Search for a Kiwi Killer

by Des Hunt

  This was the opening Tom had hoped for. But just as he was about to talk of a distraction, another thought jumped into his head. Something that had been puzzling him.

  “Harvey’s got a white patch on his chest, hasn’t he?”

  “A white patch on Harvey?” asked Mrs Hopwood, mystified. “No. He doesn’t have one. I’ve seen Labradors that do, though. Why do you mention it?”

  “Oh … um … I must’ve been mistaken.” Before he could say anything more a beeping sound came down the phone.

  “Ooh, that’s my timer,” said Mrs Hopwood. “My biscuits are ready. I’ve got to go. Why don’t you come over later and have some?”

  Tom mumbled that he might and disconnected. His mind was racing. The dog he’d seen in the forest definitely had a white patch, spot or blotch on its chest.

  Blotch, patch or spot? Did it matter what you called it?

  Yes, it most certainly did. He’d met a dog named Spot recently. The Davidson kids’ dog was called Spot. The dog he had thought was a skinny version of Harvey.

  Chapter 13

  The rain began at 12:47. Tom knew this exactly because he’d been watching the time on Dave’s phone and Brandon was already 47 minutes late. He planned to give him half an hour before he phoned and complained.

  He’d returned to their house before midday so he’d be there when Brandon arrived. He planned to convince his father to go out and buy a phone straight away.

  While he waited, he used Dave’s phone to research the various models and packages. He didn’t want a prepay as he’d always be begging his father for money. He wanted a monthly plan, one that Brandon couldn’t get out of easily. Two gigabytes of data would also be …

  These thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a vehicle; not the rattle of Brandon’s van, but the purr of something much more expensive.

  He went to the door and saw a large SUV had stopped short of the grass. Mrs Hopwood was climbing down from the driver’s seat. She walked towards the house, oblivious to the rain. Tom stepped aside to let her in. As she passed, he saw she was crying; not gently weeping, but howling noisily as if in pain.

  “What is it?” he asked, unsure how to cope with a distressed woman.

  She recovered a little and managed to say, “They …,” before breaking down again.

  Half a minute passed before she recovered and tried again. “They’ve taken Harvey away.” More sobbing. “They say he’s the kiwi killer.”

  Tom’s hands went to his face. This was bad. Almost as bad as it being Buffy. How could it be Harvey? He was such a great dog – apart from attacking bicycle wheels – but to him, that was a game.

  “Is that what the DNA says?” he asked.

  “So they say.”

  After staring at each other in shock for some time, Tom realised she had come over for his help, and he should do something. What was it adults did in times like this?

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked.

  She gave a little nod.

  “Okay, I’ll make one. And … um … you can sit down if you like.”

  Tom welcomed the chance to move into the kitchen and be busy. While he’d not made tea before, he’d seen it done: teabag and hot water, maybe sugar and milk. He’d better check.

  “Do you have milk in it?”

  “Yes please, but no sugar.” She sounded as if she was recovering.

  By the time the drink was made, she was mostly composed.

  “Sorry there’s no home-made biscuits,” he said, placing the cup on the coffee table.

  She gave a tiny smile. “I should have brought some over.”

  He waited until she’d taken the first sip. “Who came?” he asked. “Was it Sally Page?”

  “It was a woman. She said she was from DoC. I didn’t get her name. She already had Harvey in a cage.”

  “Did she get him outside the gate?”

  “Yes-s-s.” She’d started crying again. “That ghastly man helped her. He was still there, with her. Talking about shooting Harvey, he was.”

  “They won’t let that happen, will they?

  “I don’t know,” sobbed Mrs Hopwood. “The woman said they had to do more tests.”

  Tom grabbed at this. “So they’re not sure it’s Harvey?”

  “They know it’s a Labrador and Harvey’s the only one that’s in the area. She said they had another dead kiwi and hope to get a better sample from that. But she seemed pretty certain it was Harvey. She said there had been lots of reports of him roaming the forest.”

  “Did she say who by?” asked Tom.

  “No.” She looked up at him. “You didn’t, did you?”

  “No!”

  “But you’ve seen dogs in the forest?”

  Tom nodded.

  “One with a white blotch? Is that what you were talking about this morning?”

  Again Tom nodded.

  Mrs Hopwood brightened. “Do you think you could catch that other dog?”

  “Yes,” replied Tom without hesitation. “I think I can.”

  “Oh Tom, please do. Maybe Harvey has a chance after all.”

  * * *

  After Mrs Hopwood had left, Tom rang his father, not to complain, but to tell him that he wouldn’t be home most of the afternoon. As it happened, Brandon didn’t answer, which made it easier. Tom left a message saying he was going out, without giving further details.

  The short ride to the main road was mostly sheltered from the rain, which was now being driven by a strengthening wind. Crossing the road was difficult with gusts forcing him sideways. Fortunately there was little other traffic.

  Mike Davidson was no longer at work. According to Mrs Hopwood, he’d left in a rush straight after Sally had taken Harvey away. Before going, he’d shifted the two wrought iron gates from the ute to where they now leaned against the wall, one each side of the open gateway. With Harvey gone there was no need for the temporary gate to be back in place.

  Tom’s wind jacket was already soaked by the time he settled to a steady speed, moving eastward towards Bush Road. He had no plan for what he would do when he got there, other than to try and grab Spot and hide him in a safe place. The way Davidson had rushed home the moment he heard that a Labrador was the killer, was mighty suspicious, almost as if he knew his dog was the real culprit. Tom feared that Davidson would make his dog disappear, rather than have people know that he’d covered up for a kiwi killer. Unless Spot was found and tested, Harvey would be the dog that faced the consequences.

  * * *

  When Tom got to Bush Road, there was no doubting the storm had arrived. The rain was pounding into his body driven by a wind that was almost impossible to ride against. It was slightly easier once he turned onto the gravel and was riding with the wind for a while. Already the drains at the side were overflowing and in a couple of places the water joined across the road.

  The first thing he noticed when he got to the house was the ute was not parked in the carport. Tom’s hopes rose a little. Maybe he could get Spot without having to meet Davidson. He leant his bike against the dog box dumped alongside the carport, and went to the back door.

  Mrs Davidson opened the door almost as soon as he knocked. The two children were with her, but not Spot.

  “Mike’s not home,” she said in a shaky voice. “He’s gone out.”

  Tom quickly decided the best approach was to come out and say what he wanted. “I’m not here for Mike,” he said. “I’ve come for Spot.”

  Mrs Davidson studied him for a while, long enough for Tom to think he’d made the wrong move.

  Then she sighed. “I think you’d better come inside.”

  “I’m dripping wet.”

  ‘Hold on,” she said. “I’ll get some towels.” The door closed.

  It turned out that the towels were not for Tom to dry himself, they were to lay on the floor. When the door opened again there was a pathway of towels through to the kitchen. Once there Tom was handed a towel to dry his face. While he was doing this, Mrs D
avidson shooed the children into the lounge, telling them to go watch television.

  “Tom, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay Tom, if you want Spot, you’ll have to go into the forest because that’s where he is. He escaped sometime during the night and was missing this morning when we got up.”

  “He’s done that before, hasn’t he?” said Tom.

  “Yes,” she said, sharply.

  “And Mike knew about this?”

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” she shouted, so suddenly that Tom jumped. “God, I’m so sick of all this about dogs. Yes, that dog goes into the forest, and yes, Mike knew all about it. But he would never admit that his dog might be the killer. Never, not until you people came on Saturday. Then he said that he needed proof. So that’s what he’s doing now.”

  “How?”

  “Yesterday he put one of the transmitters on Spot so he could track where he went.”

  Tom nodded slowly. “So that’s why he stole them back.” He said this more to himself than to the woman.

  “Oh, he would never have given those up for good. They’re his favourite toys.”

  “So Spot is in the forest with a transmitter?” asked Tom.

  “Yes. So is Mike. He’s in there with the direction finder looking for Spot. He said he was taking another dog with him.”

  “Which dog? Was it Buffy, I mean Lucky?”

  She paused. “Yes, I think it was her. She’s usually the only dog he lets out. She often plays with Spot. So he probably took her. All I know for sure is that he’s in the forest and that’s no place to be with this storm getting worse. I’m scared.”

  “Did he take a gun?”

  “I don’t know. He usually does.”

  “Have you told anybody about this.”

  She shook her head. “Only you.”

  “We should tell the police.”

  “No! That’s the last thing Mike would want.”

  “Then what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, quietly. “Wait, I suppose. Wait until the storm is over.”

  Tom shook his head. Not him. He wasn’t prepared to wait. If he waited Spot would disappear and never be found. Harvey’s only chance of survival was if Spot was kept alive. If one was buried, then so too would be the other. And then there was Buffy. Who knew what the man had planned for her?

  Chapter 14

  The first thing Tom did after his discussion with Mrs Davidson, was to check the barn to see if Buffy had been taken. She had, and so too had another one: Davidson had two dogs with him. The remaining three jumped up in their cages, barking, seeking attention. For a moment he considered taking one of them with him, but quickly dismissed the thought – none of them looked anywhere near as friendly as Buffy.

  However he did search through the cupboards until he found a bundle of dog leads that might prove useful. He stuffed one in his pocket, and after a bit of thought added an old collar. The gun cupboard alongside was locked so there was no way of checking whether Davidson had taken one or not. Chances were high that he had.

  Before leaving the shelter of the barn he rang his father once more. It went straight to voicemail suggesting the phone was turned off. After leaving a message he stood for a while wondering what else he should do before heading into the forest. Should he tell someone else where he was going? Yes, he should. He selected Marika’s number.

  After bringing her up-to-date with what had happened, he told her he was going into the forest to find Davidson.

  “No!” Marika shouted down the phone. “It’s too dangerous. MetService have updated the storm warning. The winds are coming sooner than expected, and they’ll be much stronger. That forest is no place to be in a storm like this.”

  “I’ve got to,” cried Tom. “He’s going to shoot Spot and Buffy’s with them!”

  Marika took her time before replying. “Look, why don’t I contact the logging gang, and see if they can do something. They know the forest better than anybody.”

  “But phones don’t work in there,” said Tom. “That’s why I have to go.”

  “I know that,” said Marika, patiently. “I’ll contact the company in town here. They have radio communication with the site. Just stay where you are, Tom. Don’t do anything until I call you back. Right?”

  Before Tom could respond she’d disconnected.

  While he waited for a return call, Tom marched up and down the middle of the barn becoming increasingly worried about the time he was wasting.

  When the call did come, he answered it with a rude, “So?”

  “They can’t make contact,” said Marika with a sigh. “There’s something interfering with their signals. They’re very—”

  Tom broke in. “That’s the dog collars. I can stop that when I find Davidson. Don’t you understand? That’s why I have to go in. I’m off now.”

  This time it was Tom who disconnected before there could be any response.

  * * *

  The gate into the forest was open which saved a bit of time. The track was awash with water, making it impossible to tell whether the ute had come that way or not. Tom assumed it had, otherwise the gate would be shut.

  Pelting rain lashed at his back until he got into the shelter of the forest. From there on the riding was a little easier, but the storm no less scary. Roaring noises coming from the tops of the pines made it seem as if jet planes were flying low overhead. Even the tree trunks close to the ground were swaying with the force. Tufts of pine needles flew everywhere, grabbing at his clothes as they rushed past.

  Tom really had no plan other than to follow the road until he found something, whatever that might be. He thought he was ready for anything, but when he turned a corner and found a dog rushing towards him, the shock made him swerve far too sharply on the muddy road. His tyres lost traction and the wheels slipped sideways. Both bike and rider crashed to the ground. The next moment Tom was fighting off the dog, which was attacking his head, its open mouth searching for his throat. Tom screamed, wrapping his arms around his head, curling into a ball.

  That worked. The dog pulled away. When it started whining, he took a peek through his fingers. The dog was sitting, staring at him in shock. This was no wild animal, it was Buffy! The attack had not been aggression, just welcoming joy, her way of cuddling. Now they had both calmed down, their reunion was more orderly. For a while they hugged each other. Two wet and muddy beings, happily oblivious to the storm raging above them.

  Tom’s first thought when they eventually separated was to forget about Davidson and take Buffy home. His home, not that stinky barn Davidson thought was suitable for a dog. However Buffy had other ideas. As soon as he’d climbed to his feet, she was pulling at his shorts, with the clear intention of taking him somewhere. After realigning the handlebars and untwisting a brake cable, Tom got on the bike, and followed her command.

  * * *

  Further along the road they came to the first fallen pine tree. This one had been growing at the top of a clay bank which had collapsed, dropping the tree across the road. The dirt still falling from the exposed roots suggested it had happened in the last few minutes. Tom stopped short of the barrier and glanced upwards at the remaining trees swaying dangerously above him. For the first time since entering the forest he experienced a surge of fear. If he’d not fallen off his bike he could well have been under the tree when it fell.

  Climbing over the barrier was not all that difficult; getting his bike over was. He considered leaving it behind until he realised how that would leave him without any quick way out of the forest if things went wrong. He hauled his bike over and obeyed Buffy’s urges to continue.

  A kilometre further on they rounded a bend to find the road blocked by another fallen tree, this one much smaller. Buffy could have easily leapt over the thin trunk, but made no attempt to do so. Instead she moved to where the top branches dangled over the edge of the road, and stood staring at something below. Tom’s stomach lurched when h
e saw wheel tracks leading over the edge: a vehicle must have come round the bend, swerved to avoid the tree, and gone over the edge.

  Before he’d got off his bike to join Buffy he was already picturing what he would see at the bottom of the slope. This time the rush of fear almost forced him to retreat.

  When he did make himself look over the edge, it didn’t seem too bad. Yes, the ute was down there and it had crashed into a tree, but only the front was dented. The driver’s door was open a little, although not enough to see if someone was still inside.

  Tom studied the surrounding area looking for Davidson. There was nothing to indicate the man had left the vehicle. By then Buffy had begun climbing down the bank, looking back every few steps, whining at Tom to follow. He did so.

  It soon became clear Buffy wasn’t taking him to the vehicle, she was heading for a clump of ferns. Her whining got louder as they approached, this time directed at a black shape lying half hidden within the ferns. To Tom it looked like a black stump. That was until he was right above, and saw it was the body of a dog, the other one Davidson had taken with him. Unlike Buffy, this one was fitted with a transmitting collar.

  Buffy crouched beside the body, resting her head on its flank, showing that she knew her pack companion was already dead. The only sign of injury was that the head lay at a strange angle, which made Tom think its neck might have been broken during the crash. While he could do nothing to help the dog, he should do something about the transmitter. The sooner it was turned off the better.

  He was about to roll the body over when the horn of the ute sounded. Tom jumped with fright. Buffy barked, before taking off, racing towards the sound. Tom followed.

  The horn was still blasting when he opened the driver’s door. The cause was Davidson’s body slumped across the steering wheel. Tom grabbed the shoulders and heaved them back. The horn stopped sounding. Tom pulled his hands away not wanting to touch the body any more than he had to. Looking down he saw Davidson’s legs were crushed where the motor had been pushed back into the cab. A pool of blood had formed in the buckled floor. Even if the ute had been fitted with airbags, they wouldn’t have saved him. Davidson had probably died from loss of blood.