by A C Praat
It’s done. They were the only words he’d caught, slipping in and out of consciousness, after he’d wrestled with Sauers and the gun went off. Fucking Sauers. He’d tried to stop him. But he’d failed.
The vibration ceased.
A door opened then shut. Terror slammed through his nerves. Focus, Nielsen. Come on, man, you can do it.
A click – and then head-splitting daylight.
He wretched, trying to force the material from his mouth.
‘Fuck.’ Sauers’ voice. ‘You’re alive.’
Sauers swung the briefcase above his head and Brett recoiled.
He thought of his mum and dad, his brother Marty. The briefcase crashed down. The light burned out.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The paramedic had proclaimed Mishra unhurt apart from suffering from mild shock, which was to be expected in the circumstances. When the drizzle started Constable Gillingham invited Mishra back to the station so she could give a witness statement in comfort, if she was ready. She’d agreed to meet him after she collected her friend who owned the truck because her friend would be worried. Massive understatement. Ra would be more than worried – she’d be beside herself with curiosity.
And she had been – but that had to wait. Right now Ra was outside the station, preferring her truck to police hospitality.
Constable Gillingham had been usurped by a more senior officer, Detective Henare. The three of them were sitting in an interview room in the Kerikeri police station – opened up on the weekend especially for the incident. Nobody had mentioned the word murder, but why else would they have called a detective in if they weren’t suspicious about Roberts’ death?
A single window framed a view of the driveway, cross-lit by fading daylight and security lamps. The view wasn’t much prettier than the box in which they were sitting, but it was less alarming than the two officers opposite her. Gillingham’s pen was poised over his pad.
Henare made a pyramid of his hands on the table between them. ‘Could you tell us about the events leading up to the death of Mr. Roberts, please?’
How far back should she go? All the way back to Adelaide where Roberts was helping the ADF investigate the leak of the code? If they did any kind of check on her, they’d find out about that investigation and her links to SNKR. Better to be honest – it wouldn’t look good if that all came out later. But if they weren’t that curious they might just let her go after this interview. Would the forensic pathologist work out what had killed Roberts?
‘Dr. McKenzie?’
Mishra straightened up in her chair. ‘I’m sightseeing. Here on sabbatical from Adelaide. I borrowed that old tank – the truck – from my friend to have a look around.’
‘And your friend’s name?’
How would Ra feel about being nobbled? She couldn’t explain the truck in any other way.
‘Rawinia Te Whatu.’
A smile flickered around Detective Henare’s mouth, then died.
Was he the member of Ra’s family who was in the police? Then he’d know about the search for Philip.
She scrambled inside her head, trying to grasp the possible implications of that scenario, and failed. Too strung out and tired, she opted for the easy option. ‘You know the Te Whatus?’
‘Plenty of them around here. We ran a check on your truck. It’s registered to a Mr George Te Whatu.’
‘Ra’s uncle.’ Maybe Detective Henare wasn’t part of Ra’s whānau.
‘Sightseeing?’ the detective prompted.
Mishra nodded. ‘I was headed for the Stone Store. But the truck was playing up – it’s a pig to drive – and then I saw those crimson vines in the shelterbelt. They were so pretty I pulled over to have a look and take a rest from wrestling with the truck.’
Henare and Gillingham exchanged glances. ‘Up the driveway and right into the orchard?’ Henare asked.
She nodded. ‘When I pulled into the driveway that silver Merc was still behind me, slowing down.’
‘Still?’ Henare asked.
When she’d followed Gillingham back into town she’d seen the car pulled onto the grass verge outside the orchard. It must have been Roberts’ car. How else would he have got there? It was a small detail, but one that could deflect their attention away from her and away from Philip. Somebody had sent that warning letter and dropped into her fireside chat.
She told Henare, ‘I thought he’d been following me.’
‘Following you?’
‘Along State Highway Ten, yes. I panicked and ran into the orchard. I thought I could hide; maybe find someone to help.’
Detective Henare gazed at her and let the silence draw out.
It was unnerving. But she knew it for the tactical ploy it was. This was one situation where specialising in discourse analysis was helpful.
‘And did you?’
‘Did I what?’
‘Find someone to help you?’
Was he suggesting that she’d lured Roberts into the orchard so he could be attacked? Get a grip.
‘No. But he called out to me.’
‘He called you?’
‘I told him I didn’t want to talk him – that I was meeting a friend – and I walked away. Then there was a buzzing sound and I freaked out, ran straight down the nearest row. I was swarmed by insects just over a week ago. Stung too.’
She rubbed her neck. The bumps left by the stings had subsided. ‘He was following me up the row, running and yelling. I don’t know what he was saying. Maybe he was trying to get away from the insects. The yelling stopped. When I turned to see what had happened, he’d fallen.’
Mishra paused and shuddered. ‘He didn’t move. I waited until the insects – bees, whatever they were – flew away and then I went back to him. There were one or two crawling over his face, and his neck was swollen when I reached him, but I think he was still breathing. I ran back to the truck for my phone and called the emergency services, and checked in the back for a first aid kit.’
Poor Philip. What must he be thinking?
‘It felt like such a long wait. There was nothing I could do.’ Mishra blinked back tears.
‘You knew him.’ It wasn’t a question.
Mishra looked at Henare. Was she actually going to do this? They’d find out who Roberts was anyway when they tried to locate his next of kin, and they would probably work out the connection to her with a bit more digging. ‘I’d met him in Adelaide. I think he worked for the ADF.’
‘Australian Defence Force?’
Mishra nodded.
‘Go on.’
‘There was a team of them investigating the leak of some code from a military project. They thought my boyfriend was involved.’
‘And?’
‘He’s dead.’
Gillingham stopped writing and raised both eyebrows in surprise.
‘Your boyfriend?’ Henare asked.
Mishra nodded and dropped her gaze to her hands, tightly clasped in her lap. She’d make a better show of grieving if she hadn’t just seen solid proof that Philip was alive. At least he was when he tore after the bees.
Oh God. Tears escaped: frustration at being thwarted again, fear for Philip, and fear for herself. She didn’t want to do this anymore. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, why Roberts is – was still hounding me. Maybe you can find out.’
‘These insects –’
Mishra sniffed, interrupting Henare’s question. He wasn’t going to stop.
Gillingham produced a packet of tissues from his pocket and she took her time extracting a tissue and blowing her nose while she tried to gather her thoughts. What should she say? Lie and pretend they were ordinary bees? If they were the robotic bees from Philip’s project this was her chance to have another authority shut them down. But what if someone had seen Philip? If they started looking too closely into his identity documents –
‘I’m sorry, Dr. McKenzie. Just a couple more questions. We’ve asked for toxicology reports, but that could take months. It looks like
an anaphylactic response to being stung. If we could narrow the field … Could you describe the insects?’
‘A bee, or a wasp, maybe. They looked odd to me – but I’m not a local.’
‘Odd how?’
Mishra frowned. ‘Quite shiny. Squarish.’
‘Squarish?’
She held up her hand. ‘Like the tip of my finger but skinnier.’
‘Colour?’
‘Black and yellow.’
‘How many?’
Mishra shrugged. ‘Maybe ten or so?’
‘Not quite a swarm then.’
Henare was planning to stab her to death with a thousand needle questions. ‘I wasn’t counting! I wouldn’t have gone back at all if he hadn’t fallen.’
‘And they flew away? What direction?’
She rubbed her hands over her eyes. ‘Away from the driveway. What direction is that? North? West? I don’t know.’
‘Sir?’ Gillingham interrupted.
‘Yes?’
‘The leaked code. I read about it. The ADF were adamant that the project wasn’t being developed for military applications. Some commentators thought otherwise. It caused quite a stir.’
‘Your point, Constable?’
‘Bees, Detective. The project was creating robotic bees.’
* * *
After the visit to the police station, Ra drove them both down to the Kerikeri basin to debrief and eat fish and chips, though Mishra wasn’t hungry. The day was fading by then. The water beneath the pier reflected the security lights from the Stone Store behind them and the fairy lights from the restaurant up the grassy slope to their right. The restaurant looked quiet; only a few vehicles were parked beneath the historic pear tree that gave the restaurant its name.
Occasionally a car full of teenagers, hooting and giggling, ripe with booze and youth, pulled in alongside them, but soon screeched away again, bored with the stillness of the basin, or perhaps wary of Ra’s watchful gaze. Mishra wished she was that carefree again.
‘Did he say where he was staying?’ Ra asked, scooping up the last of the tomato sauce with a chip.
Mishra shook her head. ‘We didn’t have time to talk properly.’
Ra licked her fingers, then said, ‘Philip doesn’t make it easy, does he?’
Mishra was too tired to argue. They’d initiated this whole disaster themselves, trying to raise awareness about killer robots, but it wouldn’t help to remind Ra of that small detail now.
‘I might know where he is,’ Ra said.
‘What?’ How could she possibly know?
‘Rex figured it out.’
Mishra’s mouth opened and shut. Rex, the man who had hurt Ra, who had sent her fleeing across the Tasman?
‘Saw him at the health center. He was helping Philip.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Ra?’
‘You were all set, Mish. I didn’t want to drag my shit into this.’
‘Your shit?’ Ra must have listened to Rex, despite the hurt he’d caused her. And Rex had helped Philip? ‘Are you okay?’
Ra sighed as she gazed out the windscreen. ‘Yep. I’ll never trust him, but I can see he’s not the same arsehole he was when we were kids. In the end he told me about Philip – Damon – even though Philip asked him to keep his mouth shut. He chose whānau.’
‘But –’
Ra held up her hand. ‘Just let me get this out. Rex found him in the sea, half dead. Took him to an island in the bay – he’s a trapper amongst other things – and looked after him. Says Damon was confused and scared.’
Mishra swallowed. Rex’s story matched Philip’s account. What little she’d heard of it.
‘I would have told you. Just didn’t seem relevant till now. Fuck, if I’d known it would all lead to this ... Poor bloody Roberts.’
Mishra caught Ra’s hand and squeezed it. ‘The constable had heard about the project in Adelaide. They know about my links to it and to Philip and Roberts.’
‘But they think Philip is dead?’
Mishra nodded. ‘I don’t understand. Why kill Roberts? We were there, both of us, right there. And all those warnings to stop looking … ’
‘New technology, Mish. Something went wrong.’
An image of Roberts’ swollen neck, his chin flecked with spit, battered Mishra’s mind and her hand reached absently for the pendant beneath her tunic. ‘He warned me about Hebden back in Adelaide. Maybe Roberts sent the “stop looking” messages?’
Ra fidgeted in her seat, her hands folded over the steering wheel. ‘Why not come straight out with it? He was Philip’s father, for Chrissake.’
‘They never got along.’
Ra puffed out a disbelieving breath. ‘Families, eh?’
‘He’s got no family now. His father is dead and he can’t contact his mother for fear of being discovered.’ Mishra unzipped her shoulder bag and riffled through it, searching for her second phone.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m going to email him.’
Ra laid a warning hand on her arm. ‘Somebody released those bees, Mish and we don’t know who. What if it was a stuff-up and they’re still after Philip? How did they know where to find you?’
Irritation stole her breath – she didn’t have any answers. But she didn’t care anymore. ‘Just stop!’
‘Mish –’
She slammed the phone back into her bag and barged open the door. At the end of the pier she sat down; her legs swinging above the moonlight wobbling in the water while her hands gripped the wooden edge. The raspy thickness against her palms was the only thing arresting the giddy sensation that she was flying apart.
After a long while her breathing calmed. It didn’t matter now about the bees. The police investigation into Roberts’ death would expose them for what they were; or if the ADF became involved, maybe they’d hush them up again. Someone had died. Someone else had died, she corrected herself. Last time it had been a programmer on an inoffensive pollination project. This time it wouldn’t be so easy to paper over the cracks. They were in New Zealand; a new authority was involved, a foreigner had perished, and the bees were already in the picture.
Philip Templeton was dead. But Damon Hunter was very much alive. Please God. And she wasn’t going to let him go through this hell alone.
When she walked back up the pier Ra was leaning on the bonnet of the truck, arms folded, waiting for her.
‘I’m going to contact him.’
Ra nodded and passed her a phone. ‘Raffe’s spare.’
Acknowledging the support with a smile, Mishra accepted the phone and walked around to the passenger door.
THIRTY-NINE
‘Sir?’ The police officer was polite, perched on a chair in the courtyard next to the pond at Wil and Afra’s, a cup of coffee suspended between the table and his mouth. It was late Sunday morning, the day after his father had died.
It hadn’t taken them long to link the orchard back to Wil.
‘I’ve worked here nearly two weeks,’ Philip told the officer. If he hadn’t decided to join Afra and Wil for morning coffee, he might have escaped the officer’s notice altogether. He’d woken early, working on a story to convince Wil and Afra that he needed to leave – one that wouldn’t raise their suspicions or worry them too much. Coffee was a chance to say goodbye.
But as it was he’d spent the last twenty minutes clenching and unclenching his toes in his sneakers and repeating the details of his new identity in his head, preparing for the officer’s questions. Damon Hunter, Damon Hunter. The password Mishra had mentioned in the orchard had worked. The USB had divulged the personal history of Damon Hunter, his CV and references. All fake.
‘And the block in question?’ The officer had picked up his notebook again.
Philip blinked. The policeman was still looking at him. ‘Like Wil said, we were pruning there for three days last week. Finished Thursday.’
‘And since then?
‘Been here, working on the orchard.’
‘And yesterday afternoon?’
Philip snatched a glance at Wil and Afra. ‘I went for a walk. Actually, I was meeting someone, but she was a no-show.’
Afra hummed a sympathetic noise.
‘Where?’ the officer asked.
‘Just down by the waterfall.’
‘You can follow the river along behind those trees,’ Wil pointed to the bush beyond the pond. ‘It’s quite spectacular.’
‘And your … what was it? A date? Didn’t show up.’
Philip sighed and shook his head. Appearing disheartened was no effort at all. His life was screwed.
‘Anyone see you down there?’
‘Is this really necessary, Officer?’ Afra’s voice was calm, but her forehead was furrowed. ‘We haven’t been to that block since Thursday.’
Philip sent her a grateful look, then dropped his gaze back into his coffee cup.
‘Just covering our bases,’ said the constable.
‘One of the neighbours saw me,’ Philip said. ‘Chatty, small, mad hair.’
‘Her name?’
Philip shrugged. She’d scared the wits out of him, the noise of the waterfall having obscured her approach from behind him. But he’d quickly established she was an unlikely assassin. ‘We didn’t exchange names. She knew Wil and Afra and seemed to know I was working for them.’
‘Mary,’ Afra said. ‘English?’
Philip nodded.
‘They’re the next block over,’ Wil said. ‘Our properties share the river boundary. Technically the waterfall is on their side.’
‘I see. I’ll call on them later.’
‘They’ll be at church today,’ Afra said.
The officer sipped his coffee then set his mug on the table. ‘Thank you for the information and the coffee.’
‘Do you know who it was?’ Philip blurted.
‘The deceased? Yes. We are trying to contact the next of kin and won’t be releasing any details until then.’
Afra’s hand strayed to her chest. ‘How awful.’
‘Who found him?’ asked Wil.
The constable turned a surprised glance on Wil.