Farm Kill

by Robert W Fisk

  The phone rang sixteen times before Mayhew heard Frobisher say "What the hell do you want?"

  "Excuse me calling so early Sir," said Tom Mayhew. "There is something on the internet you should know about."

  "Mayhew? Is that you? What is it?" asked Martin Frobisher, rather snappishly. Five o'clock in the morning was not his best time of day.

  "I am on the Watch Desk until six. Sir." said Mayhew, "I skimmed through Facebook and TradeMe."

  This was standard practice, trolling for indiscreet criminal activity, or stupidity in the case of the guy who took a selfie and then a snap of his speedometer showing 180 kph and the view through the windscreen. "I saw a reference to the Guardian, a Pommy paper."

  "I know about the Guardian. Get on with it."

  "Well, Sir, I went to the Guardian website and read an article about the missing family, the Wests. The article was not complimentary. It basically says we are not interested in the daughter of the previous Minister of Police, assuming she is toast. The writer, a Kiwi guy, Kelvin Jordan, has really done a number.

  He has found out the son in law has just been involved with a police case involving PC Malcolm Greenslade, whose wife is WPC van Buren, currently assigned to the West case. According to Mr Paki-Paki, she was told there were higher priorities for a chopper than finding people who the Area Commander assumes is dead. The article says that the Honourable Wiremu Paki-Paki, previously Minister of Police, has vital evidence that the family might have escaped the mudslide but that evidence was ignored. He adds that he is hiring his own helicopter and expects to be at the crash site at eight this morning."

  "Bloody Hell!" roared Frobisher. "Suspend that van Buren woman. Immediately. I told her to mount a search for the Wests." Frobisher's voice was loud and his speech was rapid. Mayhew enjoyed the moment of Frobisher's initial reaction. 'Mount a search, indeed,' he thought. ‘With a thousand bucks? That was a Clayton's job to cover Frobisher's backside,' thought Mayhew. A Clayton's job was something that appeared to be real but wasn't, named after a non-alcoholic beverage that looked like whiskey.

  Frobisher was spluttering orders.

  "Mayhew, get a chopper over to that crash site as soon as possible. You must beat Paki-Paki to the scene. Do you have any idea what this vital clue is?"

  "Yes, Sir," Mayhew replied. "The Minister noticed a large culvert pipe, the Te Kouka Swamp Overflow, which runs under the road and the surrounding land to the swamp. There is quite a large pond at Cabbage Tree Farm. If the dam holding that back failed, and if the swamp overflowed, the village of Te Kouka could be swept away. The County Council spent millions putting the culvert in place."

  Frobisher was not interested in the details.

  "Get a chopper. Now. Requisition it if necessary. Go to the pipe. Establish that the family did not escape using the pipe. Get back to me by cell phone or fly back if the phones are out. I want to be able to announce that we have taken a chopper to investigate Paki-Paki's claims before he has a chance to get there, so be quick about it."

  Frobisher slammed the phone down. Why were staff so difficult? Mayhew should have rung him earlier. But all was not lost; Frobisher could still turn the situation to his own advantage. He set about writing his report to the AC. "Due to a lack of communication y Senior Sergeant Thomas Mayhew .... " Finished, he emailed the report off then turned to his Press release. Frobisher thought for a moment. He did not want to acknowledge the efforts of Paki-Paki, who was still a popular figure. Frobisher needed to ignore Paki-Paki's efforts and concentrate on recorded police efforts. "Following a claim that the West family might have used a culvert pipe to effect an escape from the mudslide which swept them away, Police in Grantville commissioned a helicopter to establish whether or not this had been the case. Although this diverted valuable resources from the rescue efforts following the Grantville earthquake, the attempt to check out the rumour was made out of respect for the West family .... "

  48.

  It had taken time to take the ATV to the cabbage tree grove, then to drive Greg's pick-up truck to the house but now Zinsli had the three Wests in the back of it. Sally was tied up and lying in the refrigerated truck at Greg Somerville's place. He would take her to his own house and kill her later. She had to die after Greg so that Zinsli could inherit. While he disposed of the Wests, Sally could be left tied up in the refrigerated truck because from inside the van she could see nothing. Zinsli still had to find the boy but he felt that Lance would find him when he got hungry enough.

  Carrying the Wests one by one to the pick-up was hard work., harder than if they had been unconscious. Zinsli's previous work in mental hospitals had taught him how to manage patients like the Wests. With a mixture of chatter, a pleasant voice and some physical manipulation, Zinsli get the three Wests on to the tray of the pick-up truck.

  Zinsli bound the three passengers to stop them from falling over the sides of the pick-up truck. Greg had chains for the dogs fastened to the rear of the cab, just as his own pick-up did. He chained the Wests to the bar at the back of the cab and set off.

  The airflow helped the Wests. With Jo, Zinsli had under-estimated the amount of ketamine to inject. She was the first to come out of the dream world she had been in. She pushed her father, who stirred. Richard was a big man, solid and muscular, where Zinsli was taller and slimmer. Zinsli as the taller man made the mistake of thinking Richard was smaller and had dosed him accordingly. Richard began to stir.

  "Dad, wake up," said Jo in her father's ear. Then she used the phrase that father's cannot resist. "Dad, I need help."

  "What is it, love?" asked Richard, Jo's plea stirring the adrenalin flow in his body.

  "Dad, we've been drugged. He's going to kill us."

  "Kill us? Drugs?" Richard's mind cleared. He was silent for a moment.

  "Can you wake your mother?" he whispered.

  "She's stirring but still singing to herself," replied Jo.

  Richard noted their surroundings, the flax bushes and the soft swampy mud under the pick-up . "Jo, Zinsli is probably going to drown us in the swamp. Pretend to be zonked. Play possum. If you get the chance, move into deeper water. It will slow him down."

  Zinsli drove the pick-up along the edge of the swamp, along the sloping ground that was quite firm. The pick-up truck swayed and tilted making the ride uncomfortable for Richard and Jo. Alex began to slide over the edge of the flat tray. Richard was bound hand and foot. Alex was about to slide off the flat deck on to the track, to be pulled along by the chain the tied her to the rail on the back of the cab. If Richard called out he would give the game away. Their only hope was to pretend to be under the influence of the drug.

  To stop Alex falling, he moved his legs on top of her legs and then rolled his body on to hers. The chain bit into his wrists but Alex was now safe from falling.

  The pick-up began to slow as Zinsli approached the mouth of the pipe. He swung the pick-up around in a circle, then reversed it until the tray was close to the edge of the swamp and the mouth of the pipe. He would have to drag or carry each body a few metres but he could not get any closer without leaving tyre tracks in the soft mud closer to the swamp.

  Zinsli got out of the pick-up and looked at his load. Three bodies lay on the deck. The motion of the pick-up had rolled West's body on to his wife's. She was singing to herself. He was in a deep sleep. Zinsli slapped Richard's face. There was no reaction other than to curl his knees up.

  "Good," thought Zinsli. "Feeling but no conscious movement."

  He decided to shift the girl first. He untied her bonds, then to save time, he untied the woman then the man. He left the parent's on the tray of the pick-up while he carried Jo to the pipe. The swamp was still overflowing, the pipe doing the job it had been designed to do. Over a foot of muddy water and ooze was flowing into the pipe, the dirty ooze slowly flowing away.

  Zinsli thought carefully about the scene he wanted to create. If he put the girl in the pipe feet first, face down, then pushed her further into the pipe, Zinsli co
uld do the same with the woman and finally the guy. They were not in a condition where they could rescue themselves; they probably would be unaware of any danger. They would drown quite quickly, like a drunk falling into a ditch full of water.

  The girl felt soft and pliable, and very vulnerable in his arms. Zinsli placed her feet in the mouth of the pipe, lowered her body until her face was under water, then pushed her. Jo moved slowly with the current until her feet dropped and she stuck.

  "No matter," thought Zinsli. "The next one will push her along."

  He went back for Alex, who was still singing some kind of Maori song. She was too heavy for Zinsli's arms so he put Alex over one shoulder where she sang happily into his ear. She felt very feminine, soft and smooth and scented. Zinsli popped Alex into the mouth of the pipe. Jo had disappeared.

  "She'll probably float to the end of the pipe. The cops will find her eventually, drowned trying to climb up the pipe," thought Zinsli, with a sense of satisfaction. He had listened to the radio. He knew that the old Minister of Police was bringing a helicopter to search for his missing family.

  "Well, you'll find her all right," thought Zinsli, "and there will be connection at all with yours truly."

  He lowered Alex into the mouth of the pipe. Her legs were rigid and would not bend. He put her in the pipe face down and head first. It would look as if she had turned around in order to help her drowning daughter, and then drowned herself.

  In the pip, Jo saw the shadows made by Zinsli as he put Alex in the pipe. To Jo's surprise, Alex was head first. As the shadows disappeared, Jo reached forward and pulled her mother to her. She rolled her over, surprised that her mother was so light. She remembered ABC from her first aid classes. "What the hell was A?" she thought. "Airways."

  Jo opened her mother's mouth and checked Alex's tongue was not interfering with her air channels. Then she established whether Alex was breathing. As Alex's chest was not moving and no air was coming out of the mouth, Jo took a deep breath and placed her mouth over her mother's, closing the nostrils with her finger and thumb. It took only a few seconds before Alex shuddered and began to take deep breaths.

  "Shh," said Jo. "Mum, shut up. Don't make so much bloody noise."

  Alex was about to protest. Swearing. At her, her own daughter. But she did not know where she was, only that Jo was helping her. Because Alex's mind was still muddled she did as Jo said. She shut up.

  The light in the tunnel darkened. Zinsli found that where he had been able to bend Jo's body, with the adults it was easier to pace them on their backs, feet first, and then roll them over so they were face down.

  "Good Queen," said "Richard. "Give me a cuddle. Where are the dogs? There have to be dogs. Bring in the dogs ... "

  Zinsli turned Richard over so that he was face down. He watched the end of the song bubble to the surface. There was a weak struggle, then nothing. Zinsli pushed Richard into the pipe and watched him disappear out of sight as the weak current carried him away.

  Zinsli turned and checked his surroundings. He was pleased. The mud he had churned up was dispersing. The marks the pick-up had left were hard to see. They could have been there for weeks rather than minutes. Satisfied, he turned to his next task, getting rid of Sally.

  49.

  Bill Paki-Paki, Richard's father in law, did not know it, but his luck meant that he had hired the only available helicopter to take him and Robert West to the end of the pipeline.

  As Bill Paki-Paki, Robert West and Barbara van Buren took off in the hired helicopter at five thirty, after a short delay for clearance, Senior Sergeant Mayhew was having no luck with the request made by his boss. Mayhew was tired; his boss, Inspector Frobisher, had demanded that he find a helicopter and go to Bill Paki-Paki's pipeline and prove that the West family had not used the pipe to escape from the mudslide that had engulfed their car. Senior Sergeant Mayhew had worked all night and knew that he could not keep going any longer. He gave the Desk Sergeant instructions to hire a chopper and to report to Inspector Frobisher as soon as it was done. He added a note that WPC van Buren was in the first helicopter, representing Grantville Police, on Mayhew's instruction.

  "That will go down well, I don't think!" he said to the Desk Sergeant. "But that makes it official; the Boss's rear end is covered. He doesn't know it yet, but he's a lucky man."

  Bill Paki-Paki had always been a lucky man, or perhaps he saw opportunity that others ignored. He had been a good cop on the street, and then a good leader as he rose through the ranks. He was respected by the underworld and by his fellow Maoris because of his integrity and fairness. Rules were bent when they needed to be, and agreements were always honoured. Pakeha, the Europeans who still dominated New Zealand society, liked his affability and his uncanny knack of getting results. Bill had left the Force to stand for Parliament, where those same skills quickly earned trust and respect from both sides of the House. He was made Minister for Police, a role that was tailor made for him, but as time progressed, a change of government saw him on the Opposition Benches. Bill was ready to retire. His considerable fortune from his business venture allowed him to live as he pleased, including hiring a helicopter.

  "Are we there yet?" joked Robert West, who was trying to hide his anxiety that his son Richard might be dying as they flew.

  The pilot laughed, even though he was very tired. He liked Bill and Robert and he understood the lengths the two men behind him were prepared to go for their families. It could well be that on this flight they would find the younger Wests, or more likely, their bodies. Either way would be good, but the first way would be better. The police officer next to him was staring silently through the Plexiglass. Her Kevlar jacket made her look bulky. Underneath all the clobber she was probably quite an attractive woman.

  The earthquake had been a big one. Although casualties were few, there had been a great need for helicopters to fly to small settlements to check on their needs, and to drop technicians and engineers off to restore the infrastructure. New Zealanders were a fighting bunch who set to and got the job done. Many people, mainly volunteers, worked incredible hours helping those in need. Most jobs were stressful but none more than the rescue helicopters.

  At normal times, the rescue helicopter crews and their aircraft were on standby, flying at a moment's notice to wherever they were needed: a possible drowning at a beach, a road traffic accident on a motorway, a heart attack on a farm.

  There were rosters and schedules and stand down times normally, but these were not normal times. The pilot's log book had entries in red, indicating that he had flown emergency service hours in excess of what was the normal rigidly enforced limit. He had taken compulsory breaks but even so, was very tired.

  The wireless asked when he would be finished as there was a rush job on for the Police as they responded to a claim that the West family might still be alive. Robert and Bill could not hear the conversation as the pilot carefully explained that he was the rescue mission; just book the police job in as his next trip, if he had enough energy and the Air Controller approved extra emergency hours.

  From Wellington to Grantville, planes had to cross Cook Strait. Although some twenty five miles at its shortest span, this narrow passage between two land masses generated extreme wind conditions. The helicopter bucked and surfed and plunged.

  Trevor Simonson, the pilot, nudged Barbara and mouthed "Are you OK?"

  Barbara smiled back at him and nodded. Strangely, it was Bill who needed the waterproof bag. Robert just endured grimly. Then the turbulence ended so the pilot lost height and gained extra speed. They flew past Picton and Blenheim and began the long haul down the coast to Kaikoura. The pilot kept a close eye on fuel but he knew he had enough to return to Blenheim where he could pick up more if necessary. With a strong tail wind, the aircraft used less fuel than normal. Kaikoura slipped beneath them. The roar of the rotary wing and the turbo motor meant conversation was impossible. The journey continued, with the sea on their left hand and the rolling hills and jagged moun
tains on their right. They flew over small towns and villages. It was still early in the morning. Then the pilot heard a noise he did not like. He called the engineers at Base, then turned the chopper and headed back towards Kaikoura. The helicopter was flying well, there was no loss of speed, but any strange noise has to be investigated immediately. It is a long way down for those who delay.

  50.

  Lance Somerville had been watching his home from the hillside beside the house. He wanted to know what Mr Zinsli was doing because he feared Mr Zinsli. He also knew that his mother, Sally Somerville, was somehow in danger. He did not really understand danger but he knew he had to avoid it, like lighting a fire in dry grass in summer.

  Lance did not have long to wait after Mr Zinsli returned. Lance watched dispassionately as Zinsli loaded the new people on to the pick-up. He saw Jo, whom he liked, put on the flat deck. She was tied up. Lance watched as Zinsli tied her to the dog chain. Next came the lady who could be bossy and who sounded like Mrs Armstrong, his teacher. She was acting funny, throwing her arms out as if she were singing a song. Last was Jo's dad. Mr Zinsli struggled with him because he was a strong man. Mr West was also tied up at his hands and feet. Greg did that with home kill, the sheep he was going to slaughter for the table. Was Zinsli going to cut their throats in his farm kill shed?

  After Zinsli had driven off Lance ran down the hill to the back door that led through the utility area to the kitchen. Twenty yards from the house Tricksy stopped and sat down, her eyes beseeching Lance to go no further.