Search for a Kiwi Killer

by Des Hunt

  Tom almost cheered. That was the answer he’d wanted, because the sofa was right beside Buffy.

  * * *

  Next morning, Tom went over to Dave’s straight after breakfast, keen to see how Buffy was getting on.

  “She’s much better,” said Dave when Tom walked in the door. “I think we should take the bandage off and see if she can do without it.”

  Buffy managed to support herself while the crepe bandage was unwound. She cringed a little when the gauze was first touched, but allowed Dave to soak it off without complaint. The wound looked pink and healthy.

  “I’ll give it another dusting with antiseptic, but leave it uncovered. It’ll heal up quicker that way.” As he was doing that he asked, “What have you got in mind for today?”

  “A bike ride,” replied Tom without hesitation.

  “In the forest?”

  “No. I need to do some training on sealed roads. I thought I’d go to the end of Inlet Road. Can I get down to the sea there?”

  “You’d need to turn onto Wharau Road. That gets you down to the mouth of the inlet. You planning to have a swim?”

  “Yeah.” Tom told him about his hopes to compete in the triathlon.

  “Won’t the water be a bit cold from now on?” asked Dave.

  “The competition’s not until the end of the year. If I get into the team we’ll have two sessions a week in the heated pool at Kawakawa. I thought I’d get a head start.”

  * * *

  After making some lunch and saying goodbye to Buffy, Tom was on his way.

  At the intersection of their track with Inlet Road he had to wait for a stream of traffic to pass before making a right turn. This gave him a chance to study the entrance to the subdivision opposite. A man standing on scaffolding with his back to him, was laying the top row of blocks onto a high wall, the last part of a fence that enclosed the whole subdivision. The people who lived there, clearly liked privacy.

  When a gap in the traffic came, Tom accelerated across the road. At the same time a dog rushed out through the gate barking. A black Labrador.

  “Get out of it!” yelled Tom, kicking out his leg, turning the wheel sharply.

  Unfortunately the entranceway hadn’t been sealed and the bike skidded causing Tom to fall. The dog stood over him, barking loudly into his face.

  “Get off! Get off!” screamed Tom.

  Then came another voice louder and deeper. “Harvey! Get back!” This came from the block-layer.

  The dog stopped barking, but didn’t back away.

  “Get out of it Harvey!” yelled the block-layer.

  This time the dog obeyed, slinking off behind the wall.

  “You should keep your dog under better control,” said Tom, brushing himself off and climbing to his feet. “I could have got run over.”

  “He’s not my dog, Tom.”

  Tom looked up to see who knew his name. It was Mike Davidson again.

  “So, whose is it?”

  “Mrs Hopwood’s. She’s the developer of this place. Owns that big house down the end there. Climb up here and have a look.”

  From the top of the scaffold, Tom could see the extent of the subdivision. There were nine houses altogether. Six still had builders all over them, only one was fully completed. That was the one Mike was indicating, a two-storey mansion.

  “The dog was her husband’s, but he died. She’s taken over both the subdivision and the dog. She can’t control either properly. As far as I’m concerned the dog should be shot. It’s nothing but trouble. Thing never wears a collar. It’s always outside the gate. A couple of mornings I’ve seen it come back across the road from the forest. Makes me suspicious that does, what with all these kiwis being killed. I’ve already reported it to DoC.”

  The dog began barking again, this time in a friendly, excited way.

  “Uh oh,” said Mike. “Here comes the witch.” The dog was bounding towards a woman walking down the driveway. She didn’t look like a witch to Tom. In fact she looked quite pleasant in her colourful summer clothing.

  “She’s seen what happened on the security camera,” continued Mike, pointing to a black box high on a post not far inside the gate. “She’ll be all apologetic. Say it won’t happen again. But it will.” He gave a snort. “Look at the dog, will you? Making out it’s the perfect pet. He’s got her sorted.”

  Harvey was trotting obediently beside Mrs Hopwood, as if he was completely under her control.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, nothing broken,” said Tom.

  “I’m sorry about that. He sneaks out of the house when I’m not looking. And I can’t close all the doors, it’s so hot.”

  “Maybe you need a fence around your house,” said Tom.

  She spread her arms wide. “The only fence we’re having is this one. It will do the job for all the residents.” She turned and glared at Mike. “That’s if it ever gets finished. It seems to be taking forever.”

  Mike mumbled something under his breath.

  “What was that?” she said, sharply. Now she sounded like a witch.

  “I said it will be finished this week,” said Mike with a sigh. “That’s if you don’t change the plans again.”

  She turned on him. “The plans only change because you say you can’t do things. Things other block-layers seem to be quite capable of doing.”

  She swivelled around and marched back up the drive. When the dog didn’t follow straight away, she turned and called him. “Come on Harvey. Get back inside.”

  Harvey lowered his head and followed.

  Mike mumbled again. It sounded like ‘witch’, but it wasn’t quite that.

  * * *

  There was no missing the fact that the road to the end of the inlet passed through kiwi country. There were several signs warning drivers to beware of kiwis at night. In places white outlines of the birds were painted on the road. One sign had a photo of a dead kiwi looking much like the one Tom had seen in the forest, except this one had been killed by a car, not a dog. Waitangi Forest lined the right side of the road, farmland and lifestyle blocks filled the left. Many of the fences were made of scoria, suggesting there had once been a volcano nearby.

  Although the road was narrow in places, Tom was able to set a good pace as all the traffic was heading the other way, into town. Side roads led off to the inlet where Tom could see beach houses, some of them as big as Mrs Hopwood’s mansion.

  The forest was replaced by scrubland at the Wharau Road turnoff. From there on he had the road to himself and he forced out the last four kilometres as hard as he could. When he got to the beach, he threw his bike to the ground, stripped down to his shorts and dived into the sea, whooping with shock and joy at the coldness of the water.

  Later, he sat on the tiny beach, drying in the sun, thinking how good life was. He was happier than he could remember. Being looked after by Dave Hughes was much better than he’d anticipated. His dad was showing signs of settling down. And, with any luck, he’d soon have a dog to keep him company. Everything was looking great.

  On the return journey, mid-afternoon, he took a side road heading south which he thought might link up with the tracks in the forest. The seal ended after a hundred metres which was promising as all the forestry tracks were unsealed. The land on the left was still being farmed, but that on the right, closer to the forest, was quickly turning into wasteland. A few cattle were forcing their way through gorse searching for any remaining pasture.

  Not far beyond was a house looking as neglected as the land around it. Past that the road came to a gate. Even though the road continued much the same as before, the gate was locked with a hand-painted board alongside saying:

  KEEP OUT

  PRIVATE PROPERTY

  Tom could see in the distance that the road did go into the forest. He was tempted to lift his bike over the gate and keep going. But then dogs began barking from behind the house, loud and angry enough to put off any trespasser. He turned around.
r />   Passing the house again, he noted the name on the letterbox was M J Davidson. Could that be Mike Davidson? The DoC lady had said Mike was a pig hunter. Maybe those were his dogs out the back. Then another thought came into his head. Had the DoC lady collected DNA samples from this far out? If not, then she should have. While it was a long way around by road, a shortcut through the forest would make it fairly close to where the dead kiwis had been found.

  Chapter 7

  Dinner that Tuesday night was different to normal for Tom. Dave had lived by himself most of his life and had become a pretty good cook. The main dish was spinach and leek filo, two vegetables Tom usually hated. But the way Dave combined them with egg, cheese and bacon bits, turned them into a delicious meal. Much better than he would have got, if Brandon had cooked.

  After discussing Tom’s day, Dave led the conversation around to Buffy.

  “We’ve got to have her DNA tested,” he said.

  Tom looked up, shocked. “Why? Do you think she’s the kiwi killer?”

  “No, I don’t. But we can’t ignore that it is a possibility.”

  Tom shook his head violently. “No! She wouldn’t do that.”

  “Tom! Just hold on. Hear me out.” When Tom had calmed a little, Dave went on. “I have no idea how long you’ll be in this town, but I’ve been here for a long time already, and I plan to be here a lot longer. Imagine what would happen if it became known that I’d hidden a dog that could be a kiwi killer. I’d lose my friends and any standing I have in this community. Sooner or later I’d have to leave.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Tom, sulkily. “Ring the authorities?” He spat the words out.

  “No. We’ve discussed that before. They’re sure to take her away and we don’t want that. I think we should tell Marika Greenwell. Use her as a go-between.”

  “The reporter?” shouted Tom. “She’ll tell everybody.”

  Dave shook his head. “I don’t think so. Because we’ve got an even better story for her. Buffy’s story. If we tell Marika about the illegal collars and the batteries, I’m sure she’ll want to know more. She might even help us find the owner. Then she can tell the story.”

  “But what if the test says Buffy is a killer?” asked Tom.

  “Then we’ll have to live with that. As far as Marika is concerned that would just add to the story.”

  After a bit more discussion they agreed on a plan of action. In the morning Brandon would be asked to pass a message to Marika. If she accepted certain terms, then she’d be told where to come. They’d then sort the rest out face to face.

  * * *

  Next morning, when Brandon hadn’t arrived at Dave’s by eight o’clock, Tom went over to see if he’d made it home. He had, but was sleeping in. Even when he finally arrived at Dave’s house, he still seemed to be in a bit of a dream. Dave had to explain a couple of times what they wanted him to do. He agreed, but instead of phoning in front of the others, he went outside to make the call. Five minutes later he came in saying Marika would be over soon. Then he left for work.

  ‘Soon’ was certainly that. She must have passed Brandon almost before he got off the track.

  After Tom introduced her to Dave, they got down to business. The result was: yes, Marika wanted the story, and yes, she would hold it until they had tried to find the owner.

  “But if the DNA result comes out positive for Buffy, I’ll publish right away. That’s not something I can hold back.”

  Tom and Dave agreed to that.

  “You realise that most likely she’ll be put down if it is her?”

  “Couldn’t she be trained not to go near kiwis?” asked Tom.

  “Aversion training?” said Marika. “That doesn’t always work, not if a dog has killed before.”

  “But it might work, mightn’t it?”

  “Yes, it could be tried.” She studied him for a moment. “You’ve become attached to her, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. I want her to be my dog.”

  “Have you talked to Brandon about this?”

  “Hold it there,” interrupted Dave. “Before we do anything more, let’s sort out some other stuff. Have any more kiwis been reported dead in the last few days?”

  “You mean since you found the dog?”

  Dave nodded.

  “Unfortunately, no. So she’s not off the hook, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Okay then,” said Dave. “Let’s take these samples. Do you know what to do?”

  Marika did. She’d written a story about it during earlier kiwi attacks. A few hairs had to be extracted and a sample of skin removed. Buffy didn’t object to a bit of skin being trimmed from around the wound, but she did yelp when some hairs were pulled out. Both samples were put in zippered plastic bags. It would take four or five days before the results would be known.

  “She’s a nice dog,” said Marika, standing by her vehicle preparing to leave. “I sure hope she’s not the killer. But if she is, it would be best if we found the real owner so you don’t get charged. Anyone who is responsible for a dog that kills protected wildlife can be fined $20,000 or even jailed. I don’t want that to happen to you.” With that, she drove off.

  * * *

  Later that morning, Buffy and her bed were loaded into the front of the ute. They were off to visit Dave’s old logging gang. If anyone knew what was going on in Waitangi Forest, the logging workers would.

  Dave wore his old gear: high-visibility jacket, steel-capped boots, and a helmet with a fold-down visor. Tom had pulled on his hi-vis cycling vest. They were hoping to pick up the rest of the gear he’d need at the site.

  At the entrance to the forest track, Dave turned on the ute’s headlights, something Tom had also noticed on the trip in to save Buffy. “Why the lights?” he asked.

  “It’s the rule. All vehicles in a working forest must have headlights on. It helps the truck drivers see what’s coming. We’re the intruders here. The forestry gangs all know where their own vehicles are because they’re in radio communication. They have strict rules about movements. That can all be stuffed up by other vehicles like us.”

  Tom thought about this. “Or if the radios don’t work,” he added.

  “Dead right,” said Dave. “That’s why we need to find out who’s using those American transmitters. Confiscate them before they start causing problems.”

  * * *

  The working site was a long way into the forest, closer to the Waitangi side than Kerikeri. Dave had timed their visit so they arrived at break time, otherwise they wouldn’t have been allowed past the security man at the entranceway. Even then, they had to report to the site office and get Tom fitted with a hardhat and toe guards before going further.

  The workers were sitting around on logs, each with a thermos and a bag of food alongside. As soon as Dave arrived he became the centre of attention. Everyone wanted to shake his hand and find out how he was getting on. Several told jokes about people with missing limbs. Tom liked the one that involved a hitchhiker: A man stops his car to check whether it’s safe to pick up a hitchhiker or not, and sees that he’s got only one arm. “Ah,” he says. “You look pretty ’armless. ’Op in.”

  Most of the other jokes were not repeatable.

  After ten minutes, Dave finally got a chance to ask his questions.

  “You seen any dogs in the forest recently?”

  “Seen a few,” said Norm, a guy Tom recognised as the other hunter in the photo on Dave’s wall. “You don’t ever get a good look at them though.”

  “I think you’d notice this one,” said Dave. “Go and get her Tom.”

  Tom brought Buffy out of the ute and let her walk around the seated workers. Although she moved stiffly, she was alert enough to show an interest in the food.

  “Nice looking dog,” said Norm. “What’s her story?”

  Dave filled them in and then asked. “Anybody seen her before, or know who owns her?”

  “I’ve not seen her,” said a man who seemed to be the foreman. �
��But that collar you said she was wearing must be what’s been messing with the radios. We’ve had problems for weeks now. I’ve reported it to head office. They were going to take it to the police. Imagine if the radios had been down when you had your accident, Dave. You would have lost more than your arm, you would have lost your life.”

  There was much nodding at this.

  “Yeah,” said Dave, “that’s why we want to get this sorted.”

  “Have you checked with the pig hunting club?” asked one.

  “Not yet. But I doubt any club member would use illegal collars.”

  “No, they wouldn’t,” said Norm. “This hunter’s a rogue.” He then nodded towards Buffy. “Might be worth driving around some of the roads. If she picks up the scent of the others in the pack, she’d soon tell you.”

  “That’s what we’re going to try next,” said Dave. “Um … could you all … um … keep quiet about her. She’s not chipped and if they take her away, it’ll make it harder to find the guy.”

  “Sure,” said the foreman, standing. “You find this guy and then let us know. We’ll take it to the police. We need to get those transmitters out of action before something goes terribly wrong.”

  Work resumed, with Dave and Tom allowed to watch as long as they stayed close to the site office. While there was no chance of talking above the noise, Tom could see how it worked. Basically, the trees were felled by chainsaws, before huge machines took over, dragging, lifting, stripping, and trimming the logs as if they were no more than sticks. Communication was by coded beeps from air horns. It all seemed under control, but Tom could see it only needed one thing to get out of sequence and everything could go wrong. No wonder workers lost limbs and some their lives.

  * * *

  On the way home, Buffy sat on her bed looking out the windscreen, taking in her surroundings. Maybe she recognised where they were, maybe she didn’t. While she watched the forest, Tom watched her, thrilled she was looking so good. Secretly, he was also pleased that none of the loggers had identified her. He was in two minds about finding the owner. Yes, he knew it was important to get the transmitters out of action, but if the man was such a rogue, then he didn’t deserve to get Buffy back. She needed an owner who would love her, somebody like—