again.

  A few extra vehicles have gathered at Thomas’ place including Latifa’s and a flash black 4WD. Its owner is on the verandah nursing a mug of something and looking sombre.

  ‘G’day Morgan.’ I offer my hand for shaking. He obliges.

  Thomas emerges through a doorway, eyes red-rimmed. Latifa is close behind with two mugs of tea.

  ‘Ruth?’ I enquire.

  ‘In bed. Sedated.’ Latifa hands me a mug.

  ‘I’m sorry for all this, Thomas. Truly.’

  He nods. ‘You’ve got your own worries.’

  ‘What are you doing about these people?’ says Morgan.

  Two brothers, united in grief, both have lost a son. Of course he would be here, now. Ready to serve up justice his way like he did with Karel Havelka. I can see his point. But.

  ‘Following due process, investigating, collecting evidence.’

  ‘Due process?’ says Morgan. ‘How long does that take?’

  ‘Longer than Karel Havelka got.’

  ‘Him.’ A sip of tea. ‘Still reckon I was behind that, eh?’

  There’s a stir inside. Ruth sobbing. Thomas leaves us.

  This is no time to rake over old coals, even if it was me that started it. I turn to Latifa. ‘You said Thomas wanted to talk.’

  ‘Yep. Best leave it to him.’

  Another few minutes and he’s back. The rain has picked up and we all edge in further under the verandah roof. There’s a real nip in the air and winter feels very close. ‘You wanted to see me, Thomas?’

  ‘Latifa told me not to go off half-cocked. Said you’d fix things. The right way.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, that’s all I can promise.’

  ‘She said these people are connected, have powerful friends. They might even get away with what they’re doing.’

  ‘That’s a possibility.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem fair.’

  ‘No. I
t’s not.’

  ‘What does it take to have that much influence on what’s right and wrong? Money? Power? Something to bargain with?’

  ‘All of those things, probably.’

  ‘I don’t have much money and I guess to you and them I’m just a brown country bumpkin. Not a good start, eh?’

  ‘All we can do is what’s right and hope for the best. It’s all we have left.’

  ‘Right in general or right in law?’

  ‘Both.’

  He nods. ‘I got you here so I can say this to your face. I won’t do what you ask, sorry.’ He thumbs inside the house. ‘Ruth and me, we’re hurting. We can’t sit back and watch these arseholes trash our world. Like I said to you before, these people believe in the End Times and our rules mean nothing to them.’

  ‘I understand that, Thomas, but …’

  ‘But nothing,’ says Morgan. ‘Our law is older and bigger than yours. We’ll do what’s right in general and in law. Ours.’

  I can’t stop them, even if I could convince myself I wanted to. As Latifa is backing out in her car and I’m settling into mine, Morgan raps on my window.

  ‘That Havelka guy. You reckon he’s whiter than white? Ever wondered why the missus went doolally and the daughter never visits? Do your homework, Chester.’

  Before leaving the district I call by the murder room in Havelock town hall. There’s plenty going on and it looks like the decision to administratively sideline Will Maxwell has been shelved. He’s in the thick of it, running the Bruce Gelder, Karel Havelka and now Jaxon Hemi inquiries while the Melvyn Cody one is handballed to a team flown in from Wellington. Havelka is on the backburner as far as Maxwell is concerned. Everybody in the hall is busy but still able to chuck a sympathetic wave or smile my way. Even Gemma seems to have softened.

  ‘You going okay, Nick?’ asks Maxwell.

  ‘All things considered.’ I bring him up to speed on Thomas Hemi’s state of mind. ‘Sometime soon he’ll make his move and big brother Morgan is along for the ride.’

  ‘That’s all we need.’

  ‘The only way to avoid more trouble is if we get to Cunningham and company first. How’s the LeBlanc hunt going?’

  ‘Thin air. The guy knows how to lie low.’

  ‘So we need to clear the Lodge, take away Thomas’ targets.’

  ‘Keegan has okayed bringing them all in for questioning. Distributing them around South Island cop shops. North too if we want. Anywhere from Invercargill to Auckland.’ Maxwell accepts a coffee from a passing minion. ‘Break ’em up, ship ’em out, as she put it.’

  ‘When’s this happening?’

  ‘Tonight. A midnight knock.’

  ‘Let’s hope Thomas holds off until then.’

  ‘I don’t think Cunningham’s his man anyway. My money is on LeBlanc. He’s the loose cannon, the psycho with runs on the board. Cunningham’s a pain but he does seem to have a functioning on-off switch.’

  I’m inclined to agree, and figuring the same for the fire at my place. ‘I’ll leave the raid to you guys. Obviously Keegan and the brass have restored faith in you.’

  ‘Little choice under the circumstances.’

  ‘By the way, Morgan Hopu mentioned something about Havelka having family skeletons. Could be a distraction but what do we know about him? Havelka, that is.’

  ‘Only what’s on file.’

  ‘Anybody available to do some digging?’

  ‘To what effect? Clear Hopu? It’s not a priority right now, Nick.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see that.’ Check the time. ‘I’ll get back over to Nelson. Do some TLC with the family.’

  Maxwell’s mobile goes. He scans the screen. ‘Message from Keegan. Guess who just flew into Wellington on his private jet?’

  25.

  ‘How come he was allowed to travel?’

  I’ve just handed Vanessa another batch of painkillers. She’s had an uncomfortable night and her face is pale and pinched. It’s heartbreaking. Paulie is working on a journal as part of his absent-from-school curriculum. He’s drawn a picture of a red-roofed house on fire and us outside with tears and sad faces. I’ve got Keegan on speakerphone while I wash up breakfast dishes. Vanessa occasionally snorts or sticks her tongue out when Keegan speaks. Grudge-bearer from way back.

  ‘Bryant’s a dual citizen, remember? Kiwi, bought and paid for.’

  ‘And the federal prosecutor still let him go?’

  ‘I don’t think he had any say in the matter. It looks like it was all done with a nod, a wink, and a presidential pardon if Bryant stayed schtum on what he knows.’

  Money, power, and something to bargain with: Thomas Hemi’s take on the whitey justice system. ‘So what now?’

  ‘I’m guessing he’ll recover from his jet lag and in a day or two will want to inspect his Marlborough Sounds properties.’

  ‘One unfinished and the other abandoned. No way he’s ready for Armageddon.’ Last night’s raid on the Lodge netted nothing. There was no-one at home except Brandon Cunningham, who is now cooling his heels in a cell a few floors below me at Nelson Police HQ. Apparently he’s asked to speak to me. ‘Maybe they’ll put up the white flag and we can all get back to our day jobs.’

  ‘Whatever. Can you get down here and find out what Cunningham’s got to say for himself? I’ve had word that a couple of SIS spooks are galloping our way from Wellington as we speak. If they take over we’ve lost him.’

  So here I am now. Interview Room 3: a table with chairs either side and the recording equipment switched off. Just Brandon and me and four blue walls on this fresh blustery Thursday morning.

  ‘How’s the family, Sergeant Chester? Well, I hope?’

  ‘Where’d everybody go? All your merry men?’

  He shrugs. ‘Gave them the rest of the week off. Been a stressful time lately. They’ll be out camping somewhere. Spot of hunting maybe.’

  ‘You asked to speak to me. I’m happy enough just to put you on the next plane out to Sioux Falls. I don’t think either of us is here to play yet more games.’

  ‘We can find Georges. We’ll take care of him. You don’t need to worry about that anymore.’

  ‘Take care of him how? Whisk him back to the US on Bryant’s jet or disappear him permanently because he’s become an embarrassment?’

  ‘Either way, problem solved for you.’

  ‘Making him go away is not problem solved. Making him pay is problem solved.’

  ‘Money? That’s not an issue. Mr Bryant has plenty if that’s what it takes.’

  ‘We’ll stick to our way of doing things. Anyway, if he’s such a liability how come you all went along with him the other night? Why didn’t you hand him over then?’

  ‘Band of Brothers, dude. One for all, all for one.’

  ‘Melvyn’s happy family.’

  His eyes glint at the mention of his nephew’s name. ‘Cards on the table?’

  ‘Again? Sure.’

  ‘I don’t blame you for what happened to Melvyn. Georges is responsible for that. Like he was for the terrible fire at your home. That’s why I want him gone. And so does Mr Bryant.’

  ‘It looks like it’s Georges against the world, doesn’t it? Everybody blaming him for everything. Convenient. What about the threatening photos of us and our families? I can’t see him having the wherewithal, or the patience, to bother with such subtleties.’

  ‘Mea culpa. I organised that. A little bit of symbolic chest-beating to keep the troops happy. No real harm done though, surely?’

  ‘And the harassment of Constable Rapata, the midnight calls, vandalism. That was you too.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  I suppose I could charge him but with what? Trespass? Stalking? Taking photos without a signed consent form? Slap on the wrist and a fine if you have the right lawyer. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re offering to take Georges out of the picture for us, then it’s back to business as usual, I assume. Anything else on the agen
da?’

  ‘Mr Bryant is keen for you all to know that he doesn’t want to cause any problems here and just intends to live a quiet life and mind his own business.’

  ‘Maybe he does now because he’s running out of options and boltholes. Before that he had you beating up on anybody who got in your way. Why? So we’d be distracted and keep our noses out of your business out on the Sounds? That worked well didn’t it?’

  ‘Like I said before, not everyone in the valley disapproves of us.’

  ‘Running blacks and welfare recipients out of town? Maybe you could burn some crosses and wear a bedsheet too. Who are you aiming to impress?’

  ‘Our base. Look, bullshit and bluster, disrupt and distract. It’s the political strategy du jour. Counter-intuitive maybe, but it works well for some people.’ He gives me a wink. ‘But not you, huh, hotshot?’

  There are footsteps in the corridor: a couple of sallow youths in sharp suits pushing past one of our constables. The Wellington spooks, presumably. They usher me out but not before I get to say, ‘No deal, Cunningham.’

  Back up to Keegan’s office for a debrief. ‘There’s a lot of noise and distraction. Just when you think you’re getting a handle on something it all changes.’

  ‘Classic look-over-there stuff, isn’t it? Government one-oh-one: The Dark Arts.’

  ‘It’s working on me.’ I accept a coffee from her ever-full plunger. ‘I just want to run a mile.’

  ‘How’s Vanessa? Paulie?’

  ‘Paulie keeps on truckin’ but Vanessa’s had enough.’

  A dip of the head. ‘You thinking of chucking it in?’

  ‘Not a good time to be making any rash decisions. Besides I still have a strong will to win.’

  She seems pleased to hear it. ‘Melvyn Cody and Jaxon Hemi were incidentals weren’t they? Sideshows. Gelder’s the main game.’

  ‘Because he saw or knew something and Georges LeBlanc needed reassurance.’

  ‘Reasoned negotiation, it’s a dying art.’

  ‘We need to find Gelder’s phone, or phones. Find out what happened that night he stayed over at Māhana.’

  ‘I’ll give Will a call. Pull it up his priority list. You better get back to your family.’