Deep in the Shallows

by J. L. O'Rourke

  “Okay,” I laughed, “but can’t Carlton make the same excuse?”

  “No,” Gunna piped up from the couch. “Not when he’s dealing in protected species, and selling to a restaurant. Plus, he’s a cop and it’s not just one pig every now and then, it’s a lucrative little business he’s got going. Not to mention, he has now covered up the cold-blooded killing of whoever that poor bastard was. So eat up, you lot, we need to get this show on the road.”

  I settled myself at the dining table, where I was joined by Bruno carrying a plate piled even higher than my over-filled one. In his other hand he carried a plastic tomato from which he poured an extravagant amount of tomato sauce before offering it to me. I declined, then turned back to Gunna.

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Gunna’s been sorting his files,” Bruno began as he chewed a mouthful of bacon.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Gunna chastised. “But, as he said, I’ve been organising my paperwork and I have here a small file, which is only the tip of the iceberg but should be enough to prove our point conclusively in our initial discussions and force some action from the authorities. So, as soon as you two are ready, I suggest we embark. Time is a-wasting.”

  “Where are we embarking too?” I asked. “As Carlton is a cop, we can hardly go to the police, can we?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly where we are going, but we are going way over Carlton’s head,” Bruno explained. “Waihola is officially part of Clutha County, so he’s based out of Balclutha, so we are going into Dunedin which, of course, is Otago, so it’s a different jurisdiction. Hopefully there we can talk to someone who will take us seriously.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

  “You can be our red herring,” Bruno said. “We don’t want to risk Carlton realising anything is up and getting rid of that gruesome pile of evidence in his shed, so we were wondering if you could come up with a distraction to keep him busy. I thought maybe you could get him to meet you at the campground and you could make a formal complaint about Jackson being shot. Then keep him talking for as long as you can.”

  “Easy. I’m sure I can do that. I’ll invite him for coffee and bat my eyelashes.”

  “Right, let’s get on our bikes.” Gunna stood up, collected his papers together and thrust some of them into a box labelled crushed pineapple. As Bruno and I hurriedly finished our breakfast, Gunna pushed the rest of the papers into several other boxes, carried them through the secret door, then returned carrying a grey army-surplus blanket.

  “Can’t be too careful,” he explained. “Even at this hour of the day there will be a few people up and around and I don’t want to be seen yet so, until we get a fair way past the lake, I’ll be curled up on the seat of the truck with this over me. I figure it’ll be safe to pop up once we get to Allenton.”

  “How long do you think you will be?” I asked. “So I have an idea how long I need to keep Carlton distracted.”

  Bruno looked at his watch and did some mental calculations.

  “Give us half an hour’s head start, then drive down to the campground. The police station opens at eight, and I’m betting that he’ll go there first in the morning. Ring him from the camp and try to get him to come to you mid-morning, then talk slowly.”

  “I was planning on fast but unintelligibly, so I have to keep repeating myself.”

  “Perfect! Right, Gunna, let’s make tracks.”

  “After you, Bruno, my lad, after you.”

  Carrying the blanket and his box of files, Gunna led the way out the door. I waved through the window as they disappeared around the side of the house, then busied myself washing the dishes, pretending I wasn’t concerned as I heard them drive away. I checked my watch, calculating when I could leave too, then made coffee and pottered around, filling in the minutes with frequent checks of my watch to see how much time had elapsed. Every mundane task I found to do, straightening the bed, collecting towels and throwing in them in the washing machine, all promised to be activities that would use up the minutes, but the reality was frustratingly different, as each re-check of my watch showed. Time crawled, but the nearer it eventually got to my thirty-minute deadline, the more pointless my attempts to fill the minutes became. I made a second cup of coffee, then tipped it down the sink as I was too nervous to drink it. I wasted a minute staring at my watch, counting the seconds as they ticked off. I walked through the house again, double-checking that all the doors and windows were securely locked, and completed the exercise twice more in a futile attempt to calm my nerves, before sitting on the couch, alternately clapping my hands and slapping them against my knees in time to the seconds as I counted them off.

  With five minutes still to go before my deadline, I couldn’t bear the enforced waiting any longer. I had to move. With a final check of my watch, I picked up my car keys and my jacket, locked the door and walked to my car. I justified my actions on the grounds that I could drive slowly and it would be easier to fill in time chatting with Gail at the campgrounds but, really, my nerves had reached a point where I just couldn’t sit still any longer. Butterflies flipped in my stomach as I fastened my seatbelt. Where were Bruno and Gunna? Were they nearly in Dunedin? Had they passed Green Island? Were they heading over the hill into Caversham? I blew out my tension in a long, whistling sigh as I pulled out of the gate and began my part of the plan.

  By the time I had reached the campground, parked my car and checked my cabin, it was almost time to make my phone call to the police station, so I walked over to the office where I found Gail giving directions to an elderly couple in a camper van. I waited until they had left before asking if I could use the office phone and explained why. I didn’t add that I still didn’t want to use my cell phone in case Carlton recognised my number from my untimely call in the woolshed. Fortunately, Gail was so concerned that I hadn’t reported Jackson’s accident that she didn’t think to ask. Instead, she dialled the police station number herself then handed me the phone. A female voice answered then transferred me to another line.

  “Senior Sergeant Ian Carlton speaking.”

  “Hi. It’s Andy North here. Are you going to be in Waihola at all today? I need to report an incident that happened the other night and I was wondering if I can talk to you about it.” I knew I was babbling, partly because that was part of my cover plan but also partly because I was nervous. “I’d rather not have to come down to Balclutha as I’m flat out at the Netherby place, my god she had a lot of stuff, but if you’re going to be up here, then maybe we can make a time to meet.”

  “An incident? What happened?”

  “My dog was shot.”

  “You have a dog?” Carlton sounded incredulous. “I didn’t see one with you the other night. Was it in your car?”

  “No, I got him the next day. Then he ran away and someone shot him. He’s going to be okay but I want to make an official report. My insurance company will need a police report number for my claim to be accepted.” That was pure invention but I hoped it sounded credible.

  “Oh, all right. It’s something that happens out in the country and most people wouldn’t bother making a complaint, but if you’re determined, and if getting down to Balclutha is too much of a hassle, I guess I could come up to the house later.”

  “Not the house, no. I’m actually in Waihola at the campground this morning. I needed to talk to the garage about Maggie’s fancy car, and I have a few other things to sort out here.” I was rapidly realising that my ability to tell lies was abysmal and I was falling into my own holes. I was too busy at the house to go to Balclutha but then I wasn’t actually at the house. Oh my god, I was confusing myself. Time to wrap this call up. “So, can I meet you at the pub? I’ll even buy you a pork pie on my expense account.”

  “That’s a bribe I will happily accept,” Carlton laughed. “Let’s see, we’ve got a staff meeting here in a few minutes and that could take a while, then I have to deal with the paperwork on some stolen lawnmowers, so how
about we meet at ten thirty? I’ll be ready for that pork pie by then.”

  “Ten thirty sounds perfect. I’ll see you then.”

  As I replaced the receiver on the campground phone, my own phone pinged in my pocket. I didn’t recognise the number but the message, reached police station walking in now, showed it had to be from Bruno. I texted back a thumbs up sign followed by meeting C 10.30, shoved my phone back in my pocket and turned to Gail who had been hovering behind the counter, pretending to be straightening a shelf of canned goods.

  “Come on through to the house,” she beckoned. “I’ll make us a cuppa and you can tell me all about poor little Jackson. What happened to him?”

  As Gail led the way to her kitchen and bustled about making us tea, which was so strong I struggled to swallow it, I gave her edited highlights of Jackson’s ordeal, with no mention of Carlton or the woolshed. By the time she had mulled the story over in her head and come up with several plausible possibilities, I almost believed myself that Jackson had been shot by a random night shooter out looking for rabbits. Having assured her that Jackson was out of danger, I purposefully changed the topic to the identity of the floating arm, reminding myself before I spoke that I wasn’t supposed to know where Gunna was.

  “Have they said anything yet? Is it Gunna’s arm?” I asked, hoping I sounded genuine.

  “Huh,” Gail snorted. “Everybody’s talking but nobody’s saying anything. Nobody has seen Gunna, alive or dead, so half of the pub regulars think it’s him and the rest of him will float to the surface soon, but a couple of people from the duck sanctuary reckon they saw Gunna at the other end of the lake. They said it was just a glimpse and they couldn’t be certain, but they know him well and they were sure it was him, so maybe he’s still alive, but if he’s down there with an arm missing, he’s not going to last long.”

  “What about the police? Have they said anything?”

  “Not to us, no. Maybe you can get some information out of Ian when you met him.”

  “I’ll try my best.” It would keep him talking for a bit longer, even if I already knew more than he did. For safety, I changed the topic again to more general campground gossip and Gail responded by enthusing over how full the camp was going to get as the weekend approached.

  “Do you have any idea yet how long you will need your cabin for?” she asked with a hint of apology in her tone. “It’s not that I want to kick you out or anything but...”

  “You’ve got bookings that could use it?” I finished for her. As she nodded, I solved both our problems. “Tell you what, if I can still pop in for a chat, I will check out and move my stuff up to the Netherby house. That way I can work as late as I want to, I can look after Jackson when he comes back from the vets, and you can use the cabin for other guests.”

  I didn’t add that my presence at the house would cover Gunna, who could hide out in safety, and I was relieved that I could leave the campground without feeling I had let Gail down. Although she tried to hide it, I could see Gail was pleased by my offer, so I let her lead the way back to the office where I officially signed out, handing over my work’s credit card to pay the bill, then I went back to the little cabin and packed my few possessions into my car. I still had time to kill before my meeting with Carlton, so I decided to keep my story straight, and achieve something I was being paid to do. I drove out of the campgrounds, across the road to the garage where I found one of the J boys behind the counter.

  “Oh hi,” I said, not game to add a name as I still wasn’t sure which one was which.

  “Hi. I hear you’ve got Jackson,” he began. “Can we have him?”

  “Sorry,” I replied. “It took me about a minute to fall in love with him. Besides, he’s at the vets – did you hear he was shot?”

  “What? Who?” The J boy sounded genuinely distressed and continued to utter oaths and threats as I told him the official story, not the real one. “I hope they catch the bastard,” he ended. “Just let me at him when they do.”

  “You’ll have to stand in line behind Bruno and Gail,” I said. “Anyway, I came in to get advice on Maggie Netherby’s vintage car. Where’s the best place to have it valued? Can you help me with that?”

  “Yeah, there is one guy.” J scratched his head as he searched his memory. “I haven’t got a contact for him but the rugby club will. Actually, Sergeant Carlton will know, too, they’re good mates. I’m not sure if it’s his real name or a nickname but he’s known as Nettles. He’d be the man to talk to, he’s all into his vintage cars. You might want to get a second opinion on the value though, because he’s going to offer to buy it. He’s been trying to get Maggie to sell it to him for years. As soon as Maggie’s funeral was over, he was telling people he was going to make sure he got the car.”

  “So he’s not really the right one to ask about it then?” I laughed.

  “Nah, probably not,” J agreed. “He was just the one who sprang to mind. Look,” he pulled his mobile phone from his pocket, “give me your phone number and I’ll text you some better options.”

  “Okay. I’ll grab your number, too, then I’ll know who it is when you text me, and I can let you know when Jackson’s home again.”

  “Home, eh?” J picked up on my use of the word. “Settling in up there, are you? Wouldn’t blame you if you did. It’s a crazy house but it’s cool.”

  I left J, drove back over the road and parked beside the pub, then sat for a few minutes in the car, sorting out my story for Carlton and wondering if Bruno and Gunna were having any success with the police in Dunedin. A failed attempt at a deep breathing exercise to control my nerves made me think of Simon. He had disappeared with his tail between his legs so quickly. I wondered what story he had made up for his mother. I would be branded as every type of cheap whore, Bruno would be a brutal thug, and mother would agree that darling Simon was better off without me, but he would still be seething and I didn’t think I had seen the last of him. The J boy had been right, I was starting to feel more comfortable in the Netherby house than I was in Wellington.

  A fist knocked on my car window. Broken out of my reverie, I jumped and let out a squeak before realising it was Carlton, smiling at me.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you but you were miles away,” he said as I opened the door to join him.

  “Yeah, I was,” I agreed. “Is that the time? Let’s go inside and I will shout you that pie.”

  In the comfort of the pub, sitting opposite him with hot coffee and steaming pork pies on the table between us, Carlton didn’t look anything like the villain he had become in my mind. If his rugby jersey had shown off his immense upper-body muscles, his official police uniform added a layer of don’t-mess-with-me that was comforting rather than menacing. I could see why the locals loved him. Especially when he smiled. Bruno and Gunna were going to have a hard job convincing anyone that behind the facade he was running a criminal operation.

  Following my prepared script, I rambled in my story about Jackson, pausing to eat so I gained time while I was chewing, intentionally repeating myself and adding bits of information that were completely irrelevant. I could see Carlton wishing I would get on with it; his face fixed in a benevolent smile he probably used on confused old ladies. When we got to the actual shooting, he asked if I had seen anybody and I used my best acting skills to convince him that I hadn’t but wished that I had. I told him that I was looking in the garage when I heard the shot, then found Jackson several minutes later.

  “Did you hear any vehicles?” he asked, hiding his relief well when I said, “No.”

  He gave me a form to fill in and sign, which I did slowly enough that he ordered us more coffee while he patiently waited for me to finish. As I handed the form back I sneaked a quick glance at my watch before asking him about the severed arm.

  “Have they identified it yet?”

  “No. And we haven’t found Gunna yet either. It won’t be long though. He has to turn up somewhere.”

  “Gail says the rugby team’s
taking bets on how long it will be before the rest of him floats up.”

  “Yeah,” Carlton smiled. “I’ve got $20 on Friday morning.”

  “Oh, yuk!”

  “Well, if that’s all, thank you for the pie. I will get this report written up for you and send you the details you need for your insurance. To be honest, I doubt we will find the culprit and if the dog’s going to be okay, I don’t think we’ll be chasing it too hard, but it was good of you to let us know. Are you going to be staying up at the house for much longer?”

  I noticed how he had thrown the question in casually.

  “Not too much longer, I hope, but a few more days anyway. There is a lot more stuff to value than I expected. The car, for starters. I didn’t expect to find a pristine vintage in the garage. Now I have to get it valued and get someone to organise its sale.”

  “I might be able to help with that,” Carlton offered. “I’ve got a mate who’s been after it for years. Do you want me to get him to call up and look at it?”

  “Um,” I stalled as the thought of Nettles coming anywhere near me made my heart race. “The valuation has to be done by a registered valuer, but, tell you what, I’ll let you know when it’s going to be sold and you can pass the information on to him. Thanks for meeting me today. I feel reassured knowing that I’ve officially reported the shooting.”

  “Right, any time,” Carlton forced a smile as he shook my hand and departed.

  I felt shattered, the pork pie that had tasted so delicious refusing to settle in my stomach. I had done my part, successfully keeping Carlton occupied for longer than we had planned. I sat quietly, lingering over the last of my coffee, my thoughts racing and jumping from Carlton to Simon, to Bruno, to Wellington, from the interior of my tiny apartment to the crazy secret rooms of Maggie’s house. The uninspiring sight of the building next door that greeted me out my Wellington windows sprang to mind, no comparison to the stunning view from Maggie’s kitchen.

  A text from Bruno saying they were on their way broke me out of my reverie. With faked cheerfulness, I placed my empty cup on the counter, thanked the bartender who exhorted me to have a nice day, and stepped back out into the sunshine. Even though the wind had a chilly edge, the Waihola air was still sweeter and cleaner than inner-city Wellington on its best day. I breathed deeply, squared my shoulders and pulled my thoughts back to reality, which meant shopping for supplies.